This work is copyright 2002 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.
Story codes: (MF, FF, ponygirl, SF)
Adult Content Warning - this story contains adult themes, including non-consensual bondage/slavery. It could also prove highly disturbing if you think our current socio/political worldview is the only one that exists. 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.
The name New Babylon has no relationship to any other use of the term by any other author. No connection should be assumed, either derivative or as a base for parody.
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 -------
In our last exciting episode, Yvonne, down and out after being ejected from her college with amazing, even breathtaking suddenness, is offered a contract with New Babylon. She grabs it like a starving barracuda attacks a hapless swimmer. Once she arrives 24 thousand years in the past, she discovers what she’s signed up for: she’s going to be a ponygirl! The last we saw of Yvonne 8, she was standing hitched to an exercise machine, catching her breath after straining against her harness until she was ready to drop. Our story continues in Part II:
A ponygirl emerged from the forest, pulling a chariot. The girl was moving at a trot, her legs moving with a flowing economy of motion, her tail and mane floating behind her in the breeze of her passing. Her rider guided her to the conditioning pavilion with a brief tug of the reins, and then drew back on them to stop the ’girl. The ponygirl pulled the chariot to the side, stopping before one of the hitching posts. This particular post was a two foot high statue of a 19th century groom, hand held out to hold a horse’s reins. The other hitching posts were similarly fanciful figures.
Her passenger left the chariot and pressed her draft animal’s shoulder lightly. The ponygirl sank to her knees, and then sat on her heels. The chariot tilted forward behind her as the shafts descended. “You do like that statue, don’t you?” the rider said in a rich contralto. The ponygirl looked up at her and whinnied, nuzzling the outstretched hand.
The rider strode toward the pavilion, the skirt of her mid thigh length tunic flowing in precise time with her movements. Other than the tunic, she wore black leather riding boots and a golden collar, with the name Rinda 1 emblazoned on the front. She walked up to the novice ponygirl still attached to the exerciser. “You must be Yvonne 8,” she said brightly. Yvonne made a strangled sound through her bit.
Rinda laughed. “I bet nobody’s taught you how to whinny yet, have they?”
Yvonne looked at her, wide-eyed, and shook her head no.
“Well, here’s how. Watch what I do, and make a sound in your throat like ‘he he he’” she said. She opened her mouth wide, stuck her lips out and produced a whinny. “Now you do it.”
Yvonne made a grimace around the bit, but obediently tried the sound.
“Bring your tongue back a bit, that’s a good girl.”
Yvonne tried again, this time producing a passable whinny.
“That’s good. Notice how your throat kind of vibrates?” Rinda asked.
Yvonne nodded, and then whinnied again.
“Even better!” Rinda praised. “Now, let’s change that bridle for a nice, comfortable halter.” So saying, she took the bit out of the pony’s mouth, and unbuckled the straps of the bridle. Then she took a rope halter from the pole and fastened it around Yvonne’s head.
“Now, I’ll bet that’s more comfortable, right?” she asked.
Yvonne started to open her mouth to reply, and Rinda swiftly put her finger across the ’girl’s lips. “Ponies don’t talk. Whinny or reach your head forward and nuzzle me. Like this.” Rinda took the girl’s head in both hands and stretched her neck forward slightly until her nose was just touching her trainer’s face. “Just brush my cheek, that’s a good girl.”
“I bet you want to go to your stall so you can be watered, fed and collapse for a while. Right?”
Yvonne’s eyes got big, and then she sighed and whinnied again.
“Well, lets just get you unhitched,” Rinda said, soothingly, as she unbuckled the straps that attached the ’girl to her load. Then she picked up the lead from the halter and tugged gently. Yvonne followed her out of the pavilion, bringing her knees up as she had been doing for the last two hours.
“That’s very good,” Rinda praised her. “We’ll be going at a trot, so you don’t have to high step. We’ll be moving too fast.” So saying, she tied the lead to the back of her chariot, picked up her ponygirl’s reins, and got in. Her ponygirl, Carol 2, rose to her feet in a single flowing motion, and then slowly backed away from the statue. Yvonne hastily backed up to avoid being run over by the chariot. Rinda deftly guided her ponygirl to the path they’d just come down, and flicked the reins. “Trot.” Carol 2 leaned forward, and the chariot sped up. Yvonne managed to speed up in time, without getting her lead jerked.
