By Xaltatun of Acheron

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.

There are fifteen stories in the series entitled “Ponygirl Transformation.” I may write others later, but fifteen is it for now. The stories can be read independently, however, they happened in roughly this order. The first three set necessary background, and the last one is, well, the last one. Any additional stories will fit in between those.

1. Ponygirl Finds Her Place

2. Kinder and Gentler

3. The Sorceress’ Apprentice

4. Raw Material, Part 1 (revised slightly)

5. Raw Material, Part 2

6. Ponygirl by Choice

7. The Politics of Ponygirls

8. Ponygirls on Vacation

9. Bluebird Grows Up

10. Unregistered Ponygirls

11. Kidnapper

12. Suzie’s Ponygirl

13. Driver

14. PonyGIRL?

15. The Curtain Falls, The Curtain Rises

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 commercially available, and should not be on any web site on the internet, except for a short excerpt on Sir Jeff’s 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 beginning in Sorceress’ Apprentice, and partially for other reasons.

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. Most large cities, and some not so large ones, have organized BDSM groups that will usually welcome a newcomer. I’m not going to point out which practices are safe, and which aren’t. 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. Don’t make yourself a candidate for a Darwin award.

OK - now on to the story -------

Chapter 1. Morning with Tom

One of life’s little luxuries is waking up with the sunrise, like our ancestors did lo these many thousands of years ago. You wouldn’t think it would be possible, being buried in a cavern under uncountably many millions of tons of rock, but these days, lots of things are possible. In this case, the Board had decided to refurnish all of the Executive apartments with LED area lighting as a cost saving measure. I know these things still cost more than incandescents – but they could have been right about saving an upgrade on our geothermal power plant. I suspect that Rank Hath Its Privileges played more than a little part. I don’t really know; I’m a senior ponygirl trainer, not a cost accountant.

They can be programmed to go through a very natural sunrise and sunset sequence; I use it instead of an alarm clock. Tom, of course, slept through the whole thing, as is his wont. I slipped out of bed, put the coffee on and took a quick shower, and prepared to wake him up the way he likes. Of course, I like it too, or I wouldn’t have suggested it as part of our daily routine.

I burrowed under the covers again and found his rod. A little tongue work, and it stiffened up nicely. I took it in my mouth, and started cuddling it. As I felt him begin to stir under me, I brought it in and out a bit, wrapping it with my tongue. I heard his breath come deeper and more rapidly, and then he arched his back and came, giving me a nice mouthful to swallow. That would put most men to sleep, but it wakes him up in a good mood. Before I started doing this, he tended to wake up grouchy until he’d had his second cup of coffee.

He headed into the bathroom to shower while I made breakfast. We usually discuss our day over breakfast, and today was no exception. I only had two major items. We had a new girl scheduled to arrive, and I expected the girl in 532 to break her “don’t talk” conditioning this morning. That was going to be messy. Only about one girl in ten even tries, and very few of them succeed. I could have conditioned the desire out when I detected it, but frankly, I think that’s going a bit too far in messing with their heads. I’d much rather that she know she can get around our conditioning with sufficient effort, and that she’d be a fool to try. I also wanted to deal with what she had to say.

Breakfast over, I dressed quickly in our standard senior trainer’s uniform. It’s a simple white blouse over a pushup bra, a black leather skirt that came down to just above my knees, black leather boots with 5 inch heels that zipped up to mid-thigh and a black leather jacket that came down over my breasts in a nice V, and buttoned just above my waist. My red senior trainer’s belt had the usual prod, whip, cell phone, ponygirl control and tool kit, arranged where I could get to each fast. I don’t need to apply makeup; I’d had our geneticists adjust the skin on my face to the look that Tom and I both like. It’s much more convenient.

Then I headed downstairs to groom Dancing Waters while Tom set up his day. He’s the supervisor for Training Cell Block Five, and he likes to spend some time getting his schedule straight before driving over and starting the day. He knows the whole thing usually falls apart before lunch, and that in any case his five training teams and three senior trainers are quite capable of handling the routine without detailed planning. In all fairness, he doesn’t really work as much on our schedule as he does on logistics, supplies and other things.

Our apartment building’s two trainers, Amos and Debra, had just arrived as I got downstairs. We exchanged greetings and then got to work. They started on one end of the corridor of eight ponygirl cells, while I went directly to Dancing Water’s cell. I stroked the cell door, and it opened obediently. She was lying on her mat in the prescribed hogtie, single glove and single boot just touching. I removed the four restraining straps and her sleeping hood. She woke up and then made a muffled grunt as I unhitched the glove from the boot and took them off. I gave her ass a light swat, and she headed into the bathroom on her hands and knees. I threw the leather into the recycling bin for the cleaning staff to deal with.

She waited patiently for me in front of the toilet, hands and knees outspread. I pulled a tool out of my belt and fitted it into the red ball on the end of her dildo. A twist deflated the knob on the top, and I pulled it out and tossed it into the recycling bin. Then I did the same for her ass plug. She whinnied behind her gag, plopped herself on the toilet and let go. Then she came back down to her hands and knees, but this time crouched with her ass over the toilet bowl.

I fed the enema nozzle into her ass, and turned it on. She whinnied plaintively as the water gurgled into her bowels. I chuckled and scratched her behind the ears. “Good pony.” She whinnied again. It wasn’t as if this was new. It had been part of her morning routine every day since she had come here as a young woman taking her first step toward, as far as she knew, spending the rest of her life as a human pony.

The enema finished filling her up. I massaged her stomach for a minute while she held it, and then swatted her lightly on the ass. She released the brown flood into the toilet bowl. When she was done, I took out her gag, and she crawled over to the shower on her hands and knees. The showerhead is only four feet off the floor, she has to shower kneeling or sitting down. I watched as she washed her self, doing her hair twice, and then brushed her teeth. When she was done, she went back on her hands and knees and crawled over to me.

I took one of our extra large towels and dried her off. She’s a real dear; she gets into the grooming ritual whole-heartedly. I normally start on top, getting her face and then her shoulders and arms. Then I continue on down to her chest and breasts, being careful not to pull on her breast rings. Then down to her waist, and her ass. She holds each of her legs out so that I can get it. After toweling her dry, I do her hair with a blow drier, followed by her armpits. Then I come up between her legs with the drier, from her thatch all the way up between her ass cheeks.

Then I do her hair. Today, I did it in a simple ponytail. Other days, I’ll do it in other styles, but today I’m in a bit of a hurry. In fact, I’m in enough of a hurry that I give her a glass of mash next. Normally, she should be fed on her display stand, and given an hour of rest time to digest. She looked at it in mild disgust, and then drank it down. It’s not that she doesn’t like mash. Like all the ponies, she lives on the stuff, and it has no more emotional content for her than air. She knows that when I do this, she’s got to put most of her tack on herself, and she’d rather one of her trainers did it. She likes the attention of having someone else dress her for the day.

