Each command was reinforced with a spine-tingling crack of a long black buggy whip that the Cowgirl carried with her. With this as an incentive, it didn't take long until I was strutting for all I was worth, bending my tight leather leggings as best I could to raise my knees high, gasping for breath in the tight black leather corset, swinging my bare bottom enthusiastically with

every step and thrusting my big breasts up and out as if I weren't just dying of shame!

A few Cowhands and Cowgirls wandered by to take a look at The New Girl... me! Dressed in their faded denims and Tee Shirts, they lounged on a fence rail and studied my movements, making lewd comments about the size of my feminine endowments and the way I put them about until

I felt myself blushing a vivid scarlet!

"the

"That's enough for now, Cowgirl said at last, "Can't have you too long in the Sun on your first day. C'mon, li'l doggie, an' I'll get Jeannie to rub some Lotion all over you.

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I don't know which was worse: Those awful minutes spent parading my femininity out in the sunlight, trotting about like an obedient Pony Girl, or the next half hour of feeling "Jeannie's" leather-mittened hands spreading some kind of dark oil all over my body! It was just awful, having a man's hands on me like that,

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even the hands of a restrained and transvestized male like Jeannie! As his oily mittens stroked across my big breasts and bottom, or worked their way deep between my legs, I felt an all-new surge of shame, knowing that whoever ran this place was using my womanliness to tease and torment another frustrated male!

At last it was over, and under the Cowgirl's direction, I picked my tingling, oily feminine body up off the table and let her fix a collar and leash about my neck, standing there nude as the Cowgirl picked up some bottles and Jeannie eyed me hungrily. Then, I noticed that somehow, in her idle minutes, Jeannie had doodled sketches on the walls of her stall, erotic drawings of men and women together... there was something oddly familiar about the style they were drawn in, something. And then I realized what had become of Bill Gilbert, the other bondage artist who had done pictures of Janna. He was trapped, feminized, and frustrated, allowed to use his talented hands on women he could never touch, with his masculinity locked permanently away!

And as the Cowgirl led me off to the communal shower in the middle of the barn, it began to sink in on me just how devilishly vengeful Janna could be against the men who had betrayed her... and those whom she thought had done so! There was

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