Raw Material

- by Xaltatun of Acheron

Author's note: 

This work is copyright 2000 by Xaltatun of Acheron (A Pseudonym). It may be posted on the Internet to any free forum, provided it is not modified in any way, and provided that this notice is included in its entirety. It may not be sold, or included in any compilation that is sold, or posted on any forum that requires a fee for access, without my written permission. My permission will require payment, terms to be negotiated. For purposes of this notice, sites guarded by Adult Check or similar packages are considered pay sites. Posting on any site must include this copyright notice.

Adult Content Warning - this story contains adult themes, including non-consensual bondage/slavery and forced sexual acts. If you are under the lawful age for such materials (18 in most jurisdictions) or if you would find such material offensive, please go elsewhere.

This is one of eight stories in the series entitled "Ponygirl Transformation." I may write others later, but eight is it for now.

Ponygirl Finds Her Place

Kinder and Gentler

The Sorceressí Apprentice

Raw Material

Ponygirl by Choice

The Politics of Ponygirls

Ponygirls on Vacation

Bluebird Grows Up

Acknowledgements. The setting and several of the characters are taken from two works by Sir Thomas (A pseudonym). "Adventures on the Hoof" and "Ponygirls, Inc" are both copyright by the Academy Club. Used by permission of Sir Thomas. These works are both for sale, and should not be available on the net, except for a short excerpt on Sir Jeffís ponygirl web site. They may be ordered in the US from Quality SM, and in the UK from the Academy Club.

The character of the lobo-ra has been changed substantially. This is partially to motivate the biotechnology theme, and partially for other reasons.

The character of Sharon, in the story "The Politics of Ponygirls" was originally modeled after Rhianna Summers, a character created by Leviticus (a pseudonym). She had to be changed because his series took a major turn that rendered the plot in these stories infeasible.

In neither case should you infer anything about the prior stories from this one. The authors named above have substantially different objectives for their stories.

There are a number of hidden references throughout to obscure (and some not so obscure) science fiction and fantasy stories. This is a game that some authors play. Should you care to look, have fun finding them.

Safety Warning. This story may contain descriptions of practices that are decidedly unsafe, either in general, or if performed by someone without adequate training. There are a number of good books available on safety in the BDSM scene. Iím not going to point out which practices are safe, and which arenít. Any practice is unsafe if performed by someone with inadequate training and experience, or if performed when not paying attention. Please think before you act. Donít make yourself a candidate for a Darwin award.

Science Warning. In common with most science fiction authors, if I need it, I invent it. Just because itís described, donít assume it exists. On the other hand, just because youíve never heard of it, donít assume it doesnít. There are only two universal laws. If you believe in a limitation, itís yours. Yesterdayís impossibility is todayís research news, and tomorrowís consumer product.

OK Ė now on to the story -------

Chapter 1. Selma

Selma was getting more and more depressed. Her job hunt was not going well at all. It was the middle of the early 21st century economic contraction. Unemployment was high. Employers were getting pickier and pickier.

At 5'10 in her stocking feet, the lithe blonde had an adequately curved, but not spectacular figure. She kept herself in shape, and looked like the tomboy she was. She was never going to land a job on looks alone. Not that she was bad looking. She wasn't. But she wasn't beautiful either. A few years earlier, and she would have had job offers coming out her ears. Now, however illegal the practice, jobs for women were going to the ones that could serve as office decorations, as well as do something useful to earn their paycheck. She could do the latter, but not the former.

She could last a couple more months. Her unemployment from the last job would last that long. She lived frugally and was current on her bills, but she had no cushion. End of unemployment meant end of apartment, meant the hopeless and short life of the homeless, of whom there seemed to be more and more.

Marriage wasn't a way out. She didn't lack for boyfriends, but they were all in the same boat as she was. Even the ones that were employed didn't have enough income to support a non-working wife. She was more than willing to work, but marriage didn't bring an automatic paycheck. It still took two paychecks to support a couple at the beginning of their career.

She cruised the Internet regularly, looking for leads. She had even considered the sex industry, hazardous as it was, but she simply didn't fit the profile of the tiny blond and curvy sex toy. One out of three didn't make it.