When she was done, she tossed the glass into the disposal and crawled out to her mat on hands and knees. Then she flipped over and pulled her pony boots on. Most of our ’girls wear mid calf length black leather boots with five inch heels that force her feet into full extension. Hers are modeled after a real horse’s hooves. They’re a white leather with long pony hair that matches her skin and hair and that end in a real 10 cm wide hoof, complete with horseshoe. Her feet fit into the bottom in full extension. That isn’t as hard on her as it sounds; one of the things we do to them is to modify their feet so that full extension is as efficient as flat. She zipped them up and wiggled into her bustier. Then she put on her bridle and ball gag. The glove on her left hand came next. This has an insert that forces her hand into a right angle bend at the wrist, fingers extended flat out.

By this point, she’s done as much as she can. I finish up by tightening the laces on the bustier so it’s on nice and solid, and then zip it up. It nestles just above the curve of her hips and below the curve of her breasts, and gives her a classical hourglass figure. I touch her shoulder lightly, and she holds out her right arm for the glove. I slide it on and zip it up.

I touch her on the inside of her thighs, and she obediently spreads her legs. She whinnies in mild disapproval. “You know better than that, Dancing Waters.” She whinnies again. I take a new dildo out of its plastic wrap, coat it with lubricant, and ease it into her sex. She whinnies again as it settles into her until the red ball on the end nestles against the opening of her vagina. Then I twist with a special tool, and the inner end expands and seats itself firmly.

The anal plug comes next. I smear on lubricant, and work it into her asshole as she snorts. It goes in until the curved piece that comes out the end settles between her ass cheeks, spreading them slightly. Then I tighten it with the special tool that expands its inner end, and the curved rod settles securely into the bottom of her ass crack. Her tail goes onto the end of the curved extension. I finish that part by swiping the control along the antenna. It reads the bar code, and stores it. The anal probe vibrates slightly when it’s triggered. It’s quite unmistakable, and fairly unpleasant, so it makes a very good aversive conditioning tool.

“Make a leg.” She comes back up and rises to a kneeling position, and then she brings her right leg up so the hoof is next to her left knee. I bring her arms up and attach the wrists of her gloves to the shoulders, and then attach the elbows to rings on the sides of her bustier.

“Bring your head back.” She whinnies again. This is the one part that she really doesn’t like, and I can’t say I blame her. I never liked it either, but it’s standard. She brings her head back, exposing her neck, and I wrap the collar around it. The collar is much higher in front than in back, and has a very rough edge on top. Once its in place, she’s not going to bring her head forward for any reason.

I stand back and look. Today I think I’ll do bells. I hang a little bell on each of her breast rings, and another pair through the holes in the livestock medallions in her ears. If she were going to stay in her cell, I’d be done. However, there’s one more thing.

“Bend forward a bit, darling.” She bends as I put the back plate we use as a saddle pad on, and attach it to the rings in her bustier. The plate curves over her shoulders putting the extra weight exactly where it belongs. Then I put her saddle in the clips and fasten it down. Finally, I bring her arms around her back, under the saddle, and put the restraining plate on top.

Now, to get her on the cart. I replace the ball gag with a working bit, and snap on the reins. “Up, girl.” She rises smoothly to her feet. I flick the reins, and steer her out the open door of the cell, closing it behind me. She’s on her best behavior, doing her fancy march step without being told.

I guide her to the cart, buckle her into the shafts, and bring it out front to wait for Tom. After a few seconds, she sinks to one knee, exactly as she has been trained. She makes it picture perfect, exactly right to be framed and hung on a wall somewhere. In this pose, I’m not certain what she looks like. Maybe a waterfall by moonlight? Her blond hair puddles in the saddle seat, and her tail puddles on the perfectly manicured lawn. The big minx is well aware of how she looks, and milks it for all it’s worth. Frankly, I approve. Since she’s going to be a ponygirl for the next quarter century or so, a good attitude is vital.

Eventually, Tom came down, looking his sartorial best in slacks and open shirt. His only concession to admitting he actually worked here was the wide belt with diagonal black and gold stripes; and I think he did that only because he wanted somewhere to hang his prod and cell phone. Not that he really needed to do that. There’s only about four thousand of us, total, and only a hundred or so families in the Executive ranks. Tom slid in beside me, and I flicked the reins. Dancing Waters leaned forward and our family chariot began moving, smooth as silk. That’s one of the things I like about her. She not only keeps her mind on what she’s doing, she keeps working on how to do it better. She’s already got one of the smoothest rides in the Community, and that’s saying a lot.

Our route takes us through the tunnel into the main dome, through the dome past the Arena, and then into the tunnel into the Training Block. The Training Block has eight cellblocks, stacked vertically. It’s actually the most difficult place for a ponygirl pulling a load to reach, since the main access is a ramp that cuts out and back past each of the blocks in turn. Dancing Waters handles it easily, which really isn’t too surprising. She’s got too heavy a build for a racer or show pony. If she were a real horse, she’d be one of the ones pulling the beer wagons. She could go up those inclines without slowing down or getting winded, and she has, but not during rush hour. Too much traffic.

I pull her out on level five, unclip her from the chariot, and flip her reins over the hitching rail. She sinks back to one knee, not that she’s going to stay there for long. The reason I put the saddle on her is so the lobo-ra can use her. She’ll spend most of her day pulling ponygirl display stands around; most of which come with their ponygirl being displayed.

Chapter 2. Dealing with Rebellion

There are fifty training cells in each block, arranged in five parallel corridors like the fingers of a hand. Most of the blocks have two rows of five facing each other. Cellblock five is unique in that each corridor has a single line of ten facing a wall of solid rock. It makes walking longer, but the ponygirls being trained can’t see each other. I’ve got mixed feelings about it. It certainly makes them more dependent on their trainers, and they can’t draw on each other for strength. On the other hand, I’ve known the sight of one being strapped into her chair for a punishment to settle all three girls facing her. The biggest gain, however, is that the double row arrangement tends to freak new ponies out a bit if they can see one in a more advanced stage of training. Conversely, it can set a pony back a ways if she can see a new girl come in and remind her of what she once was, and has lost. The single row arrangement avoids all of that, which is why we keep overflows here from the other cellblocks.

The cells are numbered by block and corridor, so 532 was in cellblock five, corridor three, and was the second cell. Each cellblock has its own training team, which simplifies things a bit. They’ve got a break room at the end of the cross corridor. When I got there, the training team was hard at work getting the ponies up on their stands for the morning. These ponies had been here for a while; they weren’t going to cause much, if any, problem. At one time, standard doctrine was for two trainers to do grooming in the morning and putdown at night. One of them would do the routine while the other one stood by with his or her prod out and set at level three. That was how I’d been trained.

I have no idea how the new system works. I saw one escape attempt. She tried to bolt out the bathroom door and into the corridor through the open cell door while she was being dried off. Bad move. She managed to get to her feet and take two steps before she fell over, screaming. She went right to the chair for four days, and got fed slop for the first day. We didn’t have a bit of a problem with her afterwards.

