The Leprechaun's Ponygirl
(F/M, nonconsensual, pony, maledom, bondage, S&M)
Copyright©2000 by S.Mariesu. All rights reserved.
The last three parts posted here with permission from S. Mariesu and Freeberry.com.

Part One: Caught in Her Own Trap
She held the knife to his throat and applied just a little more pressure. "Tell me!" she demanded, her breath hot and fast in his ear.

"I can't," he stated matter-of-factly, refusing to flinch as the cold steel pressed hard against his jugular.

His calm demeanor enraged her. "Look here, you cocksucker," she spat. "I didn't haul my ass all the way to Ireland to have some village idiot give me the runaround. I've done my homework. I know you have The Pot of Gold. Now tell me where it is!"

The Irishman chuckled. He was a big man, tall and muscular with a ruddy complexion and a shock of thick hair that blazed red against his white pillow. "Now Miss," he reasoned, "What would I want with a fancy painting?" He let his eyes roam the country cabin with its threadbare furniture. "I'm a simple man with a simple life."

"Simple man, my ass," she said through clenched teeth. "I've been trailing you all the way from London. And I'm a little disappointed. Who'd have thought the famous art thief, the one they call 'The Leprechaun', would be so sloppy. Face it, your luck's run out, Lucky." She increased the knife's pressure, and a thin red line formed on his neck.

"Stop!" the Irishman grunted. She ignored him. "Stop," he repeated, his voice becoming resigned. "I said stop!" He paused. "You win."

"You admit you stole the painting?" she demanded.

"Yes," he sighed, defeat creeping into his deep voice. "I'll take you to it. Just ease up, will you?"

Vanessa Vance smiled in satisfaction. The midnight excursion had been pure genius. The art thief was as unprepared and disoriented as she had hoped. Her take of the booty would be a cool two million. "You'll take me to it," she stated.

"Yes, yes" he said impatiently. "But I can't take you if I'm dead, now can I?"

"I guess not," Vanessa admitted and eased a fraction of the pressure. What he didn't know, she thought, was he'd be dead soon enough anyway. She couldn't let him live to seek his revenge. "Get up! Slowly…" she commanded, keeping the knife at close range.

With slow, deliberate movements, the art thief sat up in his bed. With a weary hand, he rubbed the sleep from his tired eyes. And then, like lightning, his hand struck out to imprison her wrist. The knife clattered to the floor, and she gasped in surprise. "You bastard!" she hissed as she reached toward the knife with her free hand.

The art thief chuckled and tightened his grip. "There'll be none of that, Miss Vance," he chided. Her mouth flew open in surprise. "Yes," he continued. "I know everything about you. Let's see…Yale Graduate, rich family, size C cup…" He let his green eyes fall to her breasts.

"You've been working as a mercenary for, let's see, five years now," he continued. "Such a waste. I understand you could've been a model. But no doubt, you thought chasing art thieves would be more exciting." He laughed merrily.

Vanessa forced a smile and let her voice grow husky. "Well, chasing you was exciting."

The Leprechaun returned her smile. "Yes, it was exciting," he said. "I've had my eye on you since London." Her smile faltered briefly as he answered her unspoken question. "Yes, I knew you were following me. But I was pleased. I have a special job for you."

Vanessa's confidence returned. To the bastard wanted to hire her. Perfect. She would play the good employee until she got her hands on that painting. "So you're looking for a mercenary?" she said lightly. "Let's discuss it over a drink."

"It's not the kind of job you're used to," he said, maintaining his vice-like grip on her slender wrist. He looked deep into her eyes and delivered the news with a slow, steady smile. "I need a new pony for my stables, and you're the lucky candidate."

"What…!" she sputtered, confusion flashing in her hazel eyes. "Pony? What do you mean, pony?"

"You'll find out soon enough," he stated and snatched her other wrist. Anger blazed hot in her eyes, and she tried to pull away. But she was no match for the strong Irishman. "Tomorrow, we begin your training," he informed her.

Enraged, Vanessa struggled like a madwoman. But with expert ease, the man they called The Leprechaun held her wrists with one amazingly strong hand and reached into the top drawer of his nightstand. He pulled out a sturdy pair of handcuffs, and with a snap, her wrists were locked in front of her.

She kicked and screamed, and thrashed her body against him, but nothing seemed to shatter his composure. "Tut tut tut," he scolded over her desperate, angry cries. His good humor enraged her, and she sunk her teeth into his shoulder, drawing instant blood, along with The Leprechaun's wrath.

"You'll pay for that," he told her, his voice as cold as ice. She ignored his statement and continued to thrash about, enjoying the salty taste of the Irishman's blood on her lips as he dragged her outside. As he pulled her toward the small stable, she tried to gather her wits about her.

