Pony Boot Camp — Stand-Alone Stable

The following short story is based on my longer narration Pony Boot Camp and is written specifically for cpony.com. I had originally planned it as a medley of several existing chapters, but found them too entangled to be shortened. So the content in this story is all-new. It is also not entirely in sync with the main narration chronologically and canon-wise, but would have its place roughly around chapter 30.

Having read the source work isn’t necessary to enjoy Stand-Alone Stable. Seventeen, who is called Pony 17 here, is sentenced to 90 days in a special boot camp, where her group leader Kandrin shows her the darker sides of pony play.

Like the narration, the short story is meant for owners who like to be a tad mean to their ponygirls now and then.

 

Pony Boot Camp – Stand-Alone Stable

 

I gave a wince of pain as Miss Kandrin pulled my reins tight across the overhead bar just outside the tack room. Secured like this, I couldn’t even back off or lower my head without causing myself further pain. And if there was one thing bestowed upon me plenty, it was pain. So I stood straight and proud, rocking slightly in my pony boots which literally kept me on my toes.

“Don’t feel sorry for yourself, Pony 17. I told you what would happen if you show that attitude again.” Continue reading


Pony Boot Camp — Part Thirty-One

Better Feared than Loved

Sleeping with somebody is considered to be the most intimate act to perform. Torturing them comes in a close second. In the light of this Miss Cuntling and I were one step away from being fuck mates.

Kendrick might have been technically right about the abuse my fellow fillies and I were subjected to not being torture in that it wasn’t meant to extract confessions or information. He had applied a rather narrow definition, though. The purpose of interrogative torture may differ from the one of punitive torture; the underlying methodology stays the same. Pain may be inflicted for the sake of pain, but in the long run it is a means to an even more diabolical end. Continue reading


Alterations for Pony Boot Camp (II)

Since Venom, the lazy sod, still hasn’t finished the next part of Pony Boot Camp, here are some minor corrections and changes of the narration so far. As before, the storyline itself is not affected.

~

Part III:

Inside, it offered a single big room; bunk beds, chests, showers in a separated area at the far end. Full Metal Jacket, anyone?

has a line added:

Inside, it offered a single big room; bunk beds, chests, showers in a separated area at the far end. One table with chairs. Full Metal Jacket, anyone? Continue reading


Pony Boot Camp — Part Thirty

Serendipity

I didn’t sleep well. My sexy new piercings made my flesh throb constantly, and the blanket hurt whenever it rubbed across them. Half the night I lay awake, listening to the tossing and groaning from the other bunks. The morning wasn’t noticeably better, giving the crying fit I had upon seeing my septum-ringed face in the mirror. It didn’t instil much hope for the rest of the day, especially with pony training lurking at 09:30.

“Ah, there you are,” Kendrick greeted me as though we had arranged to meet for lunch. He pulled me out of my group as soon as I had taken my clothes off in the tack room. Then the lead handler also grabbed Ten and Fifteen for good measure. Continue reading


Pony Boot Camp — Part Twenty-Nine

Boys Will Be Boys

For the rest of the morning I was given a special task. I hated special tasks. With toilet duties or laundry one knew what they were in for. But special tasks could be anything. Bloody recipe for disaster.

I was hoping to be sent to the tack room again, even if that meant to be intellectually violated by Slacker Boy. But Her Cuntlingness walked me towards the oil-tight area where the four-by-fours were parked. Vehicle maintenance, then. Which normally was a group duty, given the number of cars. The Oners had washed the whole fleet last week, so I assumed (correctly) I was expected to tend to only a single car. Boring, menial, but not too bad. Until I saw what I was up against.

“Some of the boys have had a little bit of fun.” Continue reading


Trophy Wife

Trophy Wife

Looking pretty in case her husband brought home his new business partners.

Mercédès’ schedule for today could be summarised by this. Being a beacon of beauty whilst striding otherwise pointlessly through the contemporary residence, or, like now, biding in the technocraticly styled conservatory. After all, her husband was known to be a connoisseur of decorative objects, a collector of everything pleasant to behold.

And wasn’t it her sacred duty as a wife to fulfil his standards? Continue reading


HardSkill — Gore Days (revised)

Gore Days is a little fan service, set between the first and the upcoming second part of the HardSkill trilogy. Like the uncompromising, ultra-violent main narrations, this story can be descriped as gore porn and is affiliated to the Japanese “guro” genre (the phoenetic resemblence between the two terms is incidential). I also took some places and elements from #Fear the Future, an older story not yet published (nor finished, for that matter).

Enjoy, but keep in mind that the HardSkill series is not for the faint of heart.

In December 2015

 

This is version 1.2 of HardSkill – Gore Days. I never felt quite content with the story’s original ending. There was something odd about it, partly because Lilith’s behaviour struck me as out-of-character. So I set forth to edit it – and became somewhat carried away. Where the original version had about 5,500 words, this one sports as near as makes no difference 7,200. To provide some orientation, I jotted down a mini FAQ:

Is this an extended version? – No, from the assembly hall scene on it is pretty much a complete rewrite.

I haven’t read the original version. Which one shall I read first/solely? – This one.

I have read the original version. Is it worth to read this one, too? – Definitely.

In February 2016

 

HardSkill – Gore Days

 

ATROTEC INDUSTRIAL ESTATE

A mess had to be cleaned up. Sometimes the organised crime became a bit too organised, and its actions appeared on the radar screens of those in the High Towers. Mega-incorporations were commonly not interested in drug trafficking, forced prostitution or protection racket, but didn’t take too well to acts of cyber-crime against their data cores.

The hacker with the irritating hair colour called herself Edgeplay, and – quite frankly – wasn’t as much fun as her name suggested.

“I didn’t get in! I didn’t get any data!” she babbled hysterically. Continue reading


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