Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-Four

Common Noctules

The chill woke me as intended. I had pedalled my blanket away shortly after Eleven had retired to her own bunk. That old trick of drinking lots of water before going to sleep doesn’t work with my boy bladder. And I had been way too tired out to not doze off after five minutes of darkness.

Rubbing warmth into my legs, I pushed back the leaden heaviness behind my eyes. I would have to make absolutely sure that I would get a good night’s sleep before moving on to greener pastures. Around me the barrack remained sunken in exhausted silence. No moon tonight. I let myself glide down from my bunk and immediately aimed my senses at the stack of beds further up and across the aisle supposed to carry Eleven and Twelve through the land of Nod. No activities there, especially not from the lower bunk and its overmotivated occupant. Following my modus operandi from two nights ago, I created the rough outlines of my body with blanket and cushion and blind-dressed in the showers before slipping into the night. Continue reading

Sneak Peek: Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-Four

Month’s end has once more snuck up on me and had me faced with the choice of either hastening my writing or postponing the next chapter into the first week of September. Guess what? Right: One cannot rush art. Part LIV will be more plot-oriented again, giving the story arc of Seventeen’s escape plan another boost. Continue reading

Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-Three


That Hipster Beard shared Kendrick’s vision of the Perfect Pony was a safe bet. The vast majority of lashes he dealt to me on our jaunt through the woods I received for poor execution or silly mistakes. At no point he would use more than one stroke to speed me up, let alone whipping me into a frenzy as Kandrin had done on multiple occasions. Long before we reached the halfway point of today’s tour, I was hell-bent to be the bestest pony for my new master. Continue reading

Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-Two


As awe-inspiring as my driver’s tailing technique might be, it left me quite unsurprisingly with my tail sticking out of my bum, marking me as a demi-human at best. In that regard I was the same to H-Beard that I was to Kandrin, only his attitude towards such an entity was hopefully more benevolent. He did, however, believe in a well-split vulva just as everybody else around here. The thin leather belt, though oiled, brought fresh pain. But Kendrick’s delegate had earned so many bonus points during the last five minutes that he could use the electric branding iron on my clit and still win a popularity prize. Continue reading

Alterations for Pony Boot Camp (VIII)

Since I did a little retconning on PBC, we can have some more fun with Roman numerals (because I once adopted them for the chapters to match the Alterations posts’ method of counting and am now stuck with ’em)!


Part XXX

Just for the records, I like castles and stuff. They’ve got something brooding, especially the razed ones. But I don’t wet myself over them like those “Lord of the Ice and Fire” fanboys do.

has a part added:

Just for the records, I like castles and stuff. They’ve got something brooding, especially the razed ones. But I don’t wet myself over them like those “Lord of the Ice and Fire” fanboys do. I know what I’m writing about; Sandrine’s and my next-door neighbours once had hunted us down with foam swords for intercepting their Chinese delivery. Turned out hardcore RPG nerds didn’t take well to having their level 15 Spring Rolls of Doom get nicked. Continue reading

Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-One


Adolf Würth founded his company shortly after the war, recovering from a minor career dent in 1945 just like his prominent Austrian namesake. Originally a screw wholesaler only, the Würth Group had risen to global market leadership in construction fittings over the decades. I had but superficially been aware of its existence, mainly due to the phonetic resemblance to my own surname. Until this morning…

The side cutter, sporting the red and black colour scheme of Würth’s heavy-duty tool line, was lying near the edge of the tack table. Every now and then Arne would pick it up to fumble with the pony boot sole he had committed himself to mend. I had a hard time keeping my enthralled eyes off it, to such an extent that he eventually held it out for me.

“Need to cut something?” Continue reading

Pony Boot-Up

With the next part of Pony Boot Camp being of course delayed, the following short story may serve as a little appetiser which lets us revisit the D.A.C.C.’s more benign sister institution known in the ponyverse as The Orchard.

Pony Boot-Up

The cold touch of steel to her lips sparked a new surge of excitement through Firefly. Revelling in it, she willed her mouth shut to prolong the moment – and to tease her handler. Adam just kept the bit pressed against her lips, knowing that she was playing coy and would surrender to it timely.

“Feeling feisty today?”

Firefly lifted her pony-booted right foot and brought it back down for a snappy solitary hoof sound. An obedient filly, replying to her handler instantly and in appropriate fashion. That the answer itself defied this very action only added to their mutual game. Continue reading

Wardrobe Fail

The following work is an expansion to my 2014 story “Fashion Faux Pas” and was commissioned by fellow author Jon Smithie (“Slavery 101“, “Mina Berkeley’s Voyage“), whose frequent input to its creation is highly appreciated (as is his patience).

Wardrobe Fail

Did that sick lady actually believe she was into this?!

All blood had drained from Lorena’s face, her stomach been deflated into itself. And still the tautness of her nipple chain led the path along the length of the boilers, past gaggles of pervy party-goers who congratulated Ariane on her latest conquest. Even in her distress Lorena noticed the difference in atmosphere back here. The industrial music was still prominent, yet clearly not aimed at this more private section. Patrons in pairs or small groups were obviously advancing on their voyage to debauchery. Silent assistance in it they were sure to find in the bar maids. She was positive there had been none of them in the main area, thus their services were exclusive for those willing to travel deeper into the iron abyss of the Boiler House. Continue reading

Trixes and Tresses, or: Return of the Grammar Nazi

Recently I stumbled upon the rarely used and, in my opinion, charming term aviatrix. As it always is with the twisted paths of language, it got me thinking (results may vary).

Clearly I had encountered a lady pilot, the fairer complement to an aviator. Of course it is well within my knowledge that nouns ending on -tor (when describing an acting male person) find their female pendant by substituting the ending with -trix(1). Terminatrix is a rather modern example, often referring to the “female” robot T-X from Terminator 3 (2003), although being around at least since 1995(2).

Continue reading

Review and Preview 2020/2021

It may be a tad early for my annual R&P, but I like to get it out of the way before everybody else starts their own laments – and laments will come!

There’s no nice way to say it. The clusterfuck of our Lord 2020 had been a low-blow chapter-wise:

  • Only two new parts of Pony Boot Camp (sorry for that!), and Chapter VI of Æquinoctium (not sorry for that!)

Looking at the numbers for complete stories, we find ourselves with: Continue reading