Miss Cuntling’s Day Off
The ridiculous honking noises startled me so much I almost fell out of my bunk. Sure as shite that wasn’t Kandrin’s whistle.
“Goooooood Morning, Deepfall!”
In the barrack door stood Kendrick, a bulb hooter in one hand. It looked original, like those brass horns on really old cars. He was obviously enjoying his toy, honking cheerfully at girls to chase them this way and that as he strode up the aisle.
“Forecast says cloudy, then clear, 24°C, light west wind. See you lovelies outside!” Continue reading
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
Show, Don’t Tell
Lunch was light, as expected. Fruits and lettuce with a site of more lettuce. Our feast was supervised by the same two guards I’d encountered in the mess before. It struck me as odd that Tweedledum and Tweedledee regularly worked the same shift together. But hey, love always finds a way! As usual they hauled their ready-to-burst egos up and down the aisles, barking at inmates for no reason at all. Self-important yet intellectually ill-equipped, they were prime examples of common thugs. They bullied and hassled alright, but lacked the refined sadism of, say, a Seva Kandrin. Continue reading
By now more ponygirls had arrived to be readied for a little tour. Handlers were busy harnessing them to the carts. A tall and thin tomboy with scraggy black hair caught my attention in particular. 1310, if I wasn’t mistaken. Despite being snugly embraced by tack her lean body still managed to show off the elaborated tattoos running intricately along her limbs and down her back and sides. The dark inkings went disturbingly well with sturdy leather. Continue reading
Stranger than Fiction
Like always they let us march lock-step, a circumstance we had got used to. Our handlers who walked to our left were holding the reins of their two or three respective girls with slack, at least for the time being. What made our way towards the corrals so challenging was our special footwear. When stilting on your tip toes plus eight centimetres of fake hooves you might be somewhat distracted from synchronising your moves with those of the person in front of you – who is teetering about just like yourself. Continue reading
It was surprisingly cool inside, and the smell of straw immediately intensified. The further we went into the barn, the stronger a second aroma became. Leather. It didn’t take long to discover its source. At the circular area’s far side a large shed had been erected as some sort of building within the building, big enough to hold all of us. For someone like me who had never taken an interest in horsemanship nor come in contact with equestrian equipment, the amount of leather and metal gear stored in this place was awe-inspiring. Racks and walls were occupied by meticulously arrayed belts, harnesses, bridles and stuff I could not even name. I would come to know this place as the Tack Room, and I would come to fear it. Continue reading