The pony in 532 was a gorgeous redhead with a figure that really didn’t need very much enhancement. In some ways, she was coming along very nicely, in other ways; she wasn’t coming along at all. She still thought she was going to be able to get out of here by asking, and consequently hadn’t really started the emotional adjustment.  I figured that this morning would be the big day.

I hit the cell door and it slid aside. She lay on her face, sleeping. I took off her sleeping hood and unbuckled the single glove from the single boot. Her feet came back when I took off the restraining straps. I unzipped the boot and pulled it off, and then unzipped the glove and pulled it off. By this point, she was awake. She stretched and then came to her hands and knees. I frowned. She was supposed to lie there, hands at her sides, until I told her to move. I didn’t mind a stretch, but anticipating orders wasn’t on, even if they were the same orders she’d been given every morning since she came here.

Szzzzz. OUTCH! She gave a muffled yip as I stroked her flank with my prod on level 1.

“Back down. Now.” She made a noise behind her gag, caught herself and whinnied. Then she came back down to prone position. I decided to overlook her attempt to speak for the moment. She’d almost certainly try again when I took her gag out.

“On your hands and knees and crawl to the toilet.” She came back up and crawled into the bathroom. That red hair was fabulous, especially the way it spilled around her head. I took out her dildo and ass plug.

“Good girl. Up on the toilet and relieve yourself.” She got herself up and let go. We’d debated briefly about installing floor toilets, but the owner’s association didn’t like the idea of the equipment change. We were still thinking about it, though, for community owned ponygirls. She finished.

“Back down.” She came down into the correct position, straddling the toilet. I fed the enema into her and watched her stomach distend as it gurgled around her intestine. When I took the tube out, she held it easily.

“Let it go.” She relaxed her sphincter muscle, and the brown liquid fountained out of her into the bowl.

I reached over and removed the ball gag. “Go take your shower.”

She crawled over, knelt under the showerhead and turned it on. She looked at me while she soaped her body. I looked back, trying not to give her any clues.

“Why did you hurt me?” she whined.

“Did you just say something?” I said. She cringed.

“That’s not the right response,” I said.

She tensed and then the dam broke. “Yes I did, damn you!” Much better. I hit the safety switch that cut off the water to the shower, and then stroked her with the prod on level three. She screamed and then lay twitching on the floor. I replaced her gag. That was a beautiful opening. I’d been afraid she was going to tell me she’d changed her mind about being a ponygirl, and please let her go. Handling that situation would be tricky. There was no way I was going to let her go, and at the same time, legally I had to if she wanted and she could pay the training fee. I’d set up an amnesia trigger, but I was just as relieved that I didn’t have to do it. There’s nothing one therapist can do to the mind that another one can’t undo, although it leaves traces.

I snapped: “Crawl to the chair.” She tensed up. I turned the prod to level three again. She got up on her hands and knees and crawled out of the bathroom, around the corner and stopped facing the chair.

“Get your sorry ass up there, right now!” For a moment, it looked like she was going to refuse, but then she stood, turned around and sat down. I saw her eyes widen as she saw Ben and Sally behind me. I moved back, and they moved in on the sides. It only took them a moment to secure her arms and legs to the fittings, leaving enough slack to cut off circulation, but not so much that she could relieve cramping. When they were done, they left. I secured her bridle to the control straps and made certain that she only had about an inch of slack when the rest was positioned.

“What was that all about, girl?” As if I didn’t know.

“Lmmph mh hmmph. Mummph!” She started to cry. I figured I knew what it was. I held her chin in one hand and positioned her face so she had to look at me.

“Girl, you’ve been slacking off. When you signed that indenture, you said you wanted to be a ponygirl. So far, you’ve been looking for a way out. You’ll get out when your owner decides to let you go, and no sooner. Understand?”

She deflated. Then she stamped her right foot twice and whinnied.

“Good girl. You’re beginning to remember what you’re supposed to do. You’re thinking you may have made a mistake. Well, guess what. Maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t. But the only way out is forward. That’s life. You don’t get chances to back up and try it over.”

“I’m going to give you a bit of advice. I figure whatever put me here wants to harvest the experience I have living my life. Its up to me to enjoy it or not. It’ll get the experience whether or not I enjoy it.”

“I’ll guarantee one thing. You’re not going to enjoy what happens next. You talked. You remember what was going to happen if you did that, don’t you?”

She whinnied and tapped her foot twice.

“Exactly. You’re going to find out what slop tastes like. You’re going to have slop for the next four days.” I plugged the funnel into her ball gag, and poured in ten ounces of the brown stuff. Then I turned the screw and watched her face screw up as the taste penetrated. “Just remember this taste when you want to talk. This is what talking buys you.”

I set the timer so it said 104:00. Four days and eight hours. Then I turned and locked eyes with her. “Just remember one thing. The only reason you’re experiencing this is because you decided you didn’t want the experience you signed up for. You can enjoy being a ponygirl, or you can be miserable being a ponygirl. The only difference it will make is that you will either be an enjoyable ponygirl or a miserable one. Think about it.” I left the cubicle and punched the door button. It slid out of the wall, sealing her off from the rest of the corridor. I’d been in the chair myself for ten hours or so while I was being trained as a ponygirl, and twice for eighty while I was in trainers training. The cramps and sleep deprivation would break her down in short order. I’d survived it, so would she. That was part of the lesson.

Inside the cubicle, a very dejected redhead stared around the container of slop on her face at the clock. It said 103:59.

“Aren’t you being awfully hard on her?” Sally asked after I came out.

“Well, yes. I want to make sure that the lessons are set in concrete. I’ll let her out when I think she’s got it, and I doubt it’ll take all four days.”

For the record, it did take all four days. However, when she came out, she was the most determinedly obedient ponygirl I ever saw. After a few weeks, her mood lightened up considerably. She developed into a friendly, cheerful, obedient pony. We never had a bit of trouble with her after that.

Chapter 3. Interlude in Hell

Oh, God. My ass hurt, my pussy hurt, my tits hurt, my mouth hurt. My shoulders ached from having my arms tied behind me so long. I felt so ashamed of myself for last night. How could I have enjoyed being kidnapped and raped by three men? Those orgasms had just come crashing through, like ocean waves carrying everything before them. The felt so good, and I shouldn’t feel good about being raped. What did that say about me? I felt the claws of self-doubt begin to sink in. Why was I being punished? Nude scenes were normal in family sitcoms, dammit! That can’t be a sin, even if the preachers yell about how it is destroying our moral values.

Oh, God. How could you have let this happen to me? I felt like curling up into a little ball and just disappearing, but the way they had me hogtied wouldn’t let me.

Chapter 4. Steve panics

My phone beeped twice. Once is the signal to check for messages when convenient. Twice means to call in after you finish what you’re doing. That could be up to an hour. I wouldn’t expect a triple for anything short of a revolution. I’d just sealed 532 into the chair, so I headed for a break room. It turned out to be Security.

“What’s up?”

“Security. Your cousin Steve is still on the line. From what little he told me, he put his foot in it up to the hairline this time.”

