Tag Archives: tack

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. Continue reading


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!” Continue reading


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 found Eleven’s book under my mattress – and nothing other had her remark implied –, she had also discovered the newspaper. 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. Continue reading


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 XXXXIV:

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. Continue reading


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. Continue reading


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. Continue reading


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: Continue reading


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!” Continue reading


Sneak Peek: Pony Boot Camp — Part Twenty-Three

Since chapter twenty-three won’t be finished before mid-June, I once again decided to use the dirty little trick of posting a sneak peek – only to find johnny’s comment (dated 9th of June under “Part Twenty-Two”). The gist of his polite and honest words is that the posting of new chapters is too infrequent to follow the story without rereading older parts. Continue reading


Pony Boot Camp — Part Eighteen

Show, Don’t Tell

Lunch was light, as expected. Fruits and lettuce with a site of more lettuce. Our feast was supervised by the same two guards I’d encountered in the mess before. It struck me as odd that Tweedledum and Tweedledee regularly worked the same shift together. But hey, love always finds a way! As usual they hauled their ready-to-burst egos up and down the aisles, barking at inmates for no reason at all. Self-important yet intellectually ill-equipped, they were prime examples of common thugs. They bullied and hassled alright, but lacked the refined sadism of, say, a Seva Kandrin. Continue reading