© Copyright 2018 - Julien Sorel - Used by permission
Storycodes: M+/f; college; virtual-reality; drug; program; script; transform; F2ponygirl; forest; outdoors; captured; M+; branding; bond; rope; mill-wheel; whip; rescue; F/f; cart; training; bitgag; grooming; stuck; cons/reluct; X
Sarah gets stuck in a virtual reality game where she is a four-legged ponygirl.
Sarah Brightman knocked on the door, then pushed it open and entered a spacious college suite, Two college boys, Duane and Joshua, greeted her, a little too casually. They were both sitting at their laptops, and didn't completely stop working. "Come on in," Duane said. Sarah knew the boys only slightly, from electrical engineering classes. The connection had been made through her friend Harmony - who just at that moment breezed into the suite from an entrance on the other side of the room. The girls greeted each other warmly.
"You're going to do it right now?" said Harmony.
"Yeah," said Sarah.
"Fantastic," said Harmony. "These guys are totally amazing."
Among a group of virtual reality developers at the college, Duane and Joshua had gained a reputation as flaming geniuses. Sarah had come to experience one of their creations. The boys pretended not to be very impressed by Sarah. She was tall, a little clumsy, and not especially feminine in her demeanor, but she was the sex symbol of the EE department: adorable brown eyes, long and tangled brown hair, and a statuesque body with a famous set of boobs. There were vague and unsubstantiated reports that Sarah's pair hung a little too low on her chest in the absence of support, but in a bra (and she always wore one) she looked as if she'd been drawn by a lecherous cartoonist.
Becky, a girl that Sarah knew slightly, entered the suite with her boyfriend Christopher, greeted Sarah in surprise, and plopped down on the sofa. Sarah would be sitting right here, in this semi-public space, when she took her virtual reality trip. It was common to go tripping with a crowd around; it made everyone feel more secure.
Quite naturally, Sarah felt a bit shy about turning her sensory input over to these boys whom she didn't know all that well. But Duane and Joshua's celebrated skills had all sorts of people beating a path to their suite. It was kind of like going to a tattoo artist and letting him work with some intimate part of your body, thought Sarah. Talent has its privileges.
Sarah sat in a comfortable reclining chair while Duane prepared her IV drip and Joshua taped a few tiny electrodes to her neck.
"So you're okay with us running something a little non-Disney?" asked Joshua.
"Yeah, go for it," said Sarah with a smile.
They were talking about a script with sexual content. Sarah had expected no less. It was part of the VR culture. Most of these boys and girls would never loosen up with each other in real life, but they light-heartedly ran the strangest and most impudent VR scripts on each other. and joked about it afterwards. Sarah was all hooked up, and Joshua sat at his laptop. "Ready?"
"Yeah," said Sarah.
Harmony was in the next room, but Becky and Christopher were watching from the couch, and a guy she didn't know was standing in the doorway, checking out the scene.
"Okay if I kick my shoes off?" asked Sarah.
"If you want them on in the script, keep them on now," said Joshua.
"Oh," said Sarah. Her flip-flops were already on the floor, and she couldn't reach them; Duane picked them up and wiggled the thongs between the toes of Sarah's long, pretty feet. Of course he did it very casually.
"Okay, here goes," said Duane. He released the drug into Sarah's IV drip, and within seconds she had passed out. Joshua started loading the selected script.
"You know she's not gonna need those flip-flops in that high grass," said Duane.
"Yeah, but I didn't want to give it away," said Joshua.
The script finished loading and began executing. Sarah was hit in the face with a rush of cool, very humid air. She looked around in amazement: she was on the edge of a vast plain of lush greenery. There were forests off in the distance, and one right behind her, overshadowing her. The sky was dark and roiling; she couldn't tell whether it was a moonlight night or a thunderously clouded day. The wind rushed around her. She heard thunder in the distance.
Suddenly she looked down in shock. She was bent over on all fours, and her arms had been turned into legs! She stood in the thick, knee-high grass, a four-legged creature. She tried to move her front feet: they were no more dexterous than her real feet. The rings that had been on her fingers were on her front toes. An involuntary cry came out of her mouth as an animal-like whinny. Worried, she said "Test, test" - animal noises came out. She couldn't form words no matter how hard she tried.
Sarah cursed Duane and Joshua's perverted imagination. Everything else about her seemed normal. Maybe her head was sitting on her shoulders a little differently, because it was no strain at all for her to look forward. She still had every article of clothing that she wore into the college suite. Sarah supposed that she had to search this world for a way to be transformed back to her normal self. She tried to walk forward on four feet: it felt natural, but her flip-flops were hopeless in this grass, and soon she kicked them off and proceeded gingerly, with four bare feet, around the perimeter of the overgrown forest.