Which hairline? Steve’s as hirsute as an ape. “Put him on.”

“Little Fuzzy, is that you?” Little Fuzzy is my Family name; from the time I used to keep my hair cut real short to hide the twists I’d inherited from some distant ancestor.

“Of course it is, Steve. Security doesn’t make that kind of mistake. Now what have you done?”

“I got invited to an orgy.”

You got invited? Sounds like fun if I wasn’t working so hard and so solidly married. What’s the problem with a nice little orgy?”

“They’d kidnapped her and were holding her for ransom.”

Ouch. For all of Steve’s infamous paranoia, he can do some of the most unbelievable things at times. “So you left a nice sperm sample with your DNA all packaged for the DA?”

“I didn’t even think of that.” He sounded chagrined. Well he might. “They know me and she saw my face.”

“So I’m all that’s standing between you and a term picking cotton.”

“If they don’t hang me.” He still sounded shook.

“I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, tell Security where she is, and then you go underground. Vanish. Disappear. Don’t leave a forwarding address. I’ll find you when I want you.”

“I’m gone.” He sounded relieved before he hung up.

“We already know,” the Security man said. “She’s not in very good shape.”

“Well, she’s not our problem.” I said. A thought occurred to me. “Unless…” I made up my mind. “I need to call Alice.”

“Raindance, what have your relatives done this time?” Alice sounded more amused than anything else.

I told her. She simply shook her head. My relatives are one of the major East coast Mafia families. Even they have their not so swift members.

“I don’t see what we can do – except maybe keep him in the warp for twenty years or so.”

“Well, we can make his DNA sample vanish.”

“Consider it done. That still leaves three eyewitnesses.”

“We can ship those two nuts to the Island.”

“True. That might be the best place for Steve as well. No, we’ve got a contract to keep organized crime off the Island.”

“He’s hardly that organized.”

She laughed. “You’re reaching.” She sobered up. “Besides which, it doesn’t do anything about the victim.”

“I had an idea about that. That’s why I called you.” I outlined the idea, and we discussed it.

Afterwards, she looked at me strangely. “Raindance, someday you’re going to have to tell me what it was about your family you didn’t like so much that being a ponygirl was preferable. That plan is a stroke of criminal genius. I’ll have to ask Leo to approve it.”

“Think he’ll go for it?”

“Of course. There’s still lots of people around here that regret getting out of the kidnapping business.”

Chapter 5. Sarah in captivity

I woke up and stretched. Then I stopped. I was in a bed, not hogtied on a mat. How’d I get here? I had absolutely no idea. Wherever I was, it was quiet, except for a slight drip, drip from the direction of my feet. I opened my eyes. There seemed to be a dim, red glow. Oh, NO! I can’t be in Hell, can I? I looked around, too panicked to do it slowly. The red glow seemed to be coming from a cheap clock on a table. The clock, with perfect aplomb, went from 5:47 to 5:48 as I watched.

Easy enough for it to act like nothing had happened, I groused to myself. Well, when the bladder calls. I swung out of bed and peered around. The dim red light showed a wall with a shadowy rectangle and what might be a switch next to it. I walked cautiously over, closed my eyes and flipped it. Light assaulted my eyelids. After a moment, I opened them and looked around.

It looked like a normal, somewhat down at the heels bedroom. Bed, or rather cot, with rumpled sheets. Cheap Formica nightstand on the left, with the clock sitting on it. A picture of a girl on her knees, one ankle chained to a ring on a dock, and two men behind her fighting with swords. Creepy.

The door seemed to slide out of the wall. It didn’t move when I tried it. Was it stuck? I noticed two buttons with arrows. One button closed the door; the other opened it.

The next room had a table and chair in the far right corner, a door to the right, and what looked like an old, decrepit television set in the near corner. On the opposite side was a sink with a microwave on one end and a refrigerator on the other. The far end had a door to what looked like a toilet. My bladder forcefully reminded me of the next item on the agenda.

I went into the other room and let loose. Like the rest of this place, the toilet looked like it had seen better days. There was a shower on one end, and a washstand on the other.

The next thing was to get dressed and look for a way out. A quick survey showed me that one thing that wasn’t supplied was any closet space. There also wasn’t a dresser, chest of drawers or anything else that could hold clothes. Oh, NO! Those nude scenes were really coming back to haunt me!

I went back into the main room. The door didn’t have a knob. There weren’t any nice little arrow buttons in sight, either. Super Jock would have taken it off at the hinges. However, I couldn’t find any hinges.

What next? My stomach rumbled. Well, yes. Breakfast. First, the table had a stack of paper and an assortment of pens. There was also a telephone without a keypad or dial. The top item on the stack had something on it.

You’ve been rescued from durance vile. You may consider this as a trip from the frying pan into the fire; then again, you may not. We’ve dealt with your kidnappers; they are no longer a factor in the situation.

You are still being held for ransom. We will deal with your father. We will arrange for you to talk to him so that he can be assured you are still alive.

You may have noticed that there are no clothes in the apartment. We will supply you with some just before we deliver you. If he decides not to ransom you, well, you won’t have any further need for them.

Everything you will need during the negotiation is here. When the apartment needs to be cleaned, you will go to one of the two end rooms. We will lock the door so you can’t open it. When the staff member is done with the other two rooms, we will unlock the door.

Someone will call you later to discuss any questions.

Ulp. These people seemed to mean business. Just the bare (shudder!) facts. No threats, no posturing. The confidence appalled me. I went to the fridge and made a quick breakfast. A bowl of cerial, a grapefruit, some orange juice and coffee revived whatever spirits I had left.

 I sipped another cup of coffee and watched television. Somehow, the network news seemed silly after what had happened to me. The Balkan situation was still a mess, but a new strongman in Bosnia was pulling things together. I watched my show for the first time in ages. God was it awful. How anyone could stand that little twit was beyond me. I had no idea why they were still paying me.

Then the phone rang. I jumped, and then picked it up like it might be a live viper. Like I hoped it was a live viper, if the truth were known.

“Good Morning, Sarah. I expect you’ve got a few questions.” Her voice sounded artificial, metallic.

“Who are you? Where am I? What’s going on?”

Whoever it was laughed. It came over as artificial, a robot. “Who I am doesn’t matter. You won’t ever see me, at least if your father ransoms you. You are where you are, that should be obvious. And you’re talking to me on a phone.”

“That doesn’t help!” I snapped.

“It wasn’t intended to. If you’d thought at all, you’d have known we wouldn’t answer them. You might have better luck asking me where your lap goes when you stand up.”

Where my lap goes? Is she mad, or what? “I’m confused.”

“That’s better, girl. Now come up with a question I can answer.”

“Why did you do this to me?”

“As far as the kidnap and rape go, we didn’t. That was your previous owners. We saw a chance to make a quick profit on the transaction, and stepped in.”

A quick profit? “Previous owners? I’m not a slave.”

“We have possession. We can control what you do, where you do it, and whether or not you do it, and we can punish you if you don’t. What else would you call yourself?”

