Day two after Ten’s flogging began as a carbon copy of most others. Kandrin’s whistle. Small fall-in. Morning run. But this time I took a closer look at the fences. The rolls of razor wire on top of both the inner and the outer barriers made climbing them a bit tricky. Maybe I could dig a shallow pit under each fence and squeeze myself through. It was still way too dark to determine if and how the wire mesh was secured to the ground. In the eastern and southern section where buildings stood close enough to the perimeter to shed some light, I found the bases either overgrown by grass or covered in wet leaves. Continue reading
Working late tonight, I became suddenly aware that the clock will be turned from light saving time back to standard time (at least where I live). This “additional” hour has been a key in a chapter of Pony Boot Camp – and I am alarmed that a full year has gone by since I wrote said chapter! I’ve literally clicked on “publish” for it to be submitted just yesterday! Continue reading
A Dance in the Cage
You know the girls dancing in those cages at clubs? Sometimes on a pedestal, sometimes suspended over the raving crowd? Ever wondered how they ended up there and what makes them move all night?
Despite the allegedly soundproof glass Bianka felt the vibrations at her eardrums, in the pit of her stomach, in the tip of her pen. The bass pounded its way through every structure, item and living being in the whole building. It was the heartbeat of the club, and with the small hours of the night being near it was hammering wilder than ever. If the owner, manager and icon of Club Noir were to turn around from her desk, she would be able to overlook the main floor through the glass wall of her office. She would see the fetish folk celebrating its own depravity, loosing itself in the dark world the legendary Bianka Schönfeld provided. A world of masks and collars, of monogloves and hobble skirts, where leather was the new lace and black the new black. To the left the long cool-lit bar ran in a wide arc alongside the clubbing area, which in turn bordered at the right on the VIP lounge. Further in the back the entrance to the lower levels awaited those in search for more titillating activities. The rooms for this spicy kind of entertainment were soundproof, for sure. Continue reading
As expected I was haunted by nightmares. Most scenes blurred into intangible phantasms of blood and screams upon waking. One dream sequence remained clear: me running about the camp and the waterfall, desperately trying to find Ten’s clothes.
At precisely early as fuck o’clock we were standing in the dark and cold for the little fall-in, our group leader facing us. A light yet persistent rain was coming down, and Kandrin wore a DACC issued rain cape far too wide for her small frame.
“Better get used to the weather. Autumn in these regions is fickle.”
She kept fighting with the rim of her hood, which again and again fell over her eyes.
“But what’s a bit of rain, right?” Continue reading
Originally I had planned for Part Thirty-Nine to be released this month, but as so often before my writing routine was messed up by an annoying reality. Since I am now aiming at the first week of October, here’s something to shorten the waiting time: Continue reading
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