Then, there it was on her screen, in one of the sex personals newsgroups.


Has to be a scam, she thought as she pulled up the message contents.

Lifetime employment guaranteed. All needs furnished until the day you die. No taxes. No paperwork. No bureaucratic hassles. No office politics.

The successful candidate will be a 26yo or younger female, athletic, good looking, willing to sever all relationships with her current environment. If you are interested, email pgjobs@coldmail.com

Definitely a scam. At least, I can get a chuckle out of it. And I do fit the requirements. She sent a reply, and then forgot about it as she went on to the next scraping from the bottom of the barrel.

Chapter 2. Prescreening

Selma's message popped up on Jim's screen, followed by the Internet trace back to her home ISP. A moment later, her home address came up. The other screen cleared, showing her sitting at her desk, working on a laptop. He moved the viewpoint a bit. Blond, looked like she kept herself in shape. Definitely not overweight. He triggered the Autofit program. 5'10". Classics were still in demand.

He marveled, not for the first time, how easy it all was. Alice was definitely a wizard. Then he chuckled at what he had called the chief (and only) Sorceress of Ponygirls, Inc.

He sent the response packet. Special equipment inserted it directly into her ISP's email server. There was no way to trace its back trail, since it had no back trail to trace.

Chapter 3. First message.

A half hour later, Selma was still working. Her email program pinged. Incoming mail.

Lets see what got past the Spam filter this time, she mused. Bring up the email program. There was the header: LIFETIME EMPLOYMENT GUARANTEED - response to your inquiry.

Pull it up. There was an executable attachment. Oh, oh. This looks serious, or maybe seriously nasty.


Thank you for your interest in our offer. We would prefer to continue this conversation by encrypted e-mail. In fact, we will only do so by encrypted e-mail. Further unencrypted responses to our server will be ignored.

The attachment is a convenience. It will install one of the several excellent, free email encryption programs on your system. If you choose not to use it, you can install any of the encryption packages yourself.



Raw Material Analyst 1/c

She looked at the list of web sites. Interesting. If any of them were legit, she could always use an encryption package. And it sure beat looking at more sweepings from the bottom of the barrel.

Three hours later, she had selected a package, installed it, and sent a response. She checked her schedule for tomorrow. Three employment agencies, and two leads that wouldn't pan out. At least, it looked good in her job search log. They kept those unemployment checks coming.

The automatic watcher read her e-mail off of her computer. Meanwhile, the encrypted copy wended its way thorough the e-mail system to an automated black hole, where it was simply thrown away. Nobody would ever decrypt it. In fact, the public key she had been given was simply a set of random numbers, a snare and a delusion, and make-work for some cryptanalyst somewhere.

She got up, and headed for bed. The automatic watcher noticed her getting up - the first significant change in posture for the last four hours. It started recording as she undressed, went to the bathroom, cleaned her teeth, put on a negligee, and slipped between the sheets. The recording went into the file for the next time a human looked at her.

Chapter 4. A real offer, at last.

Jim got into the office bright and early. He had six open files, and four second responses. One of them was Selma's. He opened files on the four second responses, and sent the next standard message. From here, it would get interesting. Most of the second responses were met with outright, astonished, rejection.

Chapter 5. Morning at the apartment.

Selma bounced out of bed as her alarm went off. Then she did her usual morning routine. Hit the toilet, then fifteen minutes of aerobics. Put on a running outfit, and out the door. An hour later, she was back, exhilarated. Shower, eat a light breakfast, and dress in a housecoat. Ready to continue her futile job search.

LIFETIME EMPLOYMENT GUARANTEED - Response to your inquiry.


Thank you for your continued interest in our employment opportunity. Let us take a moment to tell you something of our business. Before we continue, we should warn you that this is a highly unusual business, and most people will not want to continue this conversation beyond this point.

To put it bluntly, we are in the slave trade. We provide highly specialized slaves to wealthy people with very specific interests.

If we make you an offer, and you accept it, you may expect to be sold at auction after successful completion of our training program. Our products are extremely high quality, and command correspondingly high prices. These high prices, in turn, virtually ensure that the slave will be kept in good condition, to provide years of service.