Grrrr! “What’s next?”

“As I said, we’ll negotiate with your father for your ransom. Your producers might want to contribute a bit too; they really don’t want to lose their best chance of knocking both The Basses and The Hitchhiker off the charts. You’ll get a chance to talk to your father. Other than that, you can waste your time wallowing in self-pity, or you can do something more productive.”

Now she really had me going. “More productive than what?”

“Sitting here and stewing until we reach a conclusion with your father, of course.”

I felt like throwing the phone at the wall. Boy, did she have me going. Take a deep breath, girl, and count to seventeen by twos.

“Do you have something in mind?”

“Well, yes. You’re showing all the symptoms of post rape trauma syndrome. I doubt your producer will want you if you don’t get yourself under control. I’ve got a suggestion for dealing with it.”

“Yeah, right. You and Sigmund.” Now I sounded more catty than I like. “Tell me so I can laugh. I need some humor in this dump.”

“Write three letters. In the first, put all your feelings about what happened to you. In the second, put what you wanted them to do to have made it a pleasurable, or at least, useful, experience. In the third, write down everything that happened, dispassionately and in detail.”

Snarl. “That sucks.” I slammed the phone down. It must have been made of extra strength plastic, because it didn’t crunch.

I turned on the television. Everything that was on sucked. Either it was stupid beyond belief, or it drove me into another towering rage. I kept coming back to that pile of paper. Pristine, white, perfectly blank paper, like I’d been before. Pick up pen and start spewing my feelings. Maybe I could sell it as flamethrower helper. Cut down on fuel consumption.

Once I started, it just kept boiling out. I barely noticed a couple of sandwiches from the fridge. Eventually, I fell into a restless sleep, punctuated by nightmares, screaming and cold sweats. The next morning, it just kept coming, until suddenly, it stopped. I felt empty, totally drained.

I stared at the next sheet of that white, pristine paper, just waiting to be violated by my words. When the phone rang, I jumped so hard the chair flew across the room and I barked my knee on the bottom of the table. I picked up the phone gingerly, and held it to my ear so tightly I’m surprised it didn’t bond itself.

“Congratulations,” that metallic, emotionless voice said. “I see you finished the first letter.”

First letter?” I said, woodenly. “Oh. You did say there were three, didn’t you.”

“Yes, I did.” She stopped and didn’t elaborate. I got my brain moving a bit.

“Why would I want to tell them how to kidnap and rape me?”

“It happened. What’s done is done, and can’t be undone.” She paused. “I presume you know what happens when someone marries an abuser, and then gets divorced?”

“Yeah. She goes right out and marries another bastard, just like the first one.” I’d seen that happen to too many women. Including my mother.

“So. You go away with two men, and have a weekend of wild sex and bondage. How do you want them to behave so it’s a pleasurable, enriching experience?”

“This is supposed to help?”

“Yes. It gives you an alternative pattern; one that you created, not some shrink.” She hung up again.

I run away with two men to have a wild weekend party. Hum. That had possibilities. I drew another piece of paper toward me, and began to defile it with my pen. Time passed. I had another sandwich from the fridge. Some of the things that poured out of my pen surprised me. I wanted them to make me be various animals. Cats, dogs and ponies poured out onto the paper.

When the phone rang, I stared at like it had just appeared out of the fourth dimension. I picked it up.

“Your father is on the line,” the artificial, metallic voice said.

“Dad?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” He sounded very distant. Then the dam broke. “You worthless conniving bitch! You set this fucking thing up yourself. Don’t bother to deny it. You golddigging bitches are all alike, after my money!” It kept on for a while. I took the phone from my ear and stared at it. This was my father?

I lost it right there. “You worthless bastard. You drove my mother crazy. She should have soaked you for everything you’ve got when you threw her out.”

“You what! You bitches are all the same. It’s money, money, money. New dress. New car. New house. New boyfriend. You’re not digging into my pocket again.” I’m surprised the phone line didn’t melt.

I really lost it. “You’re so worthless I’d be insulting a bitch to call you her son! I don’t care if I ever see another dollar of your money. Or you, for that matter. If you can tell the difference. GOODBYE!”

I slammed the phone down so hard it should have broken. Then I stared at it in horror. WHAT HAD I JUST DONE?

The phone rang again. The same artificial female voice said: “I like your spirit, girl, but some abject groveling might have been a better strategy.” She paused. “In case you’re interested, I’m not certain which of you hung up first.” She paused again. “We’re going to shop you around to your producer next. Hang in there.”

“Uh. What happens if they won’t ransom me?”

“They’ll never see you again. That’s final. Don’t worry about it. All worrying will do is ruin your digestion, because there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“You do know how to cheer me up, don’t you?”

“Well, the ancient Chinese had a saying: “When rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it.”

“Yea, right. I’ll bet they never tried it.”

The iron bitch had the gall to chuckle, and then hung up.

Dear Daddy, I began. The paper should have charred behind my racing pen.

Chapter 6. From the Frying Pan to the Fire

Days passed. I’d talked to my producer several times; he didn’t seem hopeful in dredging money from the network or sponsors. I finished off my letters to Daddy. On mature reflection, I never wanted to see the selfish bastard again, but I was no longer likely to go for the jugular with any edged weapon handy if I did. I didn’t want to see my kidnappers either. They had a quite dreary lack of imagination.

Flipping through channels almost convinced me that I wanted the kidnappers back; what was on showed the same dreary lack of imagination. Every time I found myself in something, I had to revise my opinion of my acting ability down. I came to only one conclusion: the television wasn’t going to give me any clues where I was. There were no, and I do mean no, local stations. The thing didn’t even have channels. There was a selection screen with all of the choices nicely arranged in alphabetical order.

Then the door opened.

An incredibly tall blonde walked in, followed by two men.

“Wha…” I’m afraid I’m not very original when I’m startled.

“Get up. Turn around,” she said. “Hands out like you’re touching a wall, feet well apart.”

I froze. I wasn’t about to move. “Who are…” was about all I got out. One of the men had walked behind my chair. I heard a loud buzz, and then my back felt like it was being deep-fried.

“AIIIIII!” Whatever they’d done HURT! When things settled, I found myself on the floor, looking at the tall woman’s black leather, high-heeled boots.

“Let’s try that again,” she said as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Get up. Face toward the sink, hands out, feet wide apart.”

This time, I arranged myself like that DaVinci anatomical drawing. One of the men grabbed each of my arms as she pulled a hood over my head. She walked around in front and wrapped a leather belt around my waist, and pulled it tight. I think it had three buckles, but I couldn’t see very well. Meanwhile, the men put some kind of cuff on my wrists.

“Bring your wrists behind you, girl.” This time it was a male voice. I did, and felt them anchor my wrists to the waistband. “Bring your feet together.” I felt hands on my waist steady me. Then large, male hands stroked my calves and ankles as they put some kind of cuff on them.

