[squidley]

The pony was a killing machine, the land around it an execution ground. Death came in two flavors, slow and slower. The condemned fuck pigs were often sentenced to ride the pony to hell and it was a long painful ride to the relief of death and the mercy of oblivion.

The pony was often likened to the cross on Golgotha, but the rider wasn’t nailed to her perch like the Nazarene was. Instead her wrists were bound behind her back with iron manacles and an old tractor which could be heard starting its engine somewhere back at the farm buildings would use the hydraulically powered front end loader attached to it and a short piece of cable to lift the bound slut by her wrists into the air and onto the wooden form of the pony. Raised into the air, the doomed cunt’s arms would be forced up and back in the process, the classic strapedo. Most often she would struggle painfully as her arms were forced to bear her weight in that unnatural position, sometimes dislocating her shoulders or even breaking one of her arms in the process. Her first agony filled screams would be warmly greeted by the small but appreciative audience there to see her die, yet most would lose interest in the spectacle long before her heart pumped is last in her chest.

Yet more pain awaited the doomed sow, the center of the saddle of the pony was worn smooth by the rubbing of the thighs of all the condemned women who had ridden there. It was no longer the rough bark of the old tree trunk the pony had been fashioned from. But it was transfixed by a thick tapering wooden shaft that was attached to long reach metal jack. The jack provides a method for the wood shaft protruding up through the saddle of the wooden pony to be adjusted to stick up from just a few inches to several feet. That wooden shaft tapers from its once sharp tip to its base which is as thick as strong man’s arm, is guided between the legs of the descending woman an introduced into her ass or pussy. Heavy sandbags, often more than the weight of the suspended slut, would be attached to her ankles by thick leather straps. The loader would slowly lower the captive woman down onto the phallus shaped wooden shaft and depending on how the dull wooden spike was adjusted, it would enter her cunt or rectum, fill it, and then push through into her soft unprotected guts above the violated hole, yet very slowly, as only gravity, her own weight and the added weight of the sandbags would force the spike into her tender flesh.

Oddly, while the wooden shaft perforating her guts might seal the tortured fuck pig’s fate, it would not be immediately fatal. The shaft and the sow’s own weight would plug the wound and while there was always some leakage, death from blood loss did not come soon and so long as the heart, lungs, and diaphragm were intact, death could take days before visiting.

Instead, death often came from exposure to the elements. Today it would be aided by the hot remorseless sun, still low in the sky. Later in the day, it would be higher, brighter, and hotter and the naked woman would ride the pony under its full glare on a hot and humid day. Other days it was the cold winter with its frosty snows and yet other days the driving rain that added to the condemned’s misery.

Death also came from exhaustion. In the agony of the shaft piercing her ass or pussy, the fuck slave would do her best to relieve the pressure of the shaft pushing into her guts. Using her feet, her toes, and finally as she settled down onto the spike, her knees and thighs, the cunt would push against the horizontal length of the old tree trunk of the pony in an endeavor to lift herself off the vertical shaft, even if just for a moment, to relieve the pain. In time, her muscles would tire and she would be unable to bear her weight and the additional weight of the sandbags and she would sink onto the long hard phallus penetrating her. In practice the rising and falling motion made it appear she was riding the contraption like a horse or pony and hence the name. But the up and down action also drove the wooden shaft deeper into her belly each time she could no longer bear the strain.

If she lasted, in time the wooden shaft would be fully embedded in her belly and a final treat awaited her tender crotch. At the base of the vertical shaft a circle of metal spikes had been driven, the heads of the heavy spikes were cut off and the remaining ends had been filed sharp. This crown of spikes awaited the labia or ass cheeks of Tamika now, yet the meat and bone of countless women ending their days had dulled the spikes from their original sharpness. Now they were more just insult than injury awaiting her.

Yet not everyone sentenced to the wooden contraption died from the wooden shaft piecing their bowels and the slow agonies of fever and delirium brought on by an infected pus filled belly. Often the wooded cunt or ass shaft was set no more than a hand span high, merely causing discomfort while pinning the human cow to the wooden saddle. Death, if it came, was from simple exposure as it was forbidden to provide the woman sentenced there with any food, water, or shelter from the elements. Tamika was one of those lucky few and the wooden phallus was set to protrude no more than a foot or so through the base of the saddle.

Tamika screamed of course as she was lifted and guided to her place on the pony. I spread her pussy lips to except the wooden lover, and she was slowly lowered, her legs astride the horizontal wooden pole, the stained wood slipping roughly into her dry fuck hole. The sandbags were attached to her ankles and slow the 12 inches or so of the fuck rod slid into her belly until her pussy lips rested on the crown of old nails.

A short ladder was produced and as the bucket of the front end loader descended, her manacled arms were lowered and finally the chains binding her were secured to a metal ring set into the thick wood behind her of the old tree trunk. A tooth marked and pocked hard rubber ball was fitted to her mouth and secured with a leather strap to stifle her cries.

The ladder was removed and the sentenced proclaimed; “Three days.” It was just short enough that she might survive if nature was kind to her, yet her unborn fetus would probably not, which would be unfortunate.

Slowly the crowd departed as the fun was nearly over. The female medic remained for a while, lying naked on her own now lowered wheeled stretcher, her mouth, pussy, and as provided good service for some of the men in the gathering. By the time she left the little killing field her body was slick with sweat and cum. Pushing the gurney back towards the farm buildings, padding on bare feet, spunk could be seen dribbling down her legs from her swollen cunt and abuse asshole.

Back on the hill overlooking the pony another crowd slowly broke up. They had come running when they first heard the putt-putt of the old tractor, alerted like Pavlov’s dogs. There had been squeals of delight and grunts of pleasure as they crowded the fence of their enclosure to catch a glimpse of what was going on down the hill at the blood stained grounds. Bleary porcine eyes had strained to see all they could and their little feet had climbed and clawed the fence for purchase, trying to find a better view of the proceedings.

It was hard for them not to show their disappointment as the bucket of the tractor returned up the hill empty. There had been hope of ripe meat, well aged in the hot sun, that would split easily under their sharp tusks, the crunch of bone and the soft marrow inside, and the savory taste of sweetmeats to be found inside the bellies of the fuck sluts who rode the pony to their last days to be enjoyed. Some of the worthless female scum pulled from the pony by the old farm machine might even have some life left in them and the denizens of the enclosure would get to play with their dying meals for a short while before the taste of fresh blood filled their mouths. But not today.

Instead, there were squeals of protest and disappointment as the old tractor drove by the hungry and blood thirsty hogs as they lined up before the trough of their sty, ever hopeful for a fresh meal. No, they wouldn’t taste Tamika’s sun kissed flesh, blood, and bone this day. No, at least not today.