The thunder and heat lightning made her wary of venturing out into the lush plain, which was an agoraphobe's nightmare. The forest felt safer; but she found nothing of interest as she walked around its edge, and the growth was so thick that she couldn't imagine penetrating very far into its interior.
After what seemed like hours of searching, she had gotten nowhere, and she had to pee badly. The session was probably almost over, and nothing much had happened. She tried to stand erect, but her new body wouldn't support it: she kept toppling forward onto all fours. With some effort, she caught the edge of her skirt between the toes of her front feet, and pulled it unevenly down her rear legs. Her panties were more difficult, but she eventually peeled them down to her knees, then relieved herself. There was no way in the world she would ever be able to replace these articles without hands. So she coaxed them off of her legs and wandered on, completely naked from the waist down.
She wondered what being four-legged did to the sway of her ass. In real life, Sarah had the worst posture imaginable, slouching and loping along like a character actor in an old Western. She knew about her bad posture but couldn't change it; and she was fantastically self-conscious about standing up straight because of the size of her breasts. Now, as a four-legged creature, she could feel her hips making a dramatic switching motion as she moved. Perhaps she had finally achieved a sexy walk, thanks to Duane and Joshua.
She was running out of time, and decided that the boys intended her to go onto the darkling, scary plain. So she headed out into the vast openness, trotting a bit as she got used to the new motion. After a while the forest where she had stood was as far away as the ones in front of her; the threatning sky grumbled all around her. Then she saw a group of men approaching her from afar, on horseback. As they got closer, she could see that they were barbarian hunters.
Perhaps she should have tried to greet them as equals; but panic seized her, and she ran away through the tall grass as quickly as she was able. It was no use. She felt a great force jerk her down to the ground hard, stunning her. She made inarticulate animal noises as she was immobilized by rough hands, then quickly hogtied, her four feet roped together. The men galloped away, with Sarah hanging by her feet from a pole that rested across two of the tribe's horses. She tried to clear her head and ponder this fantastic humilation. Obviously she could do nothing to change this path of the game for now.
At the men's nighttime camp, Sarah lay bound in the dirt, the heat of a fire on her back. The men took knives to her pretty red blouse and her industrial-strength bra, baring every inch of her weirdly transformed body. They roughly removed the rings from her front and rear toes, her earrings, her necklace, her anklet. She tried to think of a strategy; but there was no way for her to interact with this interactive program. She couldn't move at all, or make intelligible noises. Had something gone wrong with the script? Surely it should have timed out by now.
In utter terror, she saw the men approaching her from behind with an orange-hot brand. Her world exploded in unspeakable agony as the men pressed the hot brand into her soft flesh, and held it there for endless seconds. They left Sarah on the ground, screaming blindly in animal noises, lying in a pool of her own waste, a barbarian cypher burned into the right cheek of her ass. The night passed in throbbing pain and semiconsciousness. The program was not terminating, and she could do nothing to change it. Had she been free, she would have contrived her own death, to reset the system.
In the morning, Sarah was pulled onto her feet and immobilized with a network of ropes and straps. Still moaning in anguish from her branding, she was pulled forward by a rope attached to a stick that wedged her jaws open, and her body was attached to a wooden pole that moved in a circle around some kind of mill. When she was securely bound in a standing position, the men took out their knives and started cutting Sarah's brown, corkscrew-curled hair off at the scalp. When they had finished, the whinnying girl was nearly bald, with a few patches of hair clinging to her skull. Then the men starting shouting at Sarah and slapped her on the ass, urging her forward.
Frantically, Sarah tried to think of ways to terminate her character. She tried to pull away from the blows, but she was firmly tied to the wooden pole, which moved forward only slightly when she bolted. Perhaps the men would kill her if she stood still and disobeyed their orders. But instead the men started whipping her on the ass. The pain was unbearable: Sarah's cries were distorted by the stick in her mouth. The men kept whipping, and Sarah strained mightily to turn the mill, sinking her four bare feet into the soft dust and pushing forward. Finally she got the mill moving, slowly at first, then fast enough that it acquired some momentum.
The men kept whipping the bald, four-legged engineering student until she was turning the mill at a brisk walking pace. Then they left her. When she slowed the pace after a few minutes, the man guarding her took to her with a whip again. After that Sarah kept her speed up. Sarah was thoroughly winded after twenty minutes, but the men kept her at work for an hour before they pulled on the crossbar of the mill to stop it. While Sarah stood panting, the men threw a few buckets of water on her filthy body, turning the dust that covered her to rivulets of mud. Then they tied a feed bag filled with some tasteless grain around her head. While she strained desperately to get some food into her mouth, the men pulled at her soft, dangling teats, as if trying to see whather she gave milk.