The two ponygirls and their driver vanished into the forest, leaving Yvonne 8’s old life behind them.
After a short trot, the trio came out of the forest into a largish clearing. They continued along the path, past immaculately kept up lawns, to a large, long building surrounded with packed dirt. Rinda guided her ’girl to one of the hitching posts on the side, and settled her in front of the post. This one was a simple wood post with an iron ring hanging from an eyebolt in the front. Carol settled to sit between the two adjacent chariots, each with their harnessed ponygirl. Rinda unhitched her prize from the back, and led her to the large door in the center of the stable.
Rinda 1 led Yvonne to a low trough filled with water, and pressed her on the shoulder. “Kneel when I do this,” she instructed. Yvonne sank to her knees, thankful for the opportunity to get off of her feet, if only for a moment. “Drink slowly, now.” Yvonne looked at the trough in front of her, and then bent over, plunging her head into the water and slurping it up greedily. Rinda watched the ’girl’s head bob up and down as she alternately took a mouthful of water, and then came up to swallow and breathe.
“Enough,” Rinda commanded, her hand pulling the ’girl’s shoulder back. “Up.” She tugged on the lead from the now thoroughly soaked halter. Yvonne staggered to her feet. “Now that,” Rinda laughed, “is something we’re going to have to work on.” Yvonne blushed, and then, surprised at her reaction, blushed even deeper.
“We’ll have the time,” Rinda said, soothingly, scratching her charge behind the ears. “Come on.” She led the way into the stable building itself. Then she led the girl down one passage and another, to end up standing in front of a stall.
“This is your stall.” The stall was about one meter wide and two deep, with a shelf in back that had a depression that contained several fruits and vegetables. The sides were about a meter and a half high, as was the door in front. The back went up a good three meters. The sign had her name on it: Yvonne 8. Rinda swung the door open, and gently shoved the ponygirl into it. Then she pressed on her shoulder; this time Yvonne sank to her knees instantly. “Good girl. Let’s get that harness off of you.” She took a tool off of the shelf, and pressed it to the laces. It hummed, unlacing the corset. In a moment, it finished, and the corset fell to the ground. Rinda picked it up and hung it on a hook on the wall outside the stall door.
“Now look at me, girl.” Yvonne looked up at her trainer. “There are several ways we can do this. If you’re a nice, obedient mare, and stay in your stall until a groom comes to get you out, I’ll let your have your arms free. Would you like that?”
Yvonne whinnied back at her.
“Remember, if you use you hands for anything, I’ll just leave your arms bound behind you.” Rinda said, menacingly.
Yvonne nodded soberly.
“All right. Turn around.” Yvonne turned her back, presenting her pinioned arms. Rinda swiftly unsnapped the hooks that held the cuffs closed and welded them together into an immobile mass. Yvonne moved her shoulders back and forth, grimacing with the returning circulation and the complaints from strained muscles and ligaments.
“One more thing,” Rinda said. “Practice eating your food just with your lips and teeth. You’re not always going to have hands available.”
“Also you’re not allowed to talk to any of the stable attendants. You can talk to the ponygirls on either side, but only quietly, and not when any attendants are present.” Yvonne looked at her with wide eyes and nodded. Rinda smiled back. She knew that the ponygirls talked even when there were grooms walking by. Nobody minded as long as the conversations were quiet, and the ’girl’s answered immediately when called.
Rinda turned and walked out of the stall, closing the door behind her. Then she noticed another woman standing in the aisle. “Mistress Lucy,” she said, flicking her eyes downward in a gesture of respect.
“So this is Yvonne 8,” Lucy said to Rinda as she walked up to look over the stall gate. Yvonne was on her knees in front of the feed bin, trying to grasp a pear in her teeth firmly enough to bite into it. Just as they walked up, she managed to get a grip on the yellow fruit, and her teeth sank into the luscious flesh.
“Yes, mistress. For a freshly captured mare, she’s been a delight. Quick and obedient.”
“Most of them are,” Lucy said. It was simple truth. What Yvonne didn’t know was that the gene modifications had made changes to her brain, and the collar was picking up the slack. The short time ponygirls didn’t get the gene modifications, but then they didn’t usually need any help with obedience. They’d learned that in the year or two they usually spent as slaves before their time as ponygirls.
