The fifth instalment of “How not to write a story”…
It was a bitter mockery that pony training was scheduled as our first activity.
is changed into:
It was a bitter mockery that pony training had been rescheduled to be our first activity. Continue reading
Welcome to the Stud
Ten regained some degree of consciousness as she was unhooked from the whipping post, and I pitied her for that. The lashed girl was shaking violently, shivering as if exposed to freezing cold – although she seemed to burn up at the same time. The guards dragged her naked form down the platform and away, leaving the whip and the Ten’s clothing behind. The lady doc followed without too much of a haste.
If Warden Navier addressed some final words of righteous anger to us, I did not process them. I couldn’t clear my mind from the images of the blood whipping I had just witnessed. This quality of cruelty, this wilful physical and mental destruction of a human being would never fail to make me sick to my stomach. Continue reading
Darkness and disorientation awaited her as Denise woke up. Only slowly, in the rate her dizziness faded away, she was able to make sense of her surrounding and situation. Her body felt weak and chilly, and her back throbbed from lying on some hard surface. Her loss of consciousness hadn’t been caused by the stun gun. That deceiving bastard must have drugged her up once she had been incapacitated!
Denise tried to rise from her recumbent position, only to find her arms and legs trapped. At wrists and ankles as well as above elbows and knees she was bound with broad leather belts. Oh, and she was down to her slip and bra.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…!” Continue reading
Again it is time for our popular series “things Venom, that dork, has botched up because he hasn’t got the first idea of what he is scribbling down”.
I didn’t recognise the steep glade, but deduced that I was south-west of the camp, yet still east of the river.
is changed into:
I didn’t recognise the steep glen, but deduced that I was south-west of the camp, yet still east of the river.
I changed this quite shortly after uploading the chapter, so most of you have read the altered version. “Glade” had indeed been the word of choice originally, but “glen” created the better picture, so I decided to swap the terms. I simply forgot it till after the publishing, though. Continue reading
… Goes Unpunished
“Since today all of you are in their third week here,” Kandrin stated correctly during the little fall-in the next morning. From Eleven up to me, it was day 15. The others of my group have had a one day head start.
“As stressed various times in the past, bearing is crucial for a ponygirl. Every move and every pose are to be inherently sublime. After two weeks a certain grip on basic techniques as well as personal engagement to constantly better yourselves is expected. Therefore poor executions will not be tolerated anymore.”
Our group leader chose not to enlighten us when such things had ever been tolerated. Continue reading
it is with a heavy heart that I announce yesterday’s Part Thirty-Six to be the last chapter of Pony Boot Camp. This wasn’t an easy decision to make, but I came to understand that it was the right one. For some time now those in the know have been aware that ponygirls are an endangered species, and lately several large Internet platforms – including WordPress – have drawn the consequences from this sad fact. In accordance with a code of ethics enunciated by the animal rights organisation PETA (http://www.peta.org/coe/savethepony) all portrayals of abuse and mistreatment of ponygirls are to be removed from the participating sites. Of course I will follow this appeal, and furthermore will refrain from creating and providing any controversial material. I am sure you, the readers, will support this important mission.
Take care, and Power to the Ponies!
No Good Deed…
Waking up was cruel. I had received just enough sleep for my maltreated body to be teased into false repose. A drop of water whilst I was parched. Easing myself out of my bunk woke up all my pains as well. Some dull and throbbing as they were gnawing at my muscles, others playing with razor blades in my still fresh wounds.
The two and a half or so hours of sleep turned out to be a torment in disguise. Better to spare oneself the agony of awakening. One has to suffer through a day of woe anyway. In my more battle-hardened days I would party into my birthday, celebrate through my birthday, and let my birthday end with some serious clubbing. Of course this would involve ridiculous amounts of high-octane alcohol as fuel – something not easy to come by here. Not that I was able to tell whether today was my birthday. In my current state I was lucky to guess the right year. Continue reading