Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-Eight

Drama Mares

“What are you doing?”

“Knitting elephants.”

What did it look like I was doing, rushing back and forth between the stainless steel counters?

Double-Fourteen, face marked from her bridle and hair wet from the shower, sashayed across the kitchen in that feline flow of hers. Nothing indicated that she was still badge-sore from her welcome branding last week. Or that she was minding the preparation of supper all about her.

“How’s your burn?” I asked more out of courtesy than of curiosity whilst pulling a load of freshly-cleaned food trays from the commercial washer. In ten minutes time three hungry scores of ponygirls would be marching into the mass hall.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-Six

All Flesh Must Bleed

It kept on raining at varying intensity till way into the afternoon. By this time Zero-One was a nervous wreck. When all four groups fell in on the muddy ground in front of the barracks, it was to the sound of her constant sobbing. Once everybody was accounted for, the redhead was summoned forth to receive a quick pre-flogging check-up by the lady doc. I shall not fail to mention that warden Nadier indulged once again in her habit of giving a grand speech about order and the New (Wo-)Man and why the party is always right.

“Proceed,” was all she added after mercifully finishing her monologue.

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.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Forty-One

L’Estrapade

I didn’t know how Sixteen was about to get back to the camp. I didn’t care beyond curiosity, neither. Even about my own fate I mused in a detached state of mind. In the wake of my fit of temper I was trapped in dark, almost self-destructive euphoria. I would be disciplined, that was for sure. Yet I hadn’t got the faintest idea about how harshly my actions would be dealt with. If I had attacked a staff member, things would turn extremely ugly. But another pony? I wasn’t even sure whose jurisdiction I was under in the case at hand. Kendrick’s? Miss Cuntling’s? The warden’s? Did they differ? Did it matter?

Maybe I would be long-term bridled like Eleven, maybe I would be hugging the whipping post.

A Dance in the Cage

 

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.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Thirty-Eight

Welcome to the Stud

Ten regained some degree of consciousness as she was unhooked from the whipping post, and I pitied her for that. The lashed girl was shaking violently, shivering as if exposed to freezing cold – although she seemed to burn up at the same time. The guards dragged her naked form down the platform and away, leaving the whip and the Ten’s clothing behind. The lady doc followed without too much of a haste.

If Warden Navier addressed some final words of righteous anger to us, I did not process them. I couldn’t clear my mind from the images of the blood whipping I had just witnessed. This quality of cruelty, this wilful physical and mental destruction of a human being would never fail to make me sick to my stomach.

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.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Thirty-Six

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.

Trophy Wife

Trophy Wife

Looking pretty in case her husband brought home his new business partners.

Mercédès’ schedule for today could be summarised by this. Being a beacon of beauty whilst striding otherwise pointlessly through the contemporary residence, or, like now, biding in the technocraticly styled conservatory. After all, her husband was known to be a connoisseur of decorative objects, a collector of everything pleasant to behold.

And wasn’t it her sacred duty as a wife to fulfil his standards?

Pony Boot Camp — Part Twenty-Four

A Letter

In the afternoon we had toilet duties – for the third time in five days. Kandrin was pissed about it, so to say. What was it to her? She wasn’t the one to wield the bog brush. I deprive the gentle reader of a detailed description of the cleaning activities. They weren’t nearly as eventful as they were ignominious.

Wiping down mirrors in one of the barracks, I could not but pity my own reflection. Ugly haematomata claimed the corners of my mouth and the adjacent tissue of my cheeks. My face still showed angry traces of bridle and blinkers. And if I were to bare my breasts, my nipples could be seen sore and discoloured. They were throbbing in memory of the fierce and prolonged clamping. For the first hour after the bells’ removal I had been positively sure that nerves had been permanently damaged.