With the full time ponygirls, it was different. New Babylon was a profit making enterprise, and it knew that profits came from satisfied customers, and the way to satisfied customers was paved with workers who liked their work, were good at it, and went about it with good cheer. This didn’t happen when slaves were broken in with a whip.
The mechanisms in the collar had analyzed Yvonne’s brain patterns while she was being interviewed. It had identified the patterns that meant obedience and disobedience, and the patterns that distinguished between cheerfulness and grumpyness, as well as many other emotions.
It was programmed to see that the lump of gray matter riding the neck it circled spent more of its time in cheerful obedience than otherwise. It could even spot repetitive patterns that led to undesirable patterns of brain activation, and guide them into new channels.
“Well, we’ll see if it stays that way when she wakes up,” Lucy said. “I didn’t get a chance to review the inspection dossier. How did she come to volunteer for five years full time?”
“The recruiter that got her tries to slide the ponygirl clauses in, and she didn’t read the contract before signing it.”
“Tough on her,” shrugged Lucy. “I hope she works out; we need more ponygirls that we can use with our clients. They do like them so.”
Behind them, the ponygirl picked up a piece of coconut with her teeth, shoved it farther back with her lips, and began chewing.
Yvonne rolled over on the thick cover of straw on the floor of her stall, and then opened her eyes, peering fuzzily around her. Then she straightened up in one spasm, hitting the stall door with her feet. “Ouch!” She drew one knee up to rub her foot, and looked at the wooden wall in front of her. Yes. It wasn’t a bad dream. She was in a stall. A ponygirl stall, and she was a ponygirl. She sat up, wrapped her arms around her knees and tried to think back. How had she gotten into this mess? Oh, right. Down and out, and that creep dangled a hundred Gs in front of her.
Well, she had no one but herself to blame. She reached back to sweep her hair out of her face, and her hand touched her collar. She froze momentarily. She remembered them casting the collar around her neck. They said there was no escape. Don’t even try, you won’t succeed.
She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. She got to her feet and looked around. There were more stalls on either side, and a corridor in front, with lots of leather and steel tack and implements hanging on it.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” a voice said from the side. She whirled to see a shapely brunette standing in the next stall, arms hanging loosely by her sides. “Yvonne 8. That’s a pretty name.”
“Who? What? You can talk?”
“Of course I can talk. They did tell you that we’re allowed to talk to each other?” The brunette tilted her head back so the name on her collar was easily visible. “I’m Millie 6, although it’s good form to read someone’s name from her collar. That’s what they’re for, after all.”
“Oh. Hi, Millie. How do you get out of here?”
“You don’t. They’ll pick you up immediately.” She tapped her collar significantly. “Its frustrating. You get your arms cuffed behind you for the first couple of attempts, then they start getting nasty.”
“What’s bad about having your hands cuffed? It’s not like there’s anything to do with them. Besides, I don’t want to escape, I just need to go.” She practically crossed her legs in frustration.
“Well, squat by the door. There’s a channel in the concrete under the straw. You’ll figure out how to keep your stall clean after a few accidents. I don’t know which is worse, the grooms that think it’s funny, or the trainers that are so saccharine sweet about little accidents.”
A little while later, a beet red Yvonne asked: “Where are we, anyway? I know this is New Babylon, but I don’t have any idea where it is.”
“Hawaii. Specifically, Maui, although there are some places on the Big Island.”
“I thought Maui was overbuilt.”
“It is. In our time. We’re 24 thousand years in the past. There are no human beings anywhere in Hawaii. Anywhere in the islands, as a matter of fact. It’s all wild. That’s one reason escaping isn’t a real good idea. Nowhere to go, and lots of things in the woods that would just love having you for lunch.”
“That’s weird. Time travel is impossible.”
“Well, we’re here. And there’s this big red thing in the sky where Sirius is supposed to be. It’s certainly not a red giant anytime in our history. It’s so bright you can see it in broad daylight. And I know enough astronomy to know we’re at the right latitude, at least.”
“So nobody ever tries to escape?”