Suddenly, she stopped struggling and willed herself to remain calm. "Okay, okay," she said in a reasonable tone. "I know you're angry. Hell, I would be too. But I don't want any trouble." She let her body rest close to his, as if the embrace were the most natural thing in the world. "Perhaps we can find some way to work this out?"

The Irishman chuckled. "Yes," he mused. "And I've already told you how. I think you'll make a fine mare. You're strong and lean with a lot of spirit - which I'll take great pleasure in breaking."

She refused to take the bait. "Oh come now," she purred, pressing her pelvis into his side and letting her long chestnut hair brush against his shoulder. "I know you can't be serious. Let's discuss this like adults."

"Why?" he demanded, his voice growing harder. "So you can slit my throat in my sleep? I think not."

With increased speed, he propelled them toward the little stable. When they entered the wide double-doors, Vanessa's eyes grew wide with dread. Looking at its implements, she began to fear he was serious. Like bands of iron, his arms encircled her body as she twisted and elbowed, her kicking feet leaving irregular trails in the straw-covered floor.

"Let me go!!!!" she screeched. With calm certainty, The Leprechaun dragged Vanessa into a stall containing one of the many things not found in most stables - a pair of sturdy iron shackles hanging from the ceiling

With practiced ease, he secured the chain connecting her handcuffs into a single shackle. He locked it with a snap, and then, whistling a merry tune, he eased back to admire his new acquisition.

Her arms were raised high above her head, making her heaving breasts strain against the thin fabric of her black tee shirt. The shackles had been placed at the perfect height, he noted. Her toes barely touched the straw-covered floor, and she had to strain to retain her foothold.

Seeing his satisfied stare, her eyes blazed in defiance, and she kicked at him, scattering shards of straw and losing her balance. Suddenly, her entire weight was born by the thin metal of the handcuffs, sending daggers of pain to her suspended wrists. Gasping in confusion, she kicked her feet wildly, found a tenuous foothold, and finally regained her balance.

The Leprechaun thought he caught the faint impression of nipples straining through her tee shirt. He stepped forward to inspect. She kicked again, losing her balance for the second time and struggling to right herself. Quickly, he stepped forward. With fierce, certain motions, he ripped the thin tee shirt from her twisting body, exposing her magnificent breasts to the cool stable air.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" she screamed at him, her naked breasts rising and falling as her breath became ragged. "I've had enough of your twisted games! Let me go right NOW!" He ignored her outburst. With calm determination, he reached toward the fabric of her thin pants and gave a strong, determined tug. The fabric fell away in tatters and lay on the straw. She stood panting her rage, clad only in her silk panties, which soon joined the rest of her clothing in a heap on the stable floor.

Ignoring her better instincts, Vanessa kicked at him again, losing her balance and kicking up wisps of straw as she struggled to right herself. Finally, she wised up and willed herself to remain still.

Her nipples became hard and erect in the cool stable air, and The Leprechaun admired them for a long moment. Her legs were long and graceful, her stomach firm and unmarked. He saw the faint impression of tan lines around her breasts and pelvic region and realized she would acquire new tan lines as his personal ponygirl. No sun gets through those leather harnesses, he thought with a smile. She glared at his secret joke and shivered as a stable breeze caressed her nakedness.

"Yes," he mused out loud. "I think you'll make a fine pony. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll go back to sleep. It was interrupted quite suddenly, you know."

He turned on his heels, and she let out a long, angry wail of defiance and frustration. But the double-doors slammed shut with a thud, and he was gone.

Back in his warm bed, The Leprechaun listened to the piercing screams of his new plaything and smiled. No one would hear her. And if by some chance, anyone did, they would not come. With his ill-gotten gains, he had done much for the country people that called him neighbor.

Soon, he mused, she would be prancing through the village, a bit in her mouth and a smart horsetail adorning her backside. Breaking her would not be easy, he realized, but that would be half the fun.

Tomorrow would be a busy day. First, he decided, rubbing his sore neck and shoulder, he would have to punish his pretty pony for her wicked behavior. Nestling further under the covers, he listened to her angry screams for a few moments before drifting into a pleasant sleep.

He awoke at the crack of dawn anxious to get started. He took a short shower and dressed quickly. He found Vanessa in an unsteady half-sleep hanging by her chains.

"So how'd you sleep?" he asked lightly.

Her eyes flew wide open. "You son of a bitch!" she hissed, instantly awake.

"I can see this is going to take much work," he said. "But fortunately for us, I have all the time in the world." He began gathering implements from the side shelf. "First things first," he said. "I was far too lenient last night. But from today on, I will not tolerate any misbehavior." He held up a long black whip and showed it to her.

"Well behaved ponies do not bite," he said in a strong, steady voice as he stepped closer. He swung the whip hard and fast, striking her thigh. She gasped, and her eyes grew shiny with moisture, but she refused to cry out. This pleased him. Breaking her would be an interesting challenge. The whip had left a bright red mark on her left thigh, but it would fade in time. She would be the pride of his stable.