Ponygirl Vet — Part Four of Seven and a Half

Ponygirl Vet

Part 4 of 7½

With her view on the whip significantly altered by her experience between the taming posts, the treatment of her hooved patients had undergone changes as well. A believer in holistic approaches, Vera hadn’t been content with tending to the bloody stripes on a ponygirl’s body anymore. To become a better pony shouldn’t simply mean to fear the lash, but to grow in one’s abilities, so corporal intervention would be rendered obsolete for the majority of situations. Not every handler warmed up to Vera’s outlandish philosophy equally, and the veterinarian suspected Blondie to be a particularly reluctant scholar.

“Gooood filly…” Vera reassured as she made true of her promise and opened Applejuice’s reverse prayer bondage.

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.

Pony Boot Camp — Stand-Alone Stable

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.”

Pony Boot Camp — Part Thirty

Serendipity

I didn’t sleep well. My sexy new piercings made my flesh throb constantly, and the blanket hurt whenever it rubbed across them. Half the night I lay awake, listening to the tossing and groaning from the other bunks. The morning wasn’t noticeably better, giving the crying fit I had upon seeing my septum-ringed face in the mirror. It didn’t instil much hope for the rest of the day, especially with pony training lurking at 09:30.

“Ah, there you are,” Kendrick greeted me as though we had arranged to meet for lunch. He pulled me out of my group as soon as I had taken my clothes off in the tack room. Then the lead handler also grabbed Ten and Fifteen for good measure.

Spoiled Rotten

Spoiled Rotten

“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.