My next day on the farm was very much like my initiation the day before, although by then, the newness and excitement had worn off while the isolation made me increasingly uneasy. I was treated like a pony in every way possible. I even used the tiny can to do my morning business—with some struggle. Like the other female ponies, I was worked hard in sessions both morning and afternoon. It might have been a way to live for some submissive women, but I was not cut out for this kind of physical activity and was soundly punished by that vile riding crop for every misstep. By evening, I was again exhausted, and so near rebelling from this awful treatment that when I was led into the ring for another special session, I almost didn’t see Jackson leaning against the fence looking at me, his slave.
