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?! Continue reading
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. Continue reading
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. Continue reading
We Interrupt this Ponyplay Porn to Bring You More Crap about Wood Elves
“You look like shit.”
“Yeff, ma’am,” I mumbled meekly.
No-one could argue with her statement. That Miss C. had brought it up during the group fall-in showed bad form, yet held nothing new to the other girls. More than once I had woken them up with my groans during the night. Having them witnessed the effects of my punishment fell in line with Kandrin’s “show, don’t tell” doctrine.
“You have my permission to see the doctor.”
“Fhank you, ma’am.” Continue reading
… Goes Unpunished
“Since today all of you are in their third week here,” Kandrin stated correctly during the little fall-in the next morning. From Eleven up to me, it was day 15. The others of my group have had a one day head start.
“As stressed various times in the past, bearing is crucial for a ponygirl. Every move and every pose are to be inherently sublime. After two weeks a certain grip on basic techniques as well as personal engagement to constantly better yourselves is expected. Therefore poor executions will not be tolerated anymore.”
Our group leader chose not to enlighten us when such things had ever been tolerated. Continue reading
No Good Deed…
Waking up was cruel. I had received just enough sleep for my maltreated body to be teased into false repose. A drop of water whilst I was parched. Easing myself out of my bunk woke up all my pains as well. Some dull and throbbing as they were gnawing at my muscles, others playing with razor blades in my still fresh wounds.
The two and a half or so hours of sleep turned out to be a torment in disguise. Better to spare oneself the agony of awakening. One has to suffer through a day of woe anyway. In my more battle-hardened days I would party into my birthday, celebrate through my birthday, and let my birthday end with some serious clubbing. Of course this would involve ridiculous amounts of high-octane alcohol as fuel – something not easy to come by here. Not that I was able to tell whether today was my birthday. In my current state I was lucky to guess the right year. Continue reading
A Tail’s Tale
I couldn’t help but gulp as I studied the row of plugs draped on the big wooden table. It was tack duty for me again, so unlike in the kitchen yesterday, I was alone with my tasks. Well, not quite. Mr Nystrøm a.k.a. Slacker Boy was around as well, dumb smirk on his face. I bet he’d creamed his trousers over playing with my bum the other day. I was still furious that he had been allowed to tail and untail me. The stablehand was savouring this sweet memory ever since, and today he decided to rekindle its magic with a little allusion. Continue reading
Selfie (a.k.a. Rogue Tie)
You are always so good at making lists, Becca!
This is a compliment I hear a lot from colleagues and friends alike. Always meant sincere, it does have a backhanded element to it. It labels me organised, bureaucratic, predictable. Rebecca, the Excel Queen. Rebecca, mind you. Not Bec or Beckie. Not Becca, either. But people are so quick with shortening my name. Just as quick as with making list-related compliments.
A list, then – old-fashioned with pen and paper, in my girly handwriting:
- Restrains, 3 pairs (handcuffs, elbow cuffs, hobbles)
- Latex hood
- Ball gag
- Posture collar
- Nipple clamps
Once More with Feeling
The others had gathered in the tack room, already in various states of bondage. A handler from another group was deputising for Kendrick. Miss Cuntling caught up with me and shoved me towards him.
“Tack her up.”
As much as I wanted to wallow in self-pity for the rest of this glorious autumn day, I had to move on – or that bitch would make me move. It didn’t take much imagination and very little of the soreness radiating from my fresh piercing wounds to deduce that I was now even more vulnerable. So let’s pick up the action as Ersatz-Kendrick finished the boring standard tacking and stepped compliably aside for Miss C. to bring on the new and exciting stuff! Continue reading
Had Some Fun?
The sulky was parked at its place near the path, then I was parked in the barn’s shadow and deliberately ignored by Kandrin henceforth. Some minutes later the handler brought a small bucket with water and held it up for me to drink from. Greedily I slurped the liquid to wet my parched and sore throat and soothe the pain from my oral wounds. I had regained some degree of composure again, enough at least to become aware of what was happening around me. There was muffled activity inside the barn, and I reckoned it was Group One’s turn to play pony. Although hard to believe after my recent ordeal, our own foray had been mercifully short. So the Oners were in for a rather long stint to fill the gap to 18:00. Continue reading