With the next part of Pony Boot Camp being of course delayed, the following short story may serve as a little appetiser which lets us revisit the D.A.C.C.’s more benign sister institution known in the ponyverse as The Orchard.
The cold touch of steel to her lips sparked a new surge of excitement through Firefly. Revelling in it, she willed her mouth shut to prolong the moment – and to tease her handler. Adam just kept the bit pressed against her lips, knowing that she was playing coy and would surrender to it timely.
“Feeling feisty today?”
Firefly lifted her pony-booted right foot and brought it back down for a snappy solitary hoof sound. An obedient filly, replying to her handler instantly and in appropriate fashion. That the answer itself defied this very action only added to their mutual game. Continue reading
Ten minutes into light canter the camp had hidden behind the wooded slope of the nearest hill. Keeping the reins in one hand, Adam gestured to the remaining two sulkies. After filing out of the Orchard Correctional Centre the ten teams of drivers and ponygirls had by and by dispersed to train in their individual speed. His colleagues signalled back over the threefold rhythm of hoof beat and bell chime. They kept following the main path as Adam had his pony sway left onto the smaller track before the solitary ash tree. The pressure of the bit to the left corner of her mouth acted as command, as gentle as compelling. Necessary it wasn’t, though, not with this mare. OCC schedule required the handlers to rotate within their respective group to become conversant with each pony’s quirks and needs for exercise. Thus it was only every tenth day that Adam could tack up Number Zero-Five, a time span that had grown almost unbearably long over the last several weeks. The Orchard did not name its stock beyond a number, but Adam had felt to do so with this one.
It has been over half a year since the last chapter of Pony Boot Camp, so it is high time to get back in the saddle. To kick things off again, I gratefully accepted a special offer from LapinDeFer, a 3D artist and connoisseur of all things pony.
Of course it was only a matter of time for our paths to cross, and he suggested to post his work Taken for a spin on my Word Press site. After some minor modifications it became Village Road. I had suggested a pony tail for the jockey (“not that kind of pony tail”) since she’d looked like having a bad hair day. And as this train of thoughts took up speed, my upcoming story Bad Tail Day was born.
Once again – and maybe for the last time where I live – it’s the Hour of the Horse, my favourite made-up holiday which is surprisingly still not a “thing”. And what’s the best way to celebrate such an event? Right, a brand-new chapter of Pony Boot Camp! And what is the second-best way to celebrate? Right again, a Sneak Peek of a brand-new chapter! Here you go…! Continue reading
The one tacking me was of course Miss Cuntling – I don’t know why I even bother mentioning this explicitly. Soon I was tall on my hooves and ready for my harness with the high-collared leather yoke. For the ensemble an upgrade in form of a new crotch strap was available. Kandrin made sure I saw her fitting it. Replacing the simple belt was a length of braided leather, partly split like its predecessor. Somehow, in my capacity of deputy kit manager, my first thought was that the interwoven design would be difficult to clean. Those worries were quickly pushed aside by the prospect of multiple sharp leather edges working between my legs. Continue reading
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
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. Continue reading
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. Continue reading
The Hour of the Horse
The turmoil that ripped me out of my sleep was absolute. Yelling and shouting everywhere. Infernal noise. The barrack lights going on and out again, as fast as the neon tubes could cope. On and out. On and out. I hadn’t got the slightest idea of what was going on or how late or early it was. Men were storming in, kicking against the steel bed frames. They thundered stroke after stroke down on the startled occupants, literally whipping them out of their bunks. After another staccato the lamps stayed dark, but our nocturnal intruders keep switching their torches on and off, flashing in our faces, blinding us. From all directions came the eldritch crackling and white-blue arcs from spark sticks being set off in the air. 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