All day long, Sarah pulled at the mill wheel until she could barely move, then was left standing in place until she could pull again. By night she was so caked in dirt and mud that she no longer looked even slightly human. Sometime after dark, the men detached her from the mill and tied her front leg to a stake in the ground, where she fell heavily asleep. This was Sarah's life for more than four weeks. She was hopelessly trapped in a nightmare virtual world that she was helpless to affect. Though the men fed her at regular intervals, they didn't seem to care that they were overworking her; perhaps they didn't expect her to be usable for very long.
By the second or third day Sarah had stopped hoping or despairing, or even thinking beyond the simplest concepts of pain, food, and sleep. Then one day the 14-year-old daughter of one of the men visited the camp, bringing the men clothes and supplies from home. From her harness at the mill, Sarah stared at the beautiful young girl, so unlike anything she had seen in this world. The girl saw Sarah and approached her. Sarah saw her look of horror, the involuntary disgust as she smelled Sarah. Then, to Sarah's amazement, the girl drew bucket after bucket of water and poured them over Sarah, trying to uncover the creature beneath the thick crust of dirt and filth. Taking a brush and soap to Sarah, the girl needed the better part of an hour to clean her.
Finally Sarah was revealed, naked again and dripping, too weak to understand clearly what was happening. The girl marched to her father and began remonstrating angrily with him. Sarah could hear the occasional phrase: "...you're going to kill her with this work!" Apparently they spoke English here. The strong-willed girl prevailed. The men untied Sarah from the mill, looped a loose leash around her neck, and took her to the girl, who stroked Sarah's head and neck lovingly.
"It's not far," said the girl to Sarah. "Just try to follow the cart, and when we get home, we'll make you better." Then the girl tied Sarah to the back of the cart and set off for home, driving her oxen as slowly as she could.
Sarah stumbled along behind, watching the scenery change as the sounds of the work camp receded. Soon she fell asleep walking, a trick she had learned quite involuntarily during recent weeks. The girl lived on a lovely green estate. Sarah was untied and led to a barn, where she fell onto the straw and passed out. A week of fever followed, during which the girl nursed Sarah faithfully, feeding her by hand and putting ointment on the brand on Sarah's ass, which had become infected. In a few weeks Sarah was well enough to take short walks in the estate's beautiful fields, led on a rope by the girl.
Gradually Sarah became stronger, and her hair grew long enough that the girl could even it out with a scissors and decorate it with little yellow bows. When Sarah's appetite returned, the girl brought her delicious fruits and chocolates, which Sarah licked up from the palm of the girl's hand. Sarah wondered if the program she was trapped in would ever terminate. She had lost all track of time, but her old life as a student seemed long ago and hard to remember. Now that she had a little freedom, perhaps she could find a way to kill off her character. When the girl took her for walks, Sarah looked around for embankments to jump off of. But just now she lacked the will for such a frightening act.
One morning the young girl kissed Sarah and announced happily that today was the day that Sarah would learn how to pull the girl's cart. Sarah could not answer, of course; the girl chattered sweet nothings to her constantly, and did not know or care whether Sarah understood. Sarah was led outside to a small, light carriage, which the girl began strapping her to. Uneasily, Sarah shifted her weight against the rigging; the cart was easy to move. To her surprise, Sarah felt a gigantic metal bit pushed all the way back into her mouth. Panicking for a second, Sarah tried to dislodge the bit, which held her jaws open at an uncomfortable angle; but the girl had already fastened it in place behind Sarah's head. The cart shifted lower as the girl sat down, only a foot or two from Sarah's ass.
For the first time since the game had begun, Sarah was embarrassed at her nakedness, knowing that the girl was staring straight into Sarah's hairy pussy (Sarah hadn't bothered shaving or trimming her bush that winter) and her asshole, which Sarah had given up trying to keep clean. Trying not to think about her humilating position, Sarah tested the cart again with a gentle pull on the straps that connected her to it. The weight of the cart still felt manageable, even with the girl in it. Sarah was a big girl, over 160 pounds, and the little 14-year-old couldn't weigh more than 100.
The little girl cried out, "Go!" - and suddenly Sarah's world exploded in pain as the girl struck her upturned ass with her whip. Sarah screamed at the top of her lungs, and tears instantly flooded her face. Why did the girl hit her? The pain came again, worse than before. Howling incoherently, the coed lurched forward, desperately trying to get the cart up to speed. Then Sarah felt the bit pull hard against the left side of her mouth, digging into tender flesh.
