Thoughts About: House of Cthulhu — Seventh Night

Today I began to write a fair copy of the seventh chapter of HoC. Why do I grant this literary event its own post, one may ask. Because ever since I have started this story in late 2011/early 2012, writing on it has been stalled and impeded massively. Sometimes external factor have been responsible, sometimes the considerable length of each section has made the continuous publishing I managed to uphold for Pony Boot Camp impossible. The last chapter was released exactly nine months ago. The material I will be using for the next chapter is about two years old, and I doubt I will be able to finish Seventh Night before the year ends.

HoC isn’t my most popular story, not by a long way, and it was never meant to become that long (or weird). But it is also a narration I worked very hard on, and a narration which shows its evolution to the reader. It was never an option for me to not keep working on it, for I am just too curious about its development myself.

 


Pony Boot Camp — Part Twenty-Four

A Letter

In the afternoon we had toilet duties – for the third time in five days. Kandrin was pissed about it, so to say. What was it to her? She wasn’t the one to wield the bog brush. I deprive the gentle reader of a detailed description of the cleaning activities. They weren’t nearly as eventful as they were ignominious.

Wiping down mirrors in one of the barracks, I could not but pity my own reflection. Ugly haematomata claimed the corners of my mouth and the adjacent tissue of my cheeks. My face still showed angry traces of bridle and blinkers. And if I were to bare my breasts, my nipples could be seen sore and discoloured. They were throbbing in memory of the fierce and prolonged clamping. For the first hour after the bells’ removal I had been positively sure that nerves had been permanently damaged. Continue reading


Pony Boot Camp — Part Twenty-Three

Jinba Ittai

First thing after the big morning fall-in was corral training. For reasons nobody had bothered revealing to us we were to be fitted with full tack right from the start – which paved the way for another gratuitous dressing scene. As Kendrick pulled my crotch strap tight, I went on the tips of my toes – or, given that I was already standing en pointe, on the tips of my hooves. From another corner of the tack room our resident pervert glanced over whilst continuing the tedious task of lacing up Eleven’s monoglove. Creepy Chap might hold strange beliefs when it came to romantic interactions, but he knew a randy pony if he saw one. Continue reading


Sneak Peek: Pony Boot Camp — Part Twenty-Three

Since chapter twenty-three won’t be finished before mid-June, I once again decided to use the dirty little trick of posting a sneak peek – only to find johnny’s comment (dated 9th of June under “Part Twenty-Two”). The gist of his polite and honest words is that the posting of new chapters is too infrequent to follow the story without rereading older parts. Continue reading


Pony Boot Camp — Part Twenty-Two

Vanilla Dreams

Sleep did not come easily for me. Staring at the dark ceiling I tried to blank my mind, but only opened it to the day’s grisly events. I tried to occupy it with pleasant thoughts; funny moments with my flatmate, my favourite music, the smell of a new car. Ere I knew it my silly subconscious had made sinister associations with the Maserati I’d borrowed and the odour of freshly worn leather tack. Eighty-six more days of this, and I would be in need of some serious therapy – if I would be able to lie on a couch, that was. Continue reading


Pony Boot Camp — Part Twenty-One

Trial by Fire

There was no brazier with glowing coals. I made that up for dramatic effects, to grab the dear reader’s attention. Yet there’s no reason to feel cheated, for the branding iron was very present nonetheless. About half a metre long, with a heating coil near its business end, it waited for us on a small table next to the sawhorse – and it had brought its twin as well. Continue reading


Endurance

Endurance

Foresightful as I was, I had a small towel at hand as I removed Patrizia’s gag. It was a standard three inch ball gag. Defined by me as standard, that was, because I knew how Triz loathed huge gags. How they put unbearable strain to her jaw muscles. For ball gags – or ring gags not sitting too deep – three inches was the absolute limit she and her talented mouth could take.

Her chin and chest were already glistening with drool, but from experience I knew that a considerably higher amount had gathered behind the semi-sealing gag. My assumption was proven true as I worked the overly large ball out of her mouth and a gush of saliva followed. Hence the towel. Continue reading


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