Letter from a Penitent Ponyboy

Thanks to Qjo Jotaro for the lovely drawing that inspired the following story… which is dedicated to every woman waiting for her man to realize her actual worth. Enjoy!

Looking back to my previous life, well… it wasn’t bad at all.

I used to be an executive. My smartphone could barely last one entire day before needing a battery charge. I was successful, busy, constantly on the edge. And terribly lonely: somehow I had closed the world outside… including my beautiful wife. Oh God, I miss her so much!

Then one day, a weird message hit my mailbox. A secret society invited me to join a meeting in Malaysia, where my most intimate sexual desires would be fulfilled. That message wasn’t the usual spam. My own fantasies were described so accurately that I wouldn’t have been able to do better.

I’m submissive since I was a pimply kid. Every woman I dated has enjoyed long and marvelous sessions of oral adoration, which were just a test to discover their own nature. Yes, I enjoy giving pleasure much more than receiving it. Don’t misunderstand what I’m going to say, but I believe I married Alice because she’s the most naturally dominant woman I’ve ever met.

That e-mail message really struck me. Suddenly, every activity was boring, nothing of my real life appeared special compared to the perspective of a total submission to demanding Goddesses.

That was already a difficult time in my life indeed. I was sick of everything and everyone. Even the relationship with my wife had turned dull. Of course I had really little time for her… but I earned a very good salary, allowing her to indulge in a wealthy life… yet she couldn’t satisfy my wishes: it seemed she purposely ordered me to perform the things I dislike the most, when using me as her slave-toy. “What damned kind of slave are you?” she asked me once. “I’m in charge, you don’t have any right to criticize my orders. You’re supposed to want just what I desire!”

Oh, she was so damn right! And I was such a dumb asshole!! At that time, I thought she was just planning to displease me and earn a good divorce… I was a jerk, a paranoid selfish jerk.

Today I know much more about slavery. The secret society I joined didn’t give me any choice. Once I entered their territory in the Malaysian Borneo, they turned me into the most neglected kind of animal. It was about eight months ago…

Women rule the small village I live in. They’re considered like Goddesses by every neighbours, who don’t actively follow the same femdom lifestyle but still provide them with every goods they need. Can we call it a feudal system? Anyway, the village is called Olympus. About 30 superior ladies live here, pampered and served in every way by an army of 200 slaves. Half the slaves are submissive women, who enjoy a lifestyle similar to that of ancient ancillas. About one hundred male slaves are continuously abused and tortured by both Goddesses and ancillas.

One week ago, I really thought I couldn’t bear any more.

I was on my hands and knees, carrying the beautiful and nasty Clarissa (see the drawing above). She’s the youngest daughter of the Goddess I’ve been assigned to. Clarissa usually rides me on the shoulders and tortures my abdomen with her sharp spurs. God knows why, today she wanted to try the especially comfortable saddle designed for her fat Mum. Yes, of course Clarissa is far lighter… but she didn’t let me wear neither knee-pads nor padded gloves!

Soon my knees started bleeding on the ground, as well as my flanks under the strokes of her stick. She even kept demanding a faster pace!

Meanwhile she must have felt so comfortable… She was cross-legged: I could gather that from the feeling of her left boot-sole upon my naked back, while her right leg gleefully swung and made her sharp spur ring threateningly.

You know what? I really thought I was going to collapse and drop her, which is often punished with death. Yes, I felt close to the end. Yet I was so excited, so proud of being useful to this merciless young lady, so glad that my exhausted body could work and serve beneath her. Yes… I think I’ve finally realized what true submission means.

Every time I think the end is coming, I can somehow find the strength to endure. I made it. Perhaps it was also the way those plebeians stared at her as she rode me, so adoringly… anyway I understood even more deeply how lucky I was as Clarissa’s means of transportation… so I summoned up some last energies… and I was able to enter the steep track and carry her up to the Olympus…

I think the girl’s purpose was to put me on probation: that ride happened after a long period of me being treated even worse than usual, including being lent as public transport pony and plow puller. And after that ride, instead, I was properly fed and taken care of.

Clarissa has chosen me for a very special race. I’ve got a confirmation today, after the seventh straight day of merciless training beneath her, because I heard her chatting with a friend while riding me. I’m proud she wanted me. I know I’m a strong and willing slave, but I thought she would prefer a younger guy. On the contrary, she seems to enjoy riding a human horse who is nearly double her age: I’m 35, while she must be between 18 and 20.

I also found out why she’s carrying on using that weird saddle, very comfortable but far from ideal for controlling me properly during a race.

Well, I should be mad about it, but who am I? Her life is far more important than mine!! Here’s the explanation: the saddle, actually more similar to a small couch, turns into a protective bubble for the rider in case of accident… like a very special airbag… This is particularly important given the race rules: slaves are ridden blindfolded, along the steep and tiny track to the Olympus. The final two miles run beside a precipice!

Clarissa must weigh about 120 lbs. When she gets on me, I only feel pleasure… pride for being the only thing between her superior body and the dirty ground… pride for making her life pleasant through the relentless effort of my strong muscles. Nonetheless, after hours of being ridden and dozens of harsh strikes with her whip, I can’t describe the pain I go through. Those are the moments that really put me to the test, and that surely turned me into a better slave.

Perhaps this letter I’m writing, during a silent night at the stables, is becoming more and more incoherent. The point is that I’m going to be ridden in that race tomorrow… and I found out that half the ponyboys usually die during it…

Yes, I’m scared to death.

I’m not afraid to die for the fun of a superior woman. And Clarissa has been so kind with me this evening! She came to the stable, talked to me for the first time ever… with encouraging words for tomorrow… then even caressed my hair as she peed her marvelous nectar into my mouth (of course I didn’t miss a drop)…

I’m just afraid not to see Alice anymore. Now I would be the husband and slave she deserves.

The letter ends here. Jake never took part to that race: his owner and wife, who had been monitoring his improvements after arranging his invite to join the Olympus, asked him to be sent back to the US.

Today Jake is back to work at a tech company, but recognizes the value of a proper work-life balance.

Every minute of his free time is lived as Alice’s slave. Unconditionally. He’s also submissive to his own former secretary, a pretty girl who has become Alice’s full time slave during his “vacation” in Malaysia.

Sometimes happiness and fulfillment are so handy. You just need to realize how lucky you are, fellow slave!

THE END