Raw Materials Analyst, 1/c.

Selma stared at the message in shock. What the hell? There was no way she was going to continue this. She ought to report it to some authorities!

First, though, she had to do her daily tour of the employment offices and the unsuitable, unavailable jobs. Lets draw a veil over that activity. It might be of interest to aficionados of Samuel Becketís rather boring play, "Waiting For Godot." It certainly isn't of any interest to anyone else.

Eventually, her futile day drew to a close, and she returned home. Another session of aerobics, and she was ready to return to her equally futile search of the Internet.

She opened her e-mail, and there was Jim's letter. She had forgotten to send it to the trash. Well, why not? It was actually the most fun she had had recently.

Dear Jim

Why should I consider this offer?




She sorted through the rest of the trash from the net, and went to bed.

The next morning, there was a reply.

Dear Selma

I really have no answer as to why you should do it. I know I wouldn't. A perusal of our files indicates that reasons for becoming a piece of property are highly individual.

You might try this:

Open a file, and make two columns. In one column write statements about your life. In the other column, make statements about the corresponding facets of a slaveís life.

If you email it to me, I will endeavor to correct any misconceptions you may have about the nature of our product.



Raw Materials Analyst 1/c

Hum. It seemed that there was a real person there after all. A real answer. And an interesting exercise. Time to start her futile job search for the day. She dropped a notebook in her purse as she headed out the door.

By the time she got back in the evening, she had smoke coming out of her ears. Looking at what she had written had brought her predicament into sharp focus. The only thing was; she couldn't figure out whom to kill in order to get a job.

A look at her face in the mirror brought the absurdity of the situation home. She went from anger to laughter in a moment.

She went to her laptop, entered the notes she had made, and looked at them. Added a few items here and there. Well, why not.


Please see attachment. It makes absolutely no sense. If I am reading this right, a piece of property has more chance of lasting happiness than I do. Where am I missing the boat?



Steamed material 1/c

She went to bed. The next day, after another day of trotting around, looking at unavailable jobs, there was an e-mail.


Your responses indicate that you think we do harem sex slaves. We don't. There are other services that provide these. I must warn you, however, that the life of a sex slave is usually pretty short. People who can afford the product usually have enough money that the sex slave doesn't have enough to do to keep her occupied, and her mind focused on her duty, and the relationship deteriorates quickly. The aftermarket in sex slaves is quite small, and is mostly patronized by pimps and procurers, looking for prostitutes to add to their string or bordello.

We actually do a very specialized category called a "pony slave", or "pony girl". A properly trained pony girl acts, in most respects, like a pony. If her owner wants, she participates in dressage, racing or jumping competitions among aficionados.

I've attached a short video of some typical competition activities.

If you would kindly send a recent picture, and some description of your exercise schedule, I can possibly make a more detailed comment.



Raw Materials Analyst 1/c



Thank you for the video. After I got over the shock of what you did to that poor girl, I have to admit that she moves beautifully. That dance routine was a stunning interpretation of the music. And done in restricted motion.

I've included a short video of myself doing my aerobics, since I suspect that is what you would be most interested in. I also do an hour run every day.

A pony girl. Huh. I suppose she sleeps in a stable, eats hay and gossips with the other ponies.


Raw Material 1/c



Thanks for the video. You keep yourself in quite good shape, I see. That would speed up your training program, since not as much time would have to be spent on physical conditioning and endurance training.

Yes, Silence Is Golden is quite exceptional. There are very few ponies that can come up to her standard, and even fewer that are better.

We don't keep our ponies in a stable. They sleep on a quite comfortable mat, in a form of bondage called a hog-tie. It initially takes some getting used to, but after a short time the pony sleeps quite comfortably.

They eat something we call mash. Itís actually a very well balanced mixture of foods, vitamins and minerals that can keep the active pony in good health indefinitely. It tastes like a gourmet ice cream. In fact, most of the training staff eats it occasionally. Itís much healthier than the typical machine junk food snacks.

