This was an undeniably beautiful spot, I had to admit that much. Located right at the foot of the mountain plateau, the glade was basically a cul-de-sac, with the trail being the only way in and out – at least if one was yoked to a sulky. Miss Cuntling had reined me to a relatively gentle stop near the natural pool where the water collected after its non-stop decent. A fine mist filled and cleansed the air and created ethereal rainbow effects. Even in my exhausted condition I gazed at the impressive display before me, the churning and roaring flow crashing down into the pool. Not that the Deepfall sported an extensive amount of water. The height of the drop was what gave it its might. The fall’s brink, surrounded by huge spruces dramatically clinging to the ground, lay 200 metres above us.
“We’ll take a little rest here, not that you have earned one.”
I felt my driver get off the cart, and a moment later she stepped into my field of view. When fixating any person or object nearby, the straps running left and right of my nose became more irritating than ever as they inevitably drew my eyes towards them. Somewhere on the tour Kandrin had donned a pair of those modern oversized sunglasses, and I could see myself squinting in the reflexion. Standing uncomfortably close, she freed me from the sulky and shoved the lightweight construction away. To my utter relief the curb bit was next. She loosened the chin chain, detached the horrible steel device and clipped the reins to the bridle itself. Long, humiliating strands of saliva hung from my chin, yet there wasn’t much I could do about this unladylike detail. I had but a very limited command over my tongue and lips, and they kept throbbing with the memory of recent torments. Dragging me with her, Kandrin strolled towards the water and hunched down to clean the bit.
The pool was quite deep, eroded to the bedrock at the deeper parts, and thus the water calmed down quickly once out of the chaotic zone beneath the fall. Further downstream a tiny island emerged, more a patch of soil not overflown. Yet it provided enough space for a couple of small birches to grow. Again I noticed how untouched the scenery appeared. Although the track Kandrin had whipped me along was at least three kilometres long, the camp wasn’t more than 500 metres away as the crow flies. If not for the metallic taste in my mouth it would be hard to believe what sick stuff was going down only half a kilometre to the east of this stunning place.
The other ponies were nowhere to be seen, an indicator for how hard Kandrin had driven me. But having my well-being in mind like the responsible group leader she was, she displayed eagerness to keep me hydrated.
“Drink, Seventeen,” she prompted, tugging at my reins from below for emphasis.
I just stood there in confusion whilst Kandrin meticulously dried the mouth bit on her shirt and stowed it in her breast pocket. At no time she appeared to be concerned about me trying to kick her or run away. Eventually she rose and gave me an amused look.
“What seems to be the problem? Don’t you know how horses drink?”
How horses drank? Like me during lunch, I reckoned. They put their mouths in the water. Their snouts, muzzles, whatev―
Oh. Now I got it. I stomped once, weakly. Due to my hoof boots’ rigidity I wasn’t capable of hunching down like Miss Cuntling had done. I would fall backwards on my sheathed arms. The only way I saw to come closer to the water was letting myself slump to my knees and lean forwards. The ground near the pool was stony, with only a thin layer of moss, and the impact made my knee caps vibrate. I ignored these latest bruises as best as I could and tilted my torso towards the water. However, the bondage tack screwed my attempts to preserve some last pieces of dignity yet again. My stupid harness became tighter in the most unlikely spots, the waspie cut into my rib cage, and no matter how I wiggled and contorted myself, I wasn’t able to lean forwards in a bearable way.
As Miss Cuntling’s patience wore thin, she just put her boot against the base of my pony plug and gave me a lusty shove. With my arms rendered useless, I landed square on my chest. A violent shock raced through my breasts, and my rectum felt as if a banger had gone off in it. To top it off, my face splashed into the pool, and I inhaled a healthy dose of cool refreshing mountain water.
“Oh, fuck!” I lamented, retching and coughing when I brought my head up again. Immediately she put her foot on the back of my head and pushed me back underwater, pressing my face into the pebbles at the ground. She held me there for only a few seconds, yet enough to make me panic. As I was finally able to roll around and breathe she straddled me.
“You are not to talk when under bridle. You do not articulate yourself in any human language. How can I possibly make this any clearer to you? Now drink!”
Naturally I wasn’t too eager bringing my face close to the water again and giving her the chance to apply more of her junta methods. But I was thirsty beyond words, and if the bitch drowned me she had to drag the cart back by herself. So, after retching and coughing anew, I took a first careful sip.
“Wasn’t so difficult after all,” Kandrin mocked.
I begged to differ. Actually, drinking whilst lying prostrate on the hard, wet stones with a good amount of weight resting on my smarting boobs was quite difficult. I could only slurp half a mouthful at once, and swallowing was strenuous thanks to my position and the pressure on my chest. Despite these impediments I would have drunk the pool empty, if not for Miss Cuntling’s intervention.
“That’s enough, don’t fill yourself up. There’s still the way back.”
My driver was right on that one, I had to give her that. Meeting physical exertion with a bellyful of cold water wasn’t prudent. Yet her logic was flawed insofar as I didn’t want to meet any physical exertion on the way back in the first place. I already suspected not to have a say in that matter, though.
