Anxiety

Still she felt the urge to cover herself. Not as strongly as a week ago, and by no means as overwhelmingly as the month before. Miriam let her arms dangle down her sides, opening her shoulders in the same motion. She liked to believe that all her anxiety had been removed, lying greyly in the folded heap of non-descript clothes, having been stripped off her literally.

Her dressage kicking in, Miriam quickly made eye contact as her handler approached with her harness from across the cosy tack room. His silent command of brushing her elbow was enough. The girl raised her arms high, thus giving him access from all sides. Roller-buckled leather wound about her body, which cursed lankiness slowly became counterbalanced by tone and tan. In her mind Miriam was donning armour, like a heroine from those books dear to her heart.

Alterations for Pony Boot Camp (X)

As announced in my comment to Part LX, Pony Boot Camp finds its current continuation not in a separate submission, but in an extension to said part, because I want this special chapter to fully reflect the occasion, and because hubris is a real thing (a word count of over 7,800 may illustrate this point). You can now find the new material added to the paragraphs posted so far, or – convenient for those who have already read the original post – further down.

The lavish festivities for the 10^th anniversary are hereby concluded. So, full steam ahead to Skeleton Crew, Chapter III!

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.

Ponygirl Vet — Part Three of Definitely More than Six

Ponygirl Vet

Part 3 of Definitely More than 6

Off to her side Adrian remained still for a noticeable length of time, as if to ponder the deeper meaning of their nightly encounter. Vera did not dare breathe, then had to nonetheless.

The whip carved a searing line across her shoulder blades. Searing in its coldness, before the burning pain erupted. The muscles in her torso cramped up, shaping her back into a concave and pressing the freshly taken air straight out of her lungs again. But the pain bent with her body, lingering and building, her first-ever lash like true love’s first kiss. With a groan Vera forced herself to relax, to relish. Where the cracker had landed near the outer ridge of her right scapula, the pain was hottest; a spike perpendicular to the pulsing trace of the leather across her shoulders, giving the hurt a three-dimensional quality.

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.

Midriél and Evandolas — Part Two of Two

Midriél and Evandolas

Part Two of Two:

The Dire-Stones

For a sennight the welts drawn on Midriél’s rear faded, and for the same sennight her dark desire rose anew. The pleasure she had found under her lover’s cane had been absolute, but oh so fleeting, the memory of it turned to a mocking phantasm. The burning Evandolas’ pole had left in its wake was gone, replaced by an emptiness along her oral passage and up the more sinister one of her bottom.

Sun-danced water caressed her skin, washed away the day’s strains and replenished the Elf-girl. She dove down into the coolness, broke the surface again, the copper of her hair turned rust. Midriél spun about and fell still, floating on the tiny waves, eyes closed against the late light. With her ears submerged she could not hear the forest, yet timely a smile found her soft lips. Neither turning her head nor opening her eyes she began a gentle backstroke towards the sole pebble shore of the steep-banked loch. As the ground reached up she abandoned her levitating pose and tumbled to stand upright. The water bared her shoulders, and she could see – and could be seen from – the stony stretch before the trees.

Evandolas was sitting in the midst of it, next to the boulder on which her attire was neatly splayed out. His voice, teasing and gentle, was carried over to her with the faintest of echoes.

“A goblin once snuck through the leaves,

Saw close a maiden bathing.

He grabbed her clothes, the worst of thieves,

All deer roused by his laughing.”

Midriél and Evandolas — Part Two of Two (III)

Midriél and Evandolas

Part Two of Two (and of this the third share):

The Dire-Stones (continued)

The grassy soil was untrodden within and without the circle, and touched only by windborne leaves. A hidden force, almost physical in nature, sought to repel her with ever greater potency the closer Midriél advanced the centre stone. It bore uncanny resemblance to the effect one witnessed when trying to bring together the opposing ends of two witch-iron pieces. And still Evandolas’ firm hand on the slave chain was needed less and less, as Midriél at last hearkened to the primal promises before her.

Intend or time had slanted the outer stones, and them alone. And whilst they were encrusted by moss and lichen, the solitary monolith bore blasphemous carvings across every region of its untainted surface. Mesmerised by the ever-similar yet never-same patterns Midriél tilted to reach them with a finger. A stern yanking on the lead was needed to tear the she-Elf away.

Pony Boot-Up

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.

Pony Boot-Up

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.

Bridled Passion

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.