Ponies are trained not to talk. Itís simply not allowed. We are quite strict about that. The typical pony loses all desire to talk fairly early in the training course. You should also be aware that, based on current market statistics, about 86% of our product goes to owners whoís staff speaks a different language than you do.

Since you are the runner type, I've included a short video of a running competition.


Raw Materials Analyst 1/c

Not to talk? Yeeech! But on the other hand, how many meaningful conversations had she had lately? Her current most interesting conversation was with a recruiter for a ponygirl herd! Have to think about this.



I'm not sure whether to say that the race in that video was obscene, beautiful, or just weird. Who were those sulky drivers? I've never seen such small people. Did you contract with a tribe of leprechauns?

About the sleep. Itís just as well; I'm allergic to hay. Is mash all that they eat? That could get monotonous. Not talking? I'm not sure I could take it.

Which brings up an interesting point. If she sleeps in bondage, what do you do with her during the day when you arenít using her?

How do you do the training? All the ponies I've seen in the pictures you sent act like ponies, not like normal girls. Are there breaks? How much is classroom, how much is hands on, or should I say, hoofs on?


Really curious, now



They are small, aren't they? They are really reclusive, and are the basis of the leprechaun legends. They are absolutely the best trainers around. I suspect that they stick around us because they're getting their own back after all these years. We certainly haven't been kind to them. Revenge must be sweet. They get to ride the humans like horses.

Yes, mash is all they eat. We vary the flavor, but it does get monotonous. Hay would be just as monotonous, and wouldn't taste anywhere as good.

You will spend essentially all of your time in some form of bondage, except for the morning shower and grooming. When you are not actively being worked, you will be mounted on what we call a display stand. Iím including a video of a couple of our ponies on their stands.

Our training methods are proprietary. You will become a pony, and be treated as a pony, right from day one. We will start breaking you immediately. There is no point in delaying it. You will not like the process of being broken to obedience. You will, however, have no choice about it, and you will be broken. Many of our female trainers go through it as part of their preparation for pony training. They don't like it. However, it is quite effective.


Raw Materials Analyst 1/c



They look cute on that display stand. Those puppy paws are just too much. But why are their heads tilted back? Iíd think theyíd be bored out of their minds Ė if any. Of course, they were out of their minds to sign up, so it probably makes no difference.


Curiouser and Curiouser



Youíre getting into interesting questions. Their heads are tilted back because their collars are shaped to force that posture. And the main reason is that it makes them look cute. Another one is that it makes them arch their backs, which brings their breasts forward. Most men find the effect erotic.

Another is that it puts their nose between their eyes. That makes their vision somewhat more like a horseís. Ponyís eyes are on the sides of the head; they donít have binocular vision because the fields of vision only overlap a little bit in the front.

Also, itís the best angle for the head while being ridden. Since the trunk is tilted when under a saddle, the additional tilt of the head lets them look forward.

No, they arenít bored. We donít permit it. A bored pony gets into trouble. Seriously, have you ever seen a bored pony? When theyíre on the stand, they are trained to stay alert and pay attention to the most interesting stimulus they can see. If there really isnít any, they doze.

I thoroughly agree; they were out of their minds to sign up. But they did.


Raw Materials Analyst 1/c




One thing still puzzles me. Why are you telling me all of this? I would think that it would drive applicants away. Iím surprised you just donít kidnap people off of the street?





Itís called informed consent. Our boss has a real bug about that. Youíd be surprised at how many go through with it. There are a lot of people who think long-term bondage is exactly what they want. On the other hand, I donít think any amount of informed consent would cover what we do to initially break a pony.

We used to kidnap girls right off the street. We still do on occasion, but we make most of our raw material requirements from volunteers.

We like what we see. We think you would train up real nice, and net us a good profit at auction. Weíll extend a formal offer, with appropriate paperwork, whenever you are ready.


Raw Materials Analyst 1/c




Thanks for clearing that up. If I accept the job offer, where would I go to begin?


Raw Material.



We will tell you when and where to report at the time.

Our evaluation committee has met, and agrees that you would be good raw material for our program. Consider this an offer to be included, and to become a pony slave.

