Tag Archives: fetish

Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-Four

Common Noctules

The chill woke me as intended. I had pedalled my blanket away shortly after Eleven had retired to her own bunk. That old trick of drinking lots of water before going to sleep doesn’t work with my boy bladder. And I had been way too tired out to not doze off after five minutes of darkness.

Rubbing warmth into my legs, I pushed back the leaden heaviness behind my eyes. I would have to make absolutely sure that I would get a good night’s sleep before moving on to greener pastures. Around me the barrack remained sunken in exhausted silence. No moon tonight. I let myself glide down from my bunk and immediately aimed my senses at the stack of beds further up and across the aisle supposed to carry Eleven and Twelve through the land of Nod. No activities there, especially not from the lower bunk and its overmotivated occupant. Following my modus operandi from two nights ago, I created the rough outlines of my body with blanket and cushion and blind-dressed in the showers before slipping into the night. Continue reading

Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-Three


That Hipster Beard shared Kendrick’s vision of the Perfect Pony was a safe bet. The vast majority of lashes he dealt to me on our jaunt through the woods I received for poor execution or silly mistakes. At no point he would use more than one stroke to speed me up, let alone whipping me into a frenzy as Kandrin had done on multiple occasions. Long before we reached the halfway point of today’s tour, I was hell-bent to be the bestest pony for my new master. Continue reading

Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-Two


As awe-inspiring as my driver’s tailing technique might be, it left me quite unsurprisingly with my tail sticking out of my bum, marking me as a demi-human at best. In that regard I was the same to H-Beard that I was to Kandrin, only his attitude towards such an entity was hopefully more benevolent. He did, however, believe in a well-split vulva just as everybody else around here. The thin leather belt, though oiled, brought fresh pain. But Kendrick’s delegate had earned so many bonus points during the last five minutes that he could use the electric branding iron on my clit and still win a popularity prize. Continue reading

Alterations for Pony Boot Camp (VIII)

Since I did a little retconning on PBC, we can have some more fun with Roman numerals (because I once adopted them for the chapters to match the Alterations posts’ method of counting and am now stuck with ’em)!


Part XXX

Just for the records, I like castles and stuff. They’ve got something brooding, especially the razed ones. But I don’t wet myself over them like those “Lord of the Ice and Fire” fanboys do.

has a part added:

Just for the records, I like castles and stuff. They’ve got something brooding, especially the razed ones. But I don’t wet myself over them like those “Lord of the Ice and Fire” fanboys do. I know what I’m writing about; Sandrine’s and my next-door neighbours once had hunted us down with foam swords for intercepting their Chinese delivery. Turned out hardcore RPG nerds didn’t take well to having their level 15 Spring Rolls of Doom get nicked. Continue reading

Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-One


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?” Continue reading

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. Continue reading

Bridled Passion

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.

Continue reading

Pony Boot Camp — Part Forty-Nine

20 PSI on Stock Internals

My mind kept being preoccupied during the morning. Thoughts spun round and round in ever-same circles. Not the pondering of whether or not, but the agonising over how and when. I had set the upcoming new moon as the night of my escape, and if only to have an anchorage point. Taking the time I needed to prepare, essential as it was, held the danger of my being further deprived of physical and mental strength. With every day that the inhumane ideology behind the DACC could solidify, the abuse we were subjected to would increase.

“Tongue out.”

Kandrin waved a small but bright torch in front of my face, and I flinched.

“Tongue out, Seventeen, and fucking keep it out!” Continue reading

Bad Tail Day

As promised in the last post, here’s the short story inspired by the correspondence between LapinDeFer and me. Enjoy!

Bad Tail Day

Leaning against the wall of the barn’s central aisle, Émilie performed the ancient signal strength dance with her mobile in hand. Arm higher – zero bars. Turn to the right – null. Stretching to the left – why was she even trying?

Vahrenfeld was the largest ponygirl stable in private ownership; four separate barn buildings around a central coral hub, surrounded by tracks, trails, meadows and 600 square kilometres of wooded glens. And apparently not a single radio mast. The handlers’ quarters and the administrative area had Wi-Fi hotspots to satellite connections, but of course nobody could have been bothered to hand the password down to her. In vain Émilie had tried out the cardinal points of the cross-like structure arrangement. Now standing at the southern gate of the southern barn again she was running out of options and time. Her broom was waiting. Sliding her phone into the thigh pocket of her stable-issued cargo trousers Émilie shuffled back to her menial morning routine. Continue reading

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?! Continue reading