Screaming again, Sarah stopped in her tracks, her head pinned as far to the left as it could go. "Keep moving, girl!" said the 14-year-old, whipping Sarah's ass with back and forth strokes.
In agony, Sarah pulled on the cart again, veering unsteadily to the left as the girl manipulated her head with the reins. Though a haze of pain and tears, Sarah heard the calm voice of the little girl: "Don't think, darling. Let me do the thinking. Just run hard when you feel the whip, and turn when I turn you. I'll decide where we go - you just obey."
The knife-like whip struck again. Red-eyed, nose running, covered with sweat, urine dripping down her legs, maybe even bleeding, Sarah did her best to run hard despite the terrible angle of her head, which blinded her to the path.
"Good girl!" said the 14-year-old, turning Sarah's head back to a normal position.
Sarah's four bare feet dug deeply into the grass until the cart was moving at a steady speed. The bit tore into her mouth again, this time on the right side. Howling, Sarah turned hard and tried to keep up her exhausting pace. The whip landed again, but not as wickedly as before; Sarah had successfully turned down a garden lane that she still couldn't see. For many hours, the girl roamed the estate with Sarah, training her to obey instantly and enthusiastically. By the end of the afternoon, the little girl had turned Sarah into a usable cart pony. She was still far from smooth in executing the girl's commands, but she had been taught how to comply instinctively, without understanding.
That evening, Sarah lay half-conscious on the straw in her stable, her aching legs extended in front of her, while the little girl caressed her hair and tried to get her to drink some water from a beaked cup. The soles of Sarah's four feet were red and swollen, and both corners of her mouth were bruised from the terrible bit. The girl sponged Sarah from head to rear, rubbed lotion into her bruises and wounds, and murmured endearments to her. Sarah could neither move nor make a sound; she lay still on the straw, looking gratefully into the little girl's eyes. Sarah's will was broken that long afternoon. Each day from then on the girl hitched Sarah to her cart, and each day Sarah's motions became more fluid and automatic, her obedience to the reins and the whip more fervent.
Within two weeks Sarah was trained so well that the girl almost never had to whip her; and the bit did not hurt much after Sarah learned to move with it. In a few months, Sarah was an exceptional cart pony, with moves so graceful that the young girl loved to take her for rides across the countryside to display her athleticism, proudly showing friends and neighbors the tricks Sarah had learned. Sarah had stopped thinking about the virtual reality game and how to terminate it. Her life was now the stable and the fields, and she waited patiently but eagerly for the girl's visits. Even on days when Sarah did not pull the cart, the girl would come by the stables with treats for Sarah, or new decorations to pin in Sarah's hair or hang around her neck.
When the girl took Sarah out into the countryside, she draped her in beautiful handmade colored linens, and shoed her with leather sandals to protect her from the country roads. But at home she loved to run Sarah naked and free across the grassy hills. After their rides, the girl would tether Sarah in the stable and wash her down with warm soapy water and soft brushes. This was all the life that Sarah now had. She would make little involuntary animal noises as the girl took the soapy brush to her dangling, hard-nippled breasts, and again when the girl gave a good scrubbing to her cunt and ass, which were always rather aromatic after hours of pulling a cart.
Sarah thought that the girl knew exactly what the brushes were doing to Sarah: the girl would linger in the places that made Sarah throb, calling Sarah "darling" and "sweetness," and commandeering her private parts with the confidence of a lover. During the long days, Sarah did not feel as if she were full of pent-up sexual energy; she never thought about sex at all. But as soon as the girl began to soap her, she instantly ached with desire, consumed by fever and light-headedness, two-thirds of the way to orgasm, waiting for the girl to tweak her into a series of little whiteouts.
The years passed. The girl continued to love and pamper Sarah, but gradually she visited the stables less, leaving Sarah's grooming and feeding more and more to her family's servants. Sarah wondered sometimes what her future would hold. The girl was seventeen now, and would talk to Sarah about the boys she loved, and the ones who loved her, while she fed Sarah or washed her. Sarah knew that the beautiful girl would soon get married and leave the estate. Would Sarah go with her? Would the girl's visits to the stable stop altogether? Would she have a little girl of her own, a girl to whom Sarah would one day belong?
In the college suite, Joshua checked the game's code coverage on his laptop. "Nothing is happening," he said. "99.9997% of the code has never been executed. And most of what she did execute is right at the beginning of the game. Right now she's just wearing a groove into a tiny section of code." Duane looked down at the tall girl sprawled unconscious in the reclining chair, her tits looking like a mountain range. "How long has it been?" he asked.
Joshua checked the laptop. "Coming up on five minutes."
"Let's give her an hour, and then yank her if nothing happens."
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