I've attached an acceptance form. If you accept, you may or may not be able to back out. That depends on circumstances. You will definitely not be able to back out once you are physically in our possession.

If you want to back out after acceptance, please e-mail attachment 2, marked "decline".

If you want to accept, please digitally sign and email attachment 1.



Raw Materials Analyst 1/c



I, Selma Murchinson (hereinafter known as human livestock), do hereby indenture myself to Ponygirls, Inc. (hereinafter known as owner), for a term of 99 years. Owner's interest may be transferred to any other party, at any time, without restriction.

The standard definition of the class of human livestock called a ponygirl, as defined by the International Ponygirl Consortium, is attached by reference. Owner will break the livestock to obedience, and will train it to the specifications referenced above.

The livestock agrees to accept the training, and understands that any attempt at disobedience will be trained out.

Livestock certifies that adequate information was given to constitute informed consent.



Chapter 6. The capture.

She pressed enter, and off the document went to its destination.

"That was amusing", thought Selma. "Wouldn't it be rich if someplace like Ponygirls, Inc really existed? Oh, well. Off to bed. Another three employment agencies and two failed leads tomorrow."

The next day dawned crisp and clear. Selma did her aerobics, and did her run. Then she headed back to her apartment to begin the long series of futile job interviews.

Last stop for the day. Try to look interested. You know you wonít be hired. They know they wonít hire you.

They know you know. You know they know. STOP THAT! She took a deep breath, and opened the door. Stornath Engineering. Never heard of them before the unemployment office gave her the lead. They had an opening for a file clerk.

The girl at the desk was a honey blond. Decorative, possibly useful. Exactly the type you wanted at the front desk. She stated her purpose. The honey blond pulled out a form, and handed it to her. She pointed at an office across the hall, and said to use it to fill out the application. Selma walked toward the office as a couple of men came down the corridor, deep in conversation with each other. As she reached to open the door, she saw the name printed on it, in neat little letters. Ponygirls, Inc. She froze for a moment in shock. She never felt the stunner.

Terry and Mike grabbed her. Time was essential now. She had to be mostly packed before she recovered from the stun.

They carried her into the office, and laid her out on the desk. First things first. A blindfold and a gag went on her head. They put a belt around her waist. This was leather, about two inches high, and locked in front. There were a number of rings attached.

Leather cuffs went around her wrists. They pulled her hands behind her, and padlocked the cuffs to the belt. Then they put cuffs on her ankles. They took off her shoes, and then bent her feet up behind her back. Her ankle cuffs were now hooked to a short steel rod that attached to her belt. She was hogtied.

They lifted her into the transport box. This was heavily padded to avoid any damage in shipment. She struggled a moment as she started to come around. Terry and Mike worked quickly, attaching her to a webbing of restraints. They would keep her from moving around and possibly hurting herself. Keeping her quiet used to be one of the objectives, but it was now secondary.

Jill came into the room, and picked a curious contraption off the shelf. She lifted the girlís head, and inserted it into her nostrils. Then she quickly attached hoses from a pair of oxygen bottles, and a container of sleepy gas. The gadget began to hum quietly to itself. She attached a final hose to a fitting on the inside of the box that lead to the outside air.

Jill put her hand under the girlís rib cage. She was breathing normally. If she stopped breathing, the gadget would take over, forcing air into her lungs, and then exhausting it. Jill attached a final hose to a fitting in the front of her gag. This hose ran to a receptacle for saliva. It was no part of their plan that they drown her from being kept gagged too long without attention.

Jill checked Terry and Mike. All done. She swung the lid over, and padlocked it. Then she pulled a sticker from her clipboard, and pasted it on the box next to the padlock. Selma was ready for shipment.

I came to around lying on my face. All kinds of different sensations. Tightness around my waist. Bands around my head. Hands and feet folded up behind me. No slack there. I felt several pairs of hands doing things to me. Too many sensations, too much going on to make the pieces fit.

Then I felt something shoved up my nose. Panic. Try to breath, girl. Everything began to drift away into a delicious lassitude. Nothing mattered any more. I heard a dull thud above me. An image of that door drifted through my mind. Ponygirls, Inc. Would there be ponyboys?

