Into the light

Keeping close to the wall Liz crept towards the sunlight. The cold rock under her feet gaveway to warm sand. Her eyes wasted several second adjusting to the unadulterated daylight, but as they did, a chill ran down her spine, headless to the warm rays. The subtle murmur of private conversations became a roaring cheer. Before the pirate could rethink her strategy, a door shut loudly behind her.

"Well," boomed the bodiless voice that had read The Mistress's note earlier, "I was told we might get an addition to our usual pre-game pony show. And I think she's it. May I present one of our latest arrivals, the Welsh-Irish wild-ride that fucked her way to being a pirate captain, the boat-rocking raider and wet plunder taker! Eeeelizabeth... Finley!" Liz made a note to learn if that slandering voice had teeth to knock out; she had done some below-decks-nodding in trade for many a thing, but her captaincy had been earned through proper portions of sweat and good sense.

For the moment though, she had more gripping concerns. That is to say, she was more concerned about finding a way to grip her private bits so the uncountable silhouettes surrounding her saw as little as possible. She was in the middle of a theater of some sort. She was yet to be totally adjusted to the daylight but could make out the stands packed with spectators to her nakedness easily enough. Liz's first reaction was to clasp her nearly-bared merry-cove with both hands. This pressed her modest bust together in a way that made a sea strangers hoot at her. The blushing pirate placed one hand on a teat, trying to cover the other with her arm. It did nothing to stop the whistling and sultry summons. Liz was still fully aware she stood in a parody of a proper outfit, but it was something. She squirmed making her ass jiggle but that infernal nipple kept peaking out from behind her arm.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and other malcontents... allow me to guide your eyes to the sand..." the voice continued like he was mastering some kind of ceremony.

Near able to make out details, Liz squinted against the blazing sun, and saw a plane of sand stretching before her and encircled by a stone wall. Beyond that there were the crowded benches; a century of people in the first row alone. All eyes stared at her. Swiveling her head, Liz thought it almost looked like... No, Liz thought it couldn't be.

"And let the presentation begin." Yes, she was indeed in a gladiatorial pit not unlike the Roman Colosseum.

With a monstrous, grinding noise, a door in the stone wall opposite the nervous captain slid open. Hooves could be heard against stone, then sand. Liz gritted against the glare, hoping to see the hell-spawn she'd been pressed to fight. The mire of light eventually relented the outline of her.

As Juno would enter the Colosseum of Ancient Rome, so too did The Mistress enter this one. Her tall elegance dwarfed the simple chariot she stood in. She cracked her whip and the creature pulling the small frame started a journey around the perimeter of the sand so The Mistress could sate the cheering masses with waves.

Whatever pulled her was human shaped yet had skin colored a deep purple, its smooth surface marred with harsh reflections of the daylight. Were she human, she would be female, as indicated by two purple orbs bouncing from her bosom like coconuts on an explorer's pack. Her legs were shapely as any woman's, but for toes, her feet were tipped with hooves like a pony's. She clopped proudly around the arena raising each knee high with every step. Tails of hair (not unlike those of a pony) extended from the back of her head and her arse.

The beast of burden's arms were not like a human. Though her shoulders protruded from her torso ready to dangle arms for many a task--such as containing her jiggling dairy--they sprouted a kind of purple mono-arm extending behind her back to connect with the chariot. To further connect her to the trailing frame, she wore a harness. The fine web of leather work framed her buoyant bust while offering no support and joined with a secure collar. 'Twas a tall collar that looked like a black corset around her neck. Above the stiff neckwear, she had a bridle complete with bit gag and horse blinders. Upon further scrutiny Liz saw human eyelids and the pink skin of a white woman around her lips. Could this poor devil be imprisoned by a second skin? If so, the purple layer would be tyrannically restrictive, with how tightly it pulled her arms back and the hooves that made her walk on her toes.

The unknown chariot puller kept Liz perplexed and intrigued until the Mistress had completed her circle. On the sound of another whip crack, the purple pony marched toward the bewildered pirate. "I was hoping you'd run into me," The Mistress stated. "But the chase isn't over. You still have to flee." Still in her chariot, the terrifying beauty cracked her whip. The purple creature flinched but didn't start; this command was for Liz.

Spurred on, Liz unfurled her sails and began an expedition to whatever place The Mistress wasn't. Her feet took her to the wall and instinctively she made an attempt to jump it but came up far short of the stone lip. As the purple beast pulled The Mistress closer, the cornered nature of Liz's position became apparent. The panicked pirate fled, managing to scamper past The Mistress's chariot but not unscathed. A quick lash struck Liz's exposed behind.

The two-legged pony pranced at a speed slower than the fleeing pirate. Allowing our heroine to get some distance. Several yards from her pursuer, Liz stopped, catching breath and striking a confident combative pose to dodge the next engagement. The crowd cheered. And why not? Liz thought she felt damn dangerous legs spread and fists up, even the Mistress had been given pause. The onlookers were still hooting, and even whistling.

Then the bold pirate remembered her near nudity. Her bare legs were spread, with not more'an a finger of leather to hide her pink petals. Laughter blasted from the audience all 'round as once again desperately Liz clamped hands over her nearly-bare down-there. Her nude breasts remained presented for a moment more. Mortified, Liz remembered them as well and a hand shot back up to conceal her maiden melons. Or attempt to conceal rather. The nude teats were difficult for poor, flustered Liz to cover.

Felling an inch tall, Liz looked up at the swarm of faces. She stepped backwards cautiously until her eyes settled back on her tormentor standing high in her chariot, and advancing, whip in hand.