Whooh! Hands grabbed me and I found myself flying through the air. In a moment, I was right side up again, and headed downward.  I found myself kneeling on something soft, back against a pole. The hands pulled my legs back and did something. Then they pushed them around again, and I felt my ankles stop against their cuffs. There were a couple of voices I couldn’t quite make out through the hood. Whatever I was on jerked into motion. A sound remarkably like the  “clip, clop” of hard rubber horseshoes on stone came from in front of me, and stayed there.

I know I should have felt scared, but I’m an actress. The script should have told me what to feel, and NOBODY HAD GIVEN ME THE FUCKING SCRIPT! If I felt anything, it was annoyance. I was a fully paid up member of the Screen Actor’s Guild, and I HAD MY RIGHTS!

Chapter 7. Next stop: Orientation

Kelly was sitting on the side table, one leg folded under her and swinging the other when I walked into Orientation Room 4.

“Oh, hi, Raindance,” she said. “Molly called and said you’d be showing me Orientation instead of her. I didn’t know you did orientation.”

“I don’t, usually. Molly’s put out about the situation, and refused to do it. Said she’d done her last kidnap victim years ago, and wasn’t going to start again.

Kelly’s eyes widened. “She was kidnapped? Oh, gee! I thought we’d quit doing that!”

“We did. We didn’t kidnap her originally. It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you over coffee sometime if you’re really interested. Just don’t act startled when you see who she is.”

“Who she is?” Kelly dropped lithely off the table and walked around our captive. “Bodies are bodies, but still, I do think I’ve seen this one before. On Enemies, perhaps?”

“You’ve got it!” I said.

“So that’s why they’ve been doing reruns. And here I thought Sarah was out with the flu or something.” She paused a moment. “I always did think she looked like a horse.” I heard a snort from under the hood.

“Clothes-horse, maybe.”

“When she’s wearing any.”

“Well, let’s get to it.” Kelly and I put our heads together checking over the setup. As usual, everything was laid out on the front table in the order I’d need it.

“You want to do the honors?” I asked.

“Me?” Kelly seemed startled.

“Yes, you. The last time either of us did orientation was in training class.”

“And mine was six months ago. I see, oh mistress of many marvels.”

“That’s Alice, not me.”

“Not exactly true, but I’ll take the complement,” a very well remembered voice said from the doorway. “Carry on, Kelly. We’ll watch.”

Alice and I took positions sitting on the table. Kelly walked up to the hooded nude kneeling on her stand. “Let’s get that hood off you first.”

She reached down, unbuckled the hood and pulled it off over her head. Our newest toy stared straight ahead at Kelly’s breasts, as if they were the most fascinating sight she’d ever seen. I wasn’t sure why; Kelly had almost finished growing them back to where they had been before her two years as a community trainee, but still, I’d seen bigger.

Kelly took our victim by the chin and gently tilted her head back. “Would you like a glass of water?”

That first, utterly banal question always seems so out of place that it shocks most of them out of whatever they were in. “Yes, please.”

Polite, too. She may have learned something from having blown her father off that way. Kelly turned and picked up the waiting glass of water from the table, and held it up under her head, straw near her mouth. Sarah bent forward a bit, took the straw into her mouth and began sucking.

She finished it. “Another one?”

“I don’t think I’d better.”

“It’s going to be several hours until your next drink, pet.”

“Yes, I think I’d like another one, please.” She drank most of it.

“Where am I? What are you going to do to me?” Sarah sounded like the water had revived her a bit. Well, it’s supposed to.

“You’re where you need to be. We’re going to train you to be what you are supposed to be.”

“What I’m supposed to be? What’s that?”

“Don’t worry about it honey.” Kelly patted her on the cheek. “You’ll find out when you need to.”

“Are you going to kill me?” She asked. Persistent mare.

“Everyone dies sooner or later,” Kelly told her, trying to sound portentous. “Some sooner, some later.” She flipped her prod casually in her hand.

“Do you know what this is?” she continued in a more serious vein.

“Un, no,” Sarah said, looking at it like she couldn’t decide if it was going to bite.

“It’s a hypersonic prod. We usually just call it a prod. It’s for discipline.” It emitted a low hum as she switched it on. “Like this.” She stroked Sarah’s left arm gently.

Sarah jerked upright. “Ouch! That stung!”

“Well, it’s supposed to.” She held the prod up in front of Sarah’s face. “That’s a level one setting. We use it for minor corrections and to get your attention. It’s not so much a punishment as a management tool.”

“Now this,” she said as the prod took on a higher note, “is a punishment.” She stroked the inside of her left thigh. YIIIII! Sarah arched back and screamed.

“Breath deep and settle down,” Kelly crooned as she gently stroked her face. Sarah shuddered deeply and then relaxed.

“Why did you do that to me?” Sarah asked, somewhat shakily.

“So you would know what it feels like. You haven’t done anything wrong… yet. You’re going to try real hard not to, won’t you, sugar?”

Sarah looked at the prod like it was a snake about to strike. “I certainly will,” she said, definitely.

Kelly made the prod hum at a higher note. “This is level three. It’ll send you into convulsions. That’s what will happen if you try to escape, or try to attack one of your trainers. Kapish?”

“I” she shuddered, “see.”

“I’m sure you do.” Kelly paused and put the prod back on her belt.

“The next thing you need to know is that for the next few months, you’re not going to be allowed to talk. Any attempt to talk will be severely punished.” She looked Sarah in the eye. Sarah gulped and shut her mouth firmly.

“I see you’re a fast study,” Kathy drawled. “We’ll help you a bit. Most of the time, you’ll be gagged.” She turned to the table and picked up a mass of straps and a red ball. “I can either gag you now, or give you a few more minutes to talk to me while I finish prepping you. I should warn you, the next steps will be a bit painful, and if you act up, you’ll regret it. Which do you want?”

“I’d rather have a few more minutes, please.”

“I thought so.” Kathy put the straps back, and picked up a hairbrush. “Now, lets just get your hair out of the way. I’ve always thought that you had a great head of hair,” she said as she brushed it. “Is it natural, or did you get it augmented?”

“The studio had something done to it,” Sarah said.

“I thought so. I understand that’s quite common in Hollywood. Now we need to paint your ears with antiseptic.” She held up a bottle with a red liquid.

“This next step is going to hurt. I’m going to punch holes in your ears.” She held up a punch. She bent over and positioned in carefully on the right ear. The punch jerked slightly. Sarah gave a muffled gasp.

Kelly patted her shoulder. “You took that bravely. One more, now.” She positioned the punch over her left ear, and it jerked once more. Sarah gave another muffled gasp. “Done with that.”

“Now, we put your livestock tags in your ears.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “Livestock tags?”

“Yes. As far as anyone around here is concerned, you’re livestock. You’re a domestic animal, and you’ll be treated like one.” She paused to let it sink in. “See how the tag works?” She showed Sarah some pieces of metal. “This hollow post goes through your ear, where I just punched the hole. This little plate has your registry number and fits on top, and this other plate fits on the bottom. Now, I just put them in,” and she bent over and put the assembly into Sarah’s right ear, “and crimp it closed.” She applied another tool.

