Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-Seven

Trinkets, Odds and Ends

Here I was again. The dreamy ponygirl-in-training, basking in the crush on her handler and yearning for the day she would have earned her tail for good.

I am exaggerating obviously. And yet there was a stinging sensation running through me when I saw Hipster Beard and knew that soon he and not Kandrin would be driving me. A tad too eagerly I trapped myself in my ponyboots whilst he gathered the rest of my tack. I winced at the prompt onset of pain, the well-deserved backlash for failing to limber my feet up properly before locking them into the severe en pointe position.

Ponygirl Vet — Part Two of Maybe Five

Ponygirl Vet

Part 2 of Maybe 5

Beyond, the central hub was but scarcely lit by a skeleton crew of sodium lamps. The four barns ran away from it like cardinal points on a compass. None showed any signs of activity. Following her out, Adrian closed the gate to the northern building.

“Don’t want to disturb the fillies, now want we?”

The spot where Vera was about to cause some potential disturbance lay straight ahead. Two upright H-beams set in concrete were looming against the night sky, wire ropes dangling from them. Every step towards them rid her of some of her embarrassment and added a good deal of timidity. Changed the state of her face from flushed to pale. With ponygirls, corporal punishment as a concept of repentance and deterrence was obviously pointless. The key to controlling those pesky little critters was pain compliance, either through acute correction or – in the long run – through imprinting the fear of consequences, should unruly behaviour occur.

Ponygirl Vet — Part One of Three

Ponygirl Vet

Part 1 of 3 (but Let’s not Fool Ourselves)

Her first hoofed patient this morning was Applejuice.

As the ponygirl was led in by her nose lead, Vera spotted the slight founder even with her glasses gone AWOL. Applejuice was favouring her left hind leg over her right, and continued doing so even when being slowed down to a halt in the centre of the examination room. The chimes of her bells drifted away.

“I’m with you folks in a sec…” she ensured whilst binding her hair back.

Where are those bloody glasses?

The pony’s handler checked her field watch not too subtly, an action utterly failing to prompt the veterinarian to unprofessional haste. Vahrenfeld Stables had a foxgirl roaming about the compound as an unofficial mascot. Without Vera finding her glasses, they could add a molegirl to their collection as well.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty

Supply and Demand

If I passed out, I didn’t remember it afterwards – whatever one is supposed to remember from passing out. I’m pretty sure I did Kandrin the favour of staying conscious, polite girl that I am. Since I now have a deeper understanding of how it feels to have my nipples flayed by means of a razor blade.

Miss C gave me little time to recuperate. Her quick fingers shortened the martingale belts again, putting me in serious stress even for today’s standards. I reckoned that with some bucking I could rip my rings clean out. To further sharpen my response she brought the dressage clamps back up to my breasts, positioned them slightly differently and let them snap shut. In my writhing I didn’t sense her climbing the sulky. Her whip encountered no difficulties getting through to me, though. It fiery licks led me to the finding that I could simultaneously high-step and cry, and to the delusion that no harsher tack was possible.

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!”

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.

Ponygirl Rescue Centre

Ponygirl Rescue Centre

Mirage was in a bad shape when we rescued her. There was literally no spot on her that hadn’t been whipped, flogged or cropped savagely. And the beatings had only been one facet of the mistreatment the feverish ponygirl had been forced to endure at the hands of her former stable master. Her shoulders were sprained and inflamed from the reverse prayer bondage her arms had been kept in almost constantly. Her feet showed first signs of misalignment, and she obviously suffered from pain in her knees – both evidence to ill-fitted hoof boots. She was also dehydrated, sadly a very common occurrence. An isotonic drink from a bicycle bottle took care of the worst.

Sneak Peek: Pony Boot Camp — Part Thirty-Nine

Originally I had planned for Part Thirty-Nine to be released this month, but as so often before my writing routine was messed up by an annoying reality. Since I am now aiming at the first week of October, here’s something to shorten the waiting time: