Ponygirl Vet — Part Six of Y

Ponygirl Vet

Part 6 of Y

The tethered ponygirl remained docile when Vera eventually directed her attention towards the animal’s bum. Still, the vet registered the slight shudder in her patient, that tell-tale shift from arousal to distress. Anal insertion was part and parcel of pony training – those tails wouldn’t stick by themselves. Well, actually, they did. In tack-lingo the term “tail” referred to the unit as a whole, comprised of the insertable portion and the strand segment. Applejuice did not fight the removal in the slightest, yet had no full control over her fundament. The complex array of muscles flexed and relaxed around the pear-shaped rubber bulb it was trapping with its very own grip. Vera maintained a constant pull action, under which the taut ring finally opened.

Anxiety

Still she felt the urge to cover herself. Not as strongly as a week ago, and by no means as overwhelmingly as the month before. Miriam let her arms dangle down her sides, opening her shoulders in the same motion. She liked to believe that all her anxiety had been removed, lying greyly in the folded heap of non-descript clothes, having been stripped off her literally.

Her dressage kicking in, Miriam quickly made eye contact as her handler approached with her harness from across the cosy tack room. His silent command of brushing her elbow was enough. The girl raised her arms high, thus giving him access from all sides. Roller-buckled leather wound about her body, which cursed lankiness slowly became counterbalanced by tone and tan. In her mind Miriam was donning armour, like a heroine from those books dear to her heart.

Alterations for Pony Boot Camp (X)

As announced in my comment to Part LX, Pony Boot Camp finds its current continuation not in a separate submission, but in an extension to said part, because I want this special chapter to fully reflect the occasion, and because hubris is a real thing (a word count of over 7,800 may illustrate this point). You can now find the new material added to the paragraphs posted so far, or – convenient for those who have already read the original post – further down.

The lavish festivities for the 10^th anniversary are hereby concluded. So, full steam ahead to Skeleton Crew, Chapter III!

Ponygirl Vet — Part Five of X

Ponygirl Vet

Part 5 of X

The veterinarian had yet to meet a ponygirl handler who was not obsessed with tight crotch straps. It was one thing being concerned about chafing, but a completely other to split everything splitable between a filly’s legs. The case before her was no exception, with a wickedly thin belt strung from the front of Applejuice’s cincher assembly to its back. Vera undid the vertical fore-buckle with some effort due to the lack of initial slack. That Applejuice rose onto hoof tips to escape the additional pressure did not make the task easier. But once the crotch strap had been successfully loosened, she sunk back until her horseshoes had full floor contact again.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-One

Bliss

Adolf Würth founded his company shortly after the war, recovering from a minor career dent in 1945 just like his prominent Austrian namesake. Originally a screw wholesaler only, the Würth Group had risen to global market leadership in construction fittings over the decades. I had but superficially been aware of its existence, mainly due to the phonetic resemblance to my own surname. Until this morning…

The side cutter, sporting the red and black colour scheme of Würth’s heavy-duty tool line, was lying near the edge of the tack table. Every now and then Arne would pick it up to fumble with the pony boot sole he had committed himself to mend. I had a hard time keeping my enthralled eyes off it, to such an extent that he eventually held it out for me.

“Need to cut something?”

Pony Boot-Up

With the next part of Pony Boot Camp being of course delayed, the following short story may serve as a little appetiser which lets us revisit the D.A.C.C.’s more benign sister institution known in the ponyverse as The Orchard.

Pony Boot-Up

The cold touch of steel to her lips sparked a new surge of excitement through Firefly. Revelling in it, she willed her mouth shut to prolong the moment – and to tease her handler. Adam just kept the bit pressed against her lips, knowing that she was playing coy and would surrender to it timely.

“Feeling feisty today?”

Firefly lifted her pony-booted right foot and brought it back down for a snappy solitary hoof sound. An obedient filly, replying to her handler instantly and in appropriate fashion. That the answer itself defied this very action only added to their mutual game.

Bridled Passion

Ten minutes into light canter the camp had hidden behind the wooded slope of the nearest hill. Keeping the reins in one hand, Adam gestured to the remaining two sulkies. After filing out of the Orchard Correctional Centre the ten teams of drivers and ponygirls had by and by dispersed to train in their individual speed. His colleagues signalled back over the threefold rhythm of hoof beat and bell chime. They kept following the main path as Adam had his pony sway left onto the smaller track before the solitary ash tree. The pressure of the bit to the left corner of her mouth acted as command, as gentle as compelling. Necessary it wasn’t, though, not with this mare. OCC schedule required the handlers to rotate within their respective group to become conversant with each pony’s quirks and needs for exercise. Thus it was only every tenth day that Adam could tack up Number Zero-Five, a time span that had grown almost unbearably long over the last several weeks. The Orchard did not name its stock beyond a number, but Adam had felt to do so with this one.

A Good Pony

A Good Pony

Today, Mirage was especially longing for her handler to arrive. As soon as the first rays of sunlight had lit up the barn, she had awoken with that deep urge. The same urge that was bothering her for days on end. But today was that day again, when she might be granted release from her hardship.

Pressing her haltered head against her stall’s door, she was just able to see the gate of the barn. But no matter how much the ponygirl whimpered and pawed, it remained closed. What took him so long?! Didn’t he know what day was today?!

Pony Boot Camp — Part Forty-Seven

Torture of Proxy

Day two after the gymkhana, and I was still in limp home mode (I also was still on red alert, for those who are keeping book). Once again the wise and true word proved itself right that injured flesh hurt the most the day after tomorrow. After the fun of hyper-extreme nipple torture and forced self-inflicted clit flaying I felt like chewed and swallowed. According to public opinion, I looked the part, too. The thought of masturbating the edge off had come and gone – I couldn’t even pee without yelping. I was also positive I would never be able to wear bras or tops again; the fabric felt like sandpaper on my breasts.

Ponygirl Rescue Centre

Ponygirl Rescue Centre

Mirage was in a bad shape when we rescued her. There was literally no spot on her that hadn’t been whipped, flogged or cropped savagely. And the beatings had only been one facet of the mistreatment the feverish ponygirl had been forced to endure at the hands of her former stable master. Her shoulders were sprained and inflamed from the reverse prayer bondage her arms had been kept in almost constantly. Her feet showed first signs of misalignment, and she obviously suffered from pain in her knees – both evidence to ill-fitted hoof boots. She was also dehydrated, sadly a very common occurrence. An isotonic drink from a bicycle bottle took care of the worst.