“Now, we just do the other ear.” She worked for a minute applying the tags.

“You’ve been a nice girl.” She bent over and kissed Sarah on the forehead. “This next part won’t hurt anywhere as much. This is an anesthetic.” She held up a jar of green goop.

“It goes here.” She took up a swab and covered the front of each breast. “Feel a bit numb?”

“Uh, yes, it does. You’re going to pierce them?”

“You got it.” Kelly picked up a curved bit of plastic and placed it just below the nipple, then drove a sterile needle through the form. She followed this with a tiny barbell, likewise sterilized. Then she picked up a gold colored ring with a small gap, and pressed it over the barbell with specially shaped pliers. It seated itself with a snap.

“Now for the other one.” She shifted her position to work on the right breast.

“Um, you know, I was just thinking,” Sarah said, kind of tentatively.


“I was thinking that a nose ring would look good.”

“A nose ring?”

“Yes,” Sarah picked up some enthusiasm. “Like a bull has a nose ring. I’d feel more, well, like, owned.”

Kelly finished up the breast. “You know, I’ve thought of that myself. Unfortunately, the committee doesn’t agree.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No reason for you to know. That’s the way it is,” Kelly told her.

She stood up. “Well, talk time is over, kid. Open your mouth like a good girl.” She turned and picked up the bundle of straps. Sarah looked at the prod riding on Kelly’s hip, and then opened her mouth.

“Wider, please.” Sarah opened wider as Kelly pushed the ball. It went in with a sodden pop. Kelly expertly brought the straps around Sarah’s head and buckled them in back.

“One final touch,” Kelly said. “Headstand.” She picked up what looked like a dentist’s headrest, and bolted it to the top of the pole. “Lean your head back. Arch your back, that’s good.” She fastened the bridle to the headrest with a clip.

“You do look good, if I do say so.” I held up my hand and shook it back and forth slowly. “Oh, yes. Let’s put some bells on you.” She picked up a pair of bells and hung them on the breast rings. “Shake your breasts.” The bells tinkled. “Now, that’s nice.”

“Well, nap time.” She picked up a folded piece of cloth and twirled, the cloth billowing out in front of her. It settled over her hapless charge.

We took the blanket covered form and wheeled her out the door.

Chapter 8 Girl Mode

Ponygirl training is split into two parts. The first part lasts until she self-identifies as a ponygirl. Once her new identity seems to be secure, she’s moved to the second part, where we train her in how a ponygirl plays girl when she has to. This may seem kind of convoluted, but there are good reasons for it. Our products are quite expensive, and in many parts of the world the trade is legally regulated. We need to provide the appearance that our ’girls could quit any time they wanted to. On the other hand, our customers would complain if any significant number of them took advantage of the apparent exit. Our solution is to change her belief system at the highest level. Once she leaves here, she knows that her place in the world is as a ponygirl. If she tries to resume her former state as a girl, other than on her owner’s orders, it itches. The longer she tries, the worse it gets.

As you might imagine, our ’girls don’t attempt to escape once this sinks in.

The ponygirl formerly known as Sarah Burn reached that stage in about four months, which was a bit longer than usual, but not out of line. She’d been transferred, hooded, to cell 712, in one of the three cellblocks where we did Girl Mode training.

I groomed her that morning. After toweling her off, I took a good look. She crouched in front of me on hands and knees; head tilted back at a 45 degree angle. Her blond mane ran from her hairline to the bottom of her shoulder blades, forming a pleasing contrast with the reddish-brown coat that had replaced the rest of her hair. Her blond tail dropped to the floor behind her, and then curled around her far leg.

That tail was a very recent innovation. She was one of the last ’girls to beta test it, and it worked splendidly. We’d get the acid test shortly. The board was chomping at the bit to provide all of our girls with tails, and a lot of the owners already had orders in for the ’girls in their stables.

“Girl mode time, kid.” I said.

She started to crawl toward the mat, and then froze as what I had actually said registered. Her head whipped around, mane flying, to look wide-eyed at me. I noticed her tail come up.

“Well?” I said. “You are allowed to talk in girl mode, you know.”

“I am?” she said, kind of hesitantly as if she was searching for words. “I really can?”

“Only in girl mode; not when you’re in pony mode.”

“Oh,” she said. “What do I do now?”

“Get up, go over to the drawers, and get dressed. I’ll show you our standard uniform.”

She walked out of the bathroom and looked around. “Oh, my.”

I wasn’t surprised. It was a fairly standard reaction, especially for ’girls from cellblock five. She could see three cells across the corridor. Most of the wall to her left was wood drawers. Wide drawers, square drawers, a tall cabinet, a makeup table and a full-length mirror. The wall on her right still held her pony tack.

She went for the drawers like a piranha for a hapless swimmer.

“Panties?” She looked at them as if she’d never seen panties before. She certainly ought to have; her TV persona seemed to wear them for the express purpose of taking them off. Oh, right. “You’ve got a tail now, dear.”

“Oh, right.” She flipped it for emphasis. Once she figured it out, she slipped on a pair and managed to get the back zipper attached and zipped up without straining anything.

“Fishnets?” She held up a pair.

“Yes, dear. Fishnets are part of the uniform for ponygirls in girl mode.” She slid them on.

“What is this?” She held out a gaudily colored piece of leather. “Somebody’s cleaning supplies?”

“It’s your skirt.” I had to hold back a giggle. I’d worn one just like it in girl mode. It certainly helped me get over worrying about what I wore.

“It’s my what?” she almost gagged. “That’s got to be the worst design I’ve ever seen. What is it supposed to be?”

“It’s the training block’s stable colors. You’ll wear them any time you’re outside of the training block until you’re sold. Then what you wear is up to your new owner.”

“It looks like a color-blind Navaho had a bad day. Or a bad lifetime. Oh, well. At least, I don’t have to look at it.” She turned it around and stepped into it. Her tail settled in nicely, exactly where it was supposed to belong. She zipped it up and then twirled. The short skirt flared slightly as her tail and mane flew.

“Well, let’s see. Bra next.” She said. “Now, what about a blouse?” She went back into the closet.

“White?” She held up a white blouse with a plunging neckline and back.

“In this case yes. The top part of your uniform is your owner’s colors. Since you’re still in the training block, you don’t have an owner… yet.”

She slipped into it and adjusted her skirt. Then she found her shoes and put them on.

“Good,” I said. “I’m going to show you around a bit and explain some things. Then we practice going in and out of girl mode until you’ve got it down pat.”

I walked over to the cell door. “Here’s how you open the cell, Naper”

She stared at me. “Should you be showing me this?”

“Why not? You’ll find out you need to know how in a little while.”

“But what if I try to escape?”

I flipped out the prod, gave it a twirl and pointed it at the chair. Her eyes followed where I pointed. “Oh, right.”

