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.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Forty-Eight

Moonlighting

I was still thunderstruck after Kandrin had led her ersatz victim out for a private training session. If the group leader had flipped through Eleven’s book under my mattress in a quiet minute – and nothing other had her remark implied –, she might have also discovered the newspaper after all. It being in my possession might or might not have any juridical significance. For Miss C. it could very well serve as pretence to search my stuff or me for contraband. And of course it was a great opportunity to mind-fuck me from behind.

“That was not good.”

Arne sounded sincere in his sympathy for Eleven. He might be game for the more smutty aspects of pony-based re-education, but blatant torture repelled him like it does any other descent human being.

Alterations for Pony Boot Camp (VII)

Today I am very excited to bring you an Alterations special, dedicated to the fine craft of leather work!

~

Part XLIV:

Kendrick, overseeing the tacking of all fillies, prevented Kandrin to enjoy herself even more by suggesting a trifle o’speed.

is changed into:

Kendrick, overseeing the tacking of all fillies in a combination of Stetson, double denim disaster and bolo tie, prevented Kandrin to enjoy herself even more by suggesting a trifle o’speed.

Rediscovering the bolo tie by chance, I knew it would be the perfect accessory for the lead handler to be worn on a special occasion. And choosing that fashion route, the Stetson hat is just a must-have.

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.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Forty-Four

Gymkhana

The one tacking me was of course Miss Cuntling – I don’t know why I even bother mentioning this explicitly. Soon I was tall on my hooves and ready for my harness with the high-collared leather yoke. For the ensemble an upgrade in form of a new crotch strap was available. Kandrin made sure I saw her fitting it. Replacing the simple belt was a length of braided leather, partly split like its predecessor. Somehow, in my capacity of deputy kit manager, my first thought was that the interwoven design would be difficult to clean. Those worries were quickly pushed aside by the prospect of multiple sharp leather edges working between my legs.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Forty

Vigilante

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.

Pony Boot Camp – Part Thirty-Seven

… 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.

Sneak Peek: Pony Boot Camp — Part Thirty-Six

As a proof that our favourite ponygirl Seventeen is alive and well (in a relative sense) I brought you a little sneak peek of “Pony Boot Camp – Part Thirty-Six”. But as mentioned in my last post it will take a while for the whole chapter to be published.

Selfie (a.k.a. Rogue Tie)

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

Pony Boot Camp — Part Twenty-Five

Miss Cuntling’s Day Off

The ridiculous honking noises startled me so much I almost fell out of my bunk. Sure as shite that wasn’t Kandrin’s whistle.

“Goooooood Morning, Deepfall!”

In the barrack door stood Kendrick, a bulb hooter in one hand. It looked original, like those brass horns on really old cars. He was obviously enjoying his toy, honking cheerfully at girls to chase them this way and that as he strode up the aisle.

“Forecast says cloudy, then clear, 24°C, light west wind. See you lovelies outside!”