It seemed weird outside for a moment. Then the weirdness went away. Nice, safe box.


Terry and Mike left the room. Jill stayed behind to watch. After a moment, the box seemed to shift somehow, like it had a mind. And it couldnít decide whether it was here or there. The feeling grew, and then suddenly the box was no longer here. It was definitely there. The table where the box had rested was empty.

Jill left the room, rejoining Terry and Mike.

"As many times as I see that, it still seems unreal. I mean, how can a box be somewhere, and somewhere else at the same time? It isnít possible, but I keep seeing it."

"Well, Iím glad itís you and not me. The one and only time I saw that, I went into hysterics. They had to stun me to quiet me down, and Alice had to give me some posthypnotic suggestions. Iíll just stay out of its way, thank you."

"Me, too. It just isnít natural. Itís better than the old method, so Iíll put up with it, but donít ask me to watch. Gives me the willies."

The procurement team cleaned up behind themselves, and left. Tomorrow the builders would begin remodeling the office for a new company. It had no connection with anything that had just happened.

Chapter 7. Orientation.

There were four people in the ready room. Sandra was a tall brunette. She was the operator on the orientation team. Her two partners, Brent and Ted, were her equals in this endeavor. They knew their jobs. They were waiting for the next piece of raw material to arrive. The fourth person, Dora, was Sandyís daughter. Dora was 18, and it was time she began learning how to train ponies. She was a lobo-ra, one of the small people Selma had seen in the video.

The phone rang. Brent picked it up. He listened briefly. "OK team. Itís arrived." The team continued lounging around the table.

Dora looked at them anxiously. "But shouldnít we be going to unpack her?"

"Weíve got time. Finish your mash."

Dora looked at her glass, and then took another mouthful. Mmmm. Being able to drink mash was a real treat. Being the daughter of a ponygirl trainer, she had heard of it all her life, but her mother had never brought any home. It was rich, however. She would have to take her time.

"But, what if sheís in there too long?"

"Honey, sheís only been in her box for a half hour, max. A couple of years ago, she would have been in that box for ten to twenty hours before delivery. We didnít hurry, but we made time march then. We donít have to hurry. Sheíll still be out of her box and on her stand in less than an hour since they stunned her."

"We still should have been there for her." Stubbornly.

Ted said: "No we shouldnít. Really. You may be one of the ones that can watch a teleport without having hysterics. The rest of us canít. Being here in the ready room while they deliver her is actually more efficient. If we were waiting in the orientation room, they would have to deliver her to the warehouse, and then bring the box over by forklift. When we get a wave of arrivals, they do just that. But for singletons, itís much easier to just be out of the room, and let them deliver her to us."

"Oh." She looked at her glass, and drained the last of the mash.

"Lets go." Everybody got up and went. Dora reached up and put her glass in the sink.

They trooped into the orientation room. Sandy told her daughter to sit on a table at the side of the room.

"You can see everything from there, honey. Youíll be out of the way, we donít use that table unless we are processing several at once."

Ted and Brent moved over to unlock the box. Sandy checked the manifest, and looked at the items neatly laid out on the table, in the order she would be using them. Everything was there. Ted and Brent began to unhook Selma from her webbing. Sandy moved over to remove the breathing apparatus. This was a critical point. If she had trouble breathing, they would have to move fast. She wouldnít have any trouble, however. The red light was off. That meant she was breathing under her own power. If the red light had been on, the clever little box would have been pushing air into her lungs, and sucking it out.

Sandy unhooked the breather from her nose. She continued to breath. In a few breaths, the sleepy gas began to leave her bloodstream. She would be awake in a couple of minutes. They continued to unhook the straps. Finally, they were done. She was loose in the box.

Brent and Ted picked her up and swung her upright. They carried her over to the stand. Sandra guided the rings in the back of her belt over the pole in the middle. She came to rest on her knees. Brent and Ted stood away while Sandra unhooked her ankles from the rod, and then removed the rod from her belt. She guided the feet down to the back of the platform, and attached her ankle cuffs to short chains. The newest pony was now secured to her display platform. She wasnít going anywhere, at least under her own power.

