The usual maintenance, you know the drill…
Gathering quick momentum from the waist, I brought my horse shoe armoured forehoof around and delivered a beautifully executed sucker punch straight to her left tit.
is changed into:
Gathering quick momentum from my waspie’d waist, I brought my horse shoe armoured forehoof around and delivered a beautifully executed sucker punch straight to her left tit. 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
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
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