First thing after the big morning fall-in was corral training. For reasons nobody had bothered revealing to us we were to be fitted with full tack right from the start – which paved the way for another gratuitous dressing scene. As Kendrick pulled my crotch strap tight, I went on the tips of my toes – or, given that I was already standing en pointe, on the tips of my hooves. From another corner of the tack room our resident pervert glanced over whilst continuing the tedious task of lacing up Eleven’s monoglove. Creepy Chap might hold strange beliefs when it came to romantic interactions, but he knew a randy pony if he saw one. Continue reading
Frequently Asked Questions about Ponygirls
My alleged luck ended on the next morning. After a night of weird and exhausting dreams, mostly about hostile individuals demanding answers from a gagged me, I dragged myself out to attend the small fall-in.
“Good news,” Miss Cuntling announced, “the results of yesterday’s evaluation are already at hand. All of you were deemed suitable to remain in the programme. Congratulations.”
Initially I wasn’t awake enough to grasp the full meaning of her words. But two kilometres in the crisp pre-dawn air got my mind back into gear. I’d tried so hard to fish for mitigation that I’d qualified myself for the full stay, despite my demerits. My trying to out-smart the system had backfired badly. A mixture of anger and self-hatred made me momentarily forget the cold air burning in my lungs. Why did I fuck up everything I came across?! Continue reading