Sandra moved in front of the girl, and removed her blindfold. This was the moment of truth. A pair of wary blue eyes looked out at her. Sandra patted her on the arm, and said "Youíre doing fine, honey."

Next was the gag. The girl licked her lips.

"Youíve got me on my display stand, donít you?"

"Yes, we do. You were told we donít waste any time. Are you thirsty? Do you want some water?"

"Yes, please."

Sandra got a glass of water, and let Selma suck it up through a straw. She drank about half of it, then stopped.


Selma nodded. "Youíre going to turn me into a ponygirl?" She looked like she was about to cry.

Sandra patted her again. "Yes, we are. Youíll make a fine ponygirl."

"Weíve got a few things to do here. Most of them are going to hurt. Its all part of the procedure, all of our new ponies go through it. OK?

Selma nodded doubtfully.

Sandra unhooked a long rod with a handle from her belt. "Can you guess what this is?"

"Thatís a prod, isnít it?"

"Good girl. Now, Iím going to hurt you with it. Thatís so you will know what it feels like."

Selma looked scared.

"Donít be afraid. We use this so you will learn what to do, and what not to do. You donít need to fear it. We wonít use it on you without a reason."

Sandy turned it to level 1, and brushed it against the ponyís right breast.

"Ouch, that hurt!"

"Itís supposed to. You need to know what it feels like. Now, this is level two." She reset the prod, and touched her thigh. Selma tilted back her head and screamed. She began to shake.

Sandra shut off the prod, and hooked it back on her belt. Then she wrapped her arm around Selma and held her for a moment. "There, there, its all right. Youíre doing well."

Selma calmed down a bit.

"Now, you know what a level two prod feels like, donít you?"

Selma nodded, a real serious look on her face.

"You were a good girl to take it like that. Now, Iím going to give you an option. You need to be gagged. You can be gagged now, or you can be gagged in a few minutes, as the last step of prepping you. This is a bit of a luxury. After I gag you, you wonít be allowed to speak ever again. Some of the next things I do to you will hurt. If you promise not to make a fuss, we can talk while I finish. If you do make a fuss, I will zap you on level two before I gag you. Your choice."

"Iíd rather have a few last words, if itís ok."

"Good girl. The next procedure is to remove your clothes. "

Selma looked shocked. "Honey, livestock doesnít wear clothes. You know that."

She picked up a device, and showed it to Selma. "This is a dressmakers power sheer. Hold still so I donít knick you."

"But, but, youíll ruin my clothes."

"Of course, honey. Weíre not running a second hand shop here."

For some reason, this struck Selma as excruciatingly funny. She howled with laughter. Sandra settled her down with a quick hug, and a pat on the shoulder. Selma took a long, shuddering breath and let it out. "I needed that."

"I know you did, honey. Youíll do just fine."

She tugged the top of her skirt and pantyhose from under the leather belt. Then she turned on the sheers. She started at the bottom, and cut the pantyhose around the ankle cuffs. The bottom came off of the foot, soon to be a hoof, just fine. Then she ran the sheers up Selmaís leg, taking her skirt and panties when she came to them. She did the same on the other foot, and Selma was now completely nude below the waist.

She took the blouse out from under the belt, and removed it, and her bra, in four neat cuts. Two up the sides, and two across the shoulders.

"Jewelry next, dear." She held up a pair of metal clippers. Shortly, her necklace and charm bracelet were no more.

"Hold still while I take out your earrings, please." Selma tried to hold still while Sandra removed two pairs of earrings from her ears. Sandra tossed them in the trash, with the rest of the clothing.

"Now, this next thing is going to hurt. Iím going to put your ID disks in your ears."

"ID disks?"

"Well, yes. All well dressed livestock wear ID tags. These have numbers issued by the consortium. Ponygirls have theirs in their ears. They look cute."

"I didnít realize you were soÖ thorough."

"Well, of course we are. Weíve been doing this for years. Now, this stuff is antiseptic. I smear some on your ears, so."

"This next is going to hurt like hell. Iím going to punch a hole in each ear, up by the cartilage. This is a bit higher than regular earrings, but then, these arenít fashion items.