Standing up without the help of my arms turned out to be at least as difficult as lying down. To support me, Kandrin fetched her whip from the sulky. Just in time I struggled into a kneeling position, which was especially enjoyable on the stony ground. Bringing one knee up and the respective hoof underneath me, I was eventually able to rise in the most awkward manner. Immediately I assumed a wobbling “stay” pose, moss and dirt sticking to my sweaty skin, water still dropping off my face – a picture of equine elegance.
Kandrin led me into the shade of a beech and flipped my reins around a low-hanging branch.
“Don’t wander off.”
How far would I come?
She weighted her whip in one hand, as if pondering something. Then, all of a sudden, she gave me a fiery lash across the front of both thighs. I squealed, spun halfway around on one hoof and brought my other leg up, both in hurt and defence.
“That was for talking.”
Until now I’d stood under the impression that ramming my head face-first into the ground of the pool had been for talking, but I had wised up enough to not discuss this point with her right now. Quick discipline dealt, Kandrin produced a hobble and looped it around my ankles. Since I was already tethered to the tree, hobbling me was just for the sake of the pony experience.
We waited for the others to arrive in our own distinctive ways. Kandrin was half sitting, half lying in a sunny spot near the pool, propped on her elbows, with a blade of wild grass in her mouth. She seemed somewhat absent-minded as she watched the sparkling sunlight on the water surface. Meanwhile I remained standing in the half shade and was busy being miserable. My mouth hurt, my well-lashed shoulders and thighs hurt, not to mention my equally whipped bum. And since I did mention my bum, it was only adequate to reflect on the anal plug as well. How anybody could get off on wearing these things for any length of time was totally beyond me. I had been spared the really bad cramping so far, but the sensation of pressure and dilation had evolved to a deep pain engulfing my whole rectal tract. And more than ever the plug felt heavy. It bore down on my sphincter which in turn was locked and rubbed raw by the crotch strap.
I leant against the trunk to relieve my aching feet, the only thing I could do to lessen at least one pain.
“Oi! No cheating!”
Kandrin was looking over, a dispraising expression on her face. Wasn’t it hard work to be such a sadistic skank full-time? Maybe she was one of those effortlessly cruel people, to whom such behaviour just came easily.
Ten minutes after your own arrival the peloton reached the glade, a spectacle I could have done without. Being confronted with a harnessed ponygirl when you are harnessed yourself is creepy. But with sixteen ponygirls appearing successively at the glade, perception changes. Your mind inclines to the weird delusion that this had to be normality. At least mine did, and I cursed it for doing it so quickly. It was an abhorrent and implausible normality, hands down. But that last safeguard, that “it cannot be” belief, was breaking away. Around here “it cannot be” did not work, not in a surrounding lacking any reference values – the DACC was omnipresent and omnipotent. It was on this glade that I finally understood how fundamental the dressage doctrine was for the programme. We weren’t inmates turned into ponies now and then for social reshaping or breaking down our personality. We were ponies, full stop – only sometimes in harness and sometimes in plain clothes. Under bridle, not under bridle. Around here, normality oscillated between these two poles.
“You already here, Seva? Got yourself an eager little filly, huh?”
Kandrin, of whom I now knew bore the uncommon given name Seva, answered with a sly grin, letting her grass blade wander from one corner of the mouth to the other.
The nosy handler asking had Eleven yoked to his cart. The girl looked sad; not overly tired out or distressed, but very sad. Being forced into the role of a pony took its toll on several levels.
“Did you take a short cut?” a second newcomer investigated.
No, she did not! Just look at the funny purple welts on my body!
It should be mentioned that the other girls sported far less whip marks, and not because they were more docile. As we rested together, they were temporarily delivered from their bits and watered as well. With bitter surprise I learnt that horses, too, were capable of drinking from canteens.
Miss Cuntling had risen and was assuring herself of her group’s completeness. More than ever I had trouble placing that woman. When I’d first seen her, I had taken her for a Czech (not exactly knowing what the specific characteristics of a Czech female would be, though). Yet she did not speak with any accent or foreign intonation. Seva – never heard a name like that (nor had I ever come across the surname Kandrin, for that matter). This only added to the general feeling of dislocation, of being separated from the outside world and stowed away in a place with its own alien principles.
“Let’s get going again!” came the inevitable command to prepare for the way back. Kandrin had given the rest of the group about ten minutes. Therefore I had been granted twenty, but I’d needed them. Still I could feel my lungs burning.
My driver performed the obligatory tack check: hooves, waspie, yoke, armbinder. She looked for slack and found none, yet decided to be especially thorough with my crotch strap. Kandrin wedged two fingers behind it from the front which made me groan for all the right and wrong reasons. With the faintest hint of a smirk she reached up to my bridle and inspected every strap and buckle of it as well.
Then it was time for me to be bitted again.
She pulled my curb bit from her pocket, and I turned rigid. I had worn a bit since the late morning, that particular one for almost an hour. Being bitted was the most hurting, most dehumanising thing ever done to me, apart maybe from publicly rape-sodomised with a dry, anally incompatible object. No way I would let that torture device into my mouth again!