“Almost, Naper. You can’t succeed. I’ve seen a couple of escape attempts. They took two steps and fell on the floor in convulsions. I have no idea how Security does it, and I don’t want to know.” That’s a little white lie, by the way. I have a fairly good idea of how they do it. “The chair is what happens afterwards.”

“Oh.” Again.

“Let’s go walking.” I left the cell, Naper following. “This is your cell placard.” It said: Pony – Naper. Senior Trainer – Raindance. There were other things, like her IPC registry number, and the date she had been kidnapped.

“Oh, my. You called me Naper?”

“That’s your name for the moment. Your owner will give you a new one. This is just a pronounceable version of your registry number.”

I slid the door shut. “Now you open it and shut it. From both sides.” She hesitated a moment, and then grasped the bars where I had and shoved. The door obediently rolled back. Then she walked in, rolled it shut and opened it again. She walked out and shut it behind her.

We walked slowly down the corridor as she gazed around. I let her take her time. She’d never seen the training complex as a girl. They never get out of their cell until they’ve been conditioned sufficiently so that most of it just doesn’t register as significant. We came to the end of the corridor, and I waved her into one of the break rooms.

“There’s mash in the fridge over there. Get us both a glass, will you?” She went to the fridge and poured us some mash. We got comfortable at one of the tables.

“Now, what I told you back there was the standard lecture. The rest of the ponies shouldn’t hear what I’m going to tell you next. Understand?” I looked at her.

“I think so,” she said.

“I came here originally as a ponygirl.” She stared at me. “Raindance was the name my owner gave me. I liked it better than Selma, and kept it.”

“All the ponies out there volunteered. They were told at least part of what to expect, and they signed valid indentures. You, on the other hand, were kidnapped. Your being here is, flatly, illegal. A decade ago, all of the ponies out there would have been kidnapped. We made very certain that none of what we did ever got out to the authorities. Today, we’re mostly legal, and we want to stay that way.”

“This leaves us in a bit of a quandary. We snatched you from your original kidnappers. I’m not going to tell you why; just that it seemed reasonable at the time. We expected your father to ransom you, and you’d have been off our hands without being any the wiser. Well, he didn’t.”

“There wouldn’t be a kidnap business if the kidnapper returned the victim when ransom wasn’t paid. So we couldn’t return you, and we weren’t willing to fit you with a pair of concrete overshoes and drop you in a river somewhere. Turning you into a ponygirl was a compromise.”

“You’re never going to leave here. When you’re finished training, your new owner will show you. When he gets tired of you, he may sell you to someone else in the community, or he may free you to find something productive to do. The final word is that you will live and die, hopefully of old age, here in this community.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” she said.

“No, I’m not. You’re stuck here for the rest of your life. Deal with it. The next few weeks you will be doing something we call the ‘Lifestyle Commitment.’ It shows how committed you are to being a ponygirl. If you don’t manage to finish it, you’ll lose girl mode completely. You’ll probably also be completely miserable. If you do adjust, you’ll find that life as a ponygirl has its compensations. You get a day off every week, and two weeks vacation every year. We’ve got the best medical care in the world. You can do just about anything on your time off that doesn’t interfere with the Community.”

“Yeah, right.” She managed to pack more than I could imagine into those two words.

“In fact, yes. Ponygirls are our business, and we have to comply with the Consensual Slavery Act. Days off, vacations and medical care are all spelled out in the act. We try to run a squeaky clean operation where we can.”

“Then I could take an all expenses paid vacation to Rio?” The sarcasm fairly dripped.

“Rio? If it was anybody but you, yes. All expenses paid, of course. Understand that you’d have to keep expenses within the budget your owner gives you.”

“That almost sounds like you really mean it. Cheap I can understand.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Why couldn’t I go to Rio? If you can do a mane and tail, you could change me around so nobody would recognize me.” Gotcha! She grinned.

“We can, and in fact, we do on occasion. We not only do appearance, but DNA, fingerprints, retinal patterns, voiceprints and several other biometrics. The problem is that you have several very highly placed admirers that want you to keep looking just the way you do.”

“That’s the problem?” She almost snarled. “Fans are great… Except when you have to deal with them.” She paused. “So, what you’re telling me is that if I adjust to being a ponygirl, I get to spend my vacations anywhere I want – as long as we can work out some messy details.”

“Also your days off.”

“How do you do that? You can’t fly me to Beijing and back for a few hours.”

“We teleport you. No muss, no fuss, and we don’t have to tell you where we are. If you don’t know, you can’t let it slip.”

“I wish my agent was this easy to deal with.” She grinned. “You’ve got a deal. You just go to work on those messy details. If you want acting, I can certainly play the part of the longsuffering chick that looks too much like the great Sarah Burn.” She giggled. “I’ve already got that one down pat, anyway. It’s the only way I can get free to enjoy myself.”

“I’ll run it by the powers that be. They’ll probably go for it.”

“Good. What’s next?”

“We go back to your cell and practice going from pony mode to girl mode and back.”

Chapter 9. Conclusion.

I crawled out of bed the next morning as the faux sunlight dawned. Lord have mercy, had that been a party to end all parties. I hadn’t sucked someone off at the same time I was getting screwed since I was a ponygirl. Having a cock at each end is a different orgasm than just one cock; it’s like I get pulled tight between them, and then eventually it snaps and I go flying like a cork out of a champaign bottle that’s been shaken too hard.

Fortunately, it was our day off, and Tom had threatened to kill me if I got him out of bed before noon. Last night, I would have said, “Will you, please?” After a couple of hours sleep, I wasn’t so certain. I managed to pour enough caffeine into my system to produce a semblance of organized motion.

Alice called just before noon. All three of Napir’s admirers had discovered that she was just another piece of tail who was a bit better than average when it came time to do what comes naturally, but didn’t live up to their inflated expectations. What did they expect? Tinseltown was still Tinseltown. If she were as good in real life as she was on the little screen, she’d have some multi-billionaire somewhere panting over her every wiggle.

They were having the usual reaction to an idol falling off her pedestal and cracking. They didn’t want to see her again. Alice thought this was a good thing. After getting my brain slightly out of the fog, I had to agree. People do tend to react badly to fallen idols.

Alice and I agreed that the best thing would be to change her appearance so that none of her ex fan club would recognize her. That would also take care of making certain she wasn’t recognized outside. We found that we couldn’t sell her internally; there were no takers. Nobody wanted to risk irritating the Security chief, who was one of her ex admirers. I can’t say I blame them. I wound up holding the sack.

I had her changed around so she matched Dancing Waters. When the geneticists got done, they looked like identical twins, except that Dancing Waters was a redhead, and Bouncing Star (that was her new name) was a blonde. They look stunning as a carriage team.

I’ve got them stabled in adjacent cells, so they can’t see each other. The only time they are together is when they are being trained or worked.  I don’t allow them to take days off or vacations together, either. As an experiment, it seems to be working. The fact that they’ve only seen each other as ponies seems to suck them a little bit deeper into the role.

The board is seriously considering whether it wants to try it again, with a little bit better (well, a lot better, actually,) qualification of the candidate.