She took the next item off the table, and showed it to the new pony. "This is the punch."

She held the punch up to the left ear, positioned it, and squeezed the handle. Selma drew a deep breath through clenched teeth. The punch drove a starter hole, and then followed it with a larger diameter rod that left a hole a full sixteenth of an inch in diameter.

Sandra held up a little disk and a hollow rod. "Now, this is one of your ID disks. We put the shaft in it, like so, and we put it in your ear, like so. Then we take this back plate and put it on the other side of the shaft, like so. Finally, we use this tool to crimp it in place."

"Now, that wasnít so bad, was it? You took that really well. Iím proud of you. Now for the other ear."

Sandy did the other ear. Selma drew another ragged breath as the punch clamped down.

"All done with the tags. Those posts are hollow for a reason. We can put earrings in them. Or bells. Iím going to put a pair of little pearl earrings in the disks to make you look nice." She held up a pair of earrings, and then put them in the center of the ID disks.

"Almost done. Just a couple more things. Iím going to pierce your breasts, and put rings in them. This will hurt less than you think, Iím going to use a topical anesthetic."

Selma looked down as Sandy spread a blue paste over her nipples, and then rubbed it in with a swab. The area went numb. Sandy took out another tool. "This is a pattern, and a piercing needle. We put the pattern over your breast, like so, and then push the needle in, like so. Now, we follow it with a bar, like so. And now, the rest of the ring fits here, and we do a pressure weld, like so. That looks good, if I do say so."

"Now, for the other breast." She worked for a minute, and the other breast was ringed just like the first. "Youíve been such a cooperative little darling, Iím going to let you look at yourself in a mirror. First, lets just hang a couple of bells on those rings."

She picked up a couple of little, open bells, and clipped them to the rings. Then she wheeled the stand over to a full-length mirror on one wall. "Well, how do you like you?"

Selma: I looked at myself in the mirror. I saw a naked girl on her knees, with a pole showing between her legs. Her arms were pulled behind her. She was wearing a leather belt. I had to say, the rings and bells in her nipples looked cute. There was a flash of silver from her ears.

"Thereís something missing. The girls in the pictures had their heads tilted back."

"Youíre an observant little filly. Weíll take care of that right now." She walked over to the equipment table, and picked up the harness and ball gag. "Your talk time is over. Open wide."

Selmaís eyes opened wide as she stared at the red ball. Then she opened her mouth. "Good girl. Iím so proud of you." Sandra popped the ball into her mouth, and then pulled the straps tight. She stepped back to examine her handwork. Her handiwork looked back with big blue eyes. They looked scrumptious over the red of the ball gag in her mouth.

"One last thing." She picked up the headrest, and bolted it to the top of the pole in the stand. "Tilt your head back onto the rest." Selma tilted her head, and Sandra secured the harness to the headrest with another bolt. "All done. You were a pleasure to work on."

Sandra picked up a blanket, threw it over Selma, and wheeled the stand out the door. The rest of the crew followed.

"Mom, can I have another glass of mash?"

"You like that stuff, donít you?"

"Its scrumptious."

"Well, ok, butÖ Youíll have to do an extra exercise session tonight, or else skip desert."

"Aw, mom." Sandra looked at her daughter. "Well, all right."

"Just a half glass. You probably wonít be able to drink any more. It really is rich."

"Mom, Iíve been wondering. Why did you tell that pony that she would never be able to talk? I know Iíve heard both Rocky and BeLively talk while we were grooming them."

"Well, Rocky is owned by a community member, and BeLively is a community trainee. The rules are that they have to be kept in shape to talk. For Rocky, its in case her owner wants to use her for something else, like a French maid. In BeLivelyís case, itís to make it a bit easier to come out at the end of her two years. But this pony will be auctioned off, and itís really her ownerís call. Remember that ponies donít have choices. Never tell one something that might happen. Only tell them something that will definitely happen. Or better yet, donít tell them at all, until it happens. That will keep them on track with being a pony."

Down the hall, an attendant pushed the stand with the newest pony toward her destiny.