I tossed my head this way and that, but Miss Cuntling kept the cursed piece of steel pressed against my lips. When I finally opened my mouth and allowed her to slip it in, her smug expression only encouraged me further. All of a sudden I bit down and tossed my head one more time. The cruel item was torn from Kandrin’s fingers and sent flying towards the fall. With a satisfying splash it plunged into the pool. And at a deep spot, too – one would really have to dive for it.
Amongst the handlers there was dead silence. Kandrin’s smug smile was gone. I knew I should not have done that. Just like I shouldn’t have chosen the DACC over prison and shouldn’t have joyridden that car in the first place. But more often than not, we are our worst advisers when it comes to the question of how to go easy through live. It is not opportunism or conformism I am talking about. Making shitty decision in spite of better knowledge, that’s my point. I had not heroically accepted the consequences for the sake of defiance, I’d just ignored them the moment the taste of steel hit me again. And there would be an arseload of consequences. I had challenged my group leader’s authority in front of handlers and ponies. She would whip me bloody from ears to ankles for that.
Or not. Instead of catching her buggy whip and flaying me to an inch of my life and then some, Kandrin retrieved a small contraption from the nylon pouch at the back of the sulky’s seat. She had to act quickly, with all eyes being on her, but how unceremoniously she delivered the dry punch to my solar plexus upon her return was staggering.
That one made me open my mouth, and no mistake. I tried to emit a shriek, but managed only a wheezing sound. I tried to breathe in, yet just wheezed anew. Kandrin wasted no time fitting me with the replacement bit, if one could call it that.
“Trust me, you will sooner run out of ways to piss me off than I of ways to make your time here utterly miserable.”
She closed the bit’s locks and the curb chain, and hot blood started to seep into my mouth. I screamed through my sexy new bit, which of course didn’t prevent me from being yoked to the sulky again.
There was no signal word for the start, only the whip. A fierce bite to the tender part where the buttocks meet the thighs – instant classic. Before I had the chance to fall into a proper walk, Kandrin’s lash demanded the trot. Gracefully I passed the other ponies and left the clearing behind, with the pain from the punch in my chest and the coppery taste of blood in my mouth. The moment we reached the two huge rocks with the cairn atop the western one, she sent me into a gruelling gallop and left me there. My reserves were drained quickly, but I found no mercy under the whip. Gallop it was near the bridge and along the brook, at the outskirts of the forest and across the field of grass.
“Open terrain! Let’s do some vmax!”
What was “weemax”? Oh, maximum velocity. In my anguish I needed endless seconds to process this information. Blows after blows urged me on as my muscle fibres strained and ripped. I experienced my ordeal in a nightmarish blur. The whip strokes kept raining down, every action of the bit was absolutely devastating.
Faster still I galloped, and more beating. Reddened saliva was painting my chin, neck and torso all the way down to my navel. How I wished my feet would just slip and we tumble head over hoof into the grass.
“You are still holding back, Seventeen!”
I could not feel the single lashes anymore, just a savage storm of pain. I was bleeding. There was no other way than that my skin was slashed to bloody ribbons, not under this attack.
The knoll on which the camp was located rose before me, with its arduous slope as my closing torture. I slowed down, the path and my screaming joints and muscles gave me no other choice. I sped up, Kandrin’s whip on my destroyed flesh gave me no choice, either. With flaring nostrils and literally foaming I staggered past the guards at the gate. I didn’t care anymore. I was beyond humiliation.
“Final spurt, Seventeen!”
I was half-blind from the sweat burning in my eyes. My airways were ablaze, my lungs frozen, I was breathing crushed ice.
“To the barn, and not a single metre short! Don’t you fucking dare break down on me!”
The elusive barn appeared before me, yet refused to come any closer. Vile, treacherous thing! High-step by twisted high-step I tottered through my agony. My gait bore no resemblance to a proud gallop anymore.
Second-to-last corner, through Gambon, and across the line…!
With utmost brutality Kandrin reined me to a halt. How I managed to keep standing upright was a total miracle. One of the handlers we had left behind emerged from the barn, trying to look busy. He startled at my pitiful state.
“Any problems on your tour?”
“She turned out to be somewhat hard-mouthed. Maybe we should choose a mouthpiece with a stronger effect next time.” And if remembering some negligibility, Miss Cuntling added: “Oh, and she lost her bit at the fall, so I had to improvise…”
The handler looked aghast as he pulled the bloody piece of ordinary barbed wire out of my mouth. He made me cry weakly by doing so, as it wasn’t just a straight strand. The middle part had been looped and twisted into a cruel bow to let the barbs reach further back into the mouth. My driver took the item from him with perverted pride; that and his expression told me Kandrin had made the wire bit by herself. She had painstakingly fitted its ends with the standard bit locks, so it could be used with any DACC bridle. And supposedly she had even tried it out on herself. One should be horrified to what lengths human beings are willing to go to hurt their fellow human beings, be it out of sheer sadism or for an alleged “higher purpose”.
All those thoughts would come to me later, of course. Right now I just wanted to throw up from exhaustion and fall over to the ground, if no one disagreed.