… 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
The following short story is based on my longer narration Pony Boot Camp and is written specifically for cpony.com. I had originally planned it as a medley of several existing chapters, but found them too entangled to be shortened. So the content in this story is all-new. It is also not entirely in sync with the main narration chronologically and canon-wise, but would have its place roughly around chapter 30.
Having read the source work isn’t necessary to enjoy Stand-Alone Stable. Seventeen, who is called Pony 17 here, is sentenced to 90 days in a special boot camp, where her group leader Kandrin shows her the darker sides of pony play.
Like the narration, the short story is meant for owners who like to be a tad mean to their ponygirls now and then.
Pony Boot Camp – Stand-Alone Stable
I gave a wince of pain as Miss Kandrin pulled my reins tight across the overhead bar just outside the tack room. Secured like this, I couldn’t even back off or lower my head without causing myself further pain. And if there was one thing bestowed upon me plenty, it was pain. So I stood straight and proud, rocking slightly in my pony boots which literally kept me on my toes.
“Don’t feel sorry for yourself, Pony 17. I told you what would happen if you show that attitude again.” Continue reading
“If you are a real painslut, you will be spoiled rotten tonight.”
I had made it very clear to Portia that the members of my depraved little circle were committed to the darker ways of BDSM. Marks that would last for weeks were a must-have, safewords a no-go. Portia emitted an affirmative grunt from behind the gag. Any intelligible sound was permitted by the huge rubber orb, and nodding would have interfered with my tightening her head harness.
A two inch ball gag would have silenced her nicely. 2.5 inches was her limit. I had gone for a three-incher. The rest of her body would be in tremendous pain within the hour, so why shouldn’t her mouth as well? Alternately I tightened the horizontal main strap and the facial straps running along both sides of her nose and – as one – across the crown of her head. With every tug the ball was pulled deeper into her straining mouth. We were working our way towards total gaggage for several minutes already, and the nude woman kneeling in front of me was experiencing the first cramps. She would get used to them. Continue reading
Under my hooves the ground changed towards a more bouncy, less cushioning nature. My perfectly executed high steps caused hollow sounds, and the wheels of the sulky began to rattle in a distinct frequency. That, and the intensified noise of flowing water told me I was crossing the old wooden bridge. It was the first time Miss Cuntling had made me take this route instead of the trail that led upstream towards the Deepfall. I’d love to describe the scenery as I trotted deeper into the woods, but Kandrin had opted for the full blinkers. No distractions from the rein commands. And since this measure alone wasn’t sufficient to solve my alleged attention span problem, Miss C. had done what she liked to do best: She’d fitted me with a new bit. Continue reading
First thing after the big morning fall-in was corral training. For reasons nobody had bothered revealing to us we were to be fitted with full tack right from the start – which paved the way for another gratuitous dressing scene. As Kendrick pulled my crotch strap tight, I went on the tips of my toes – or, given that I was already standing en pointe, on the tips of my hooves. From another corner of the tack room our resident pervert glanced over whilst continuing the tedious task of lacing up Eleven’s monoglove. Creepy Chap might hold strange beliefs when it came to romantic interactions, but he knew a randy pony if he saw one. Continue reading
Foresightful as I was, I had a small towel at hand as I removed Patrizia’s gag. It was a standard three inch ball gag. Defined by me as standard, that was, because I knew how Triz loathed huge gags. How they put unbearable strain to her jaw muscles. For ball gags – or ring gags not sitting too deep – three inches was the absolute limit she and her talented mouth could take.
Her chin and chest were already glistening with drool, but from experience I knew that a considerably higher amount had gathered behind the semi-sealing gag. My assumption was proven true as I worked the overly large ball out of her mouth and a gush of saliva followed. Hence the towel. Continue reading
Fashion Faux Pas
Bianchetti had always been her first port of call during window shopping, and on today’s spree the exclusive boutique near the city’s financial quarter was confirming its status once again. Behind the glass façade, amidst LBD’s, designer clutches and outré court shoes Lorena discovered the short-sleeved top on one of the highly stylised mannequins. At first glance the item didn’t awake her interest. But then her eyes wandered back, and it intrigued her due to its unusual material. It was made of latex. Continue reading