“Most slaves are sensible and don’t try once they figure out there’s no percentage in it. A few do. Most are captured immediately. The owners don’t make a big deal of it the first couple of times. If you can’t learn from not having the telly for a couple of weeks, they figure you’re either a slow learner or just being difficult. Then they start getting nasty.” She grimaced, apparently remembering something.
“Nasty?”
“Most of the time they condition the poor girls so they can’t think of escaping. Sometimes it does improve them, but sometimes …” she paused. “I’ve met a couple with holes in their minds. They couldn’t imagine anything outside of here.”
“Yuck. I want to get out when my indenture is up. What else do they do?”
“They’ve let a few think they escaped. Then they set up a hunting safari to track them down. It was wildly popular. The hunters were restricted to knockout darts, of course. Now, they’re kept in the wild girl section of the zoo. Next to the wild ponygirl herd. When they want to set up a hunt, their handlers make a deliberate mistake and let one of them escape.”
“How’d you know about that?”
“I was a bearer on one of the hunting safaris. It’s great fun. Maui is beautiful, but slaves usually don’t get away from the settled places.”
Yvonne’s eyes narrowed. “How were you out there, and now you’re here?”
“All female slaves spend time as ponygirls. It’s in the rules somewhere. I’ve been here two years, three to go. You spend a couple of months training, and then around three as a ponygirl. Then you’re assigned to something else. Unless you’re long term?”
“I guess I’m long term. I was just recruited this morning.” Yvonne sighed. “So, what’s there to do? Just stay in my stall until someone comes for me?”
“Essentially. That’s what horses do, and we’re horses now. That, and watch the shows.”
“Shows? I don’t see a telly.”
“It’s not obvious.” Millie reached over the partition and pointed to the opposite wall. “See that plastic rectangle that looks like wood? It’s got two little holes on the top.”
Yvonne looked and then nodded.
“Well, there’re earplugs in the bottom. Sit in front of it and look at it. A laser draws pictures in your eyes.”
“Cool. Daddy had a car with displays like that. Expensive. How do you control it?”
“Wave your finger in the air in front of it. Hey, I’m serious. It’ll project menus and stuff into your eyes, so all you do is poke your finger into the boxes. That’s why you don’t want to misbehave. They cuff your hands behind you, and then all you can do is sit there and watch the main menu.”
“Well, I see you’re enjoying yourselves,” the voice said from the corridor. Both ponygirls jerked around in their stalls; they hadn’t heard the trainer walk up.
The trainer held out a halter to Millie, who promptly walked to the front of her stall. That let Yvonne get a good look at her next stall neighbor. Millie was tastefully attired in collar, corset and boots. The boots kept her feet in full extension, and ended in a solid block that was apparently supposed to be a horse’s hoof. She thought she glimpsed a horseshoe under one of them, but she wasn’t certain. Yvonne wondered how soon they’d fit her for boots. That full extension looked painful, but Millie certainly didn’t seem to be in any distress from it.
She also had a tail. It matched her hair, which was shoulder length and pulled back into a ponytail. The tail seemed to be an extension of her spine, although there was something just a little odd about it. The extension didn’t seem quite natural. She thought it looked cute. If she had to be a ponygirl, she hoped they’d give her a pretty one.
Millie leaned forward, allowing her trainer to slide the rope around her head and tighten the slipknot. The trainer grasped the lead just under the mare’s chin, and led her down the corridor, legs pumping up and down in a high step. Her tail swayed back and forth in time with the roll of her hips.
Yvonne stopped looking when they vanished around a corner, and went to look in the stall on the other side. There was another brunette lying on her side, knees flexed slightly, and hands cuffed behind her. She seemed to be dozing, and Yvonne decided not to wake her.
Then she turned to the food bin. She reached for another pear, and then stopped. She wasn’t supposed to use her hands. So she knelt before the tray and sank her teeth into the pear. In not too long a time, she managed to work her way through most of the food, and take her fill of water.
She looked up again. There were several ponygirls standing in their stalls, but most of them were talking in pairs, and none of them were close enough for her to join in. She sighed. What was it Millie had said about the telly?
She looked closely at the wall, and was rewarded to see two holes, about ten centimeters apart. She dropped to her knees in front of them, which brought them to eye level. In a moment, words appeared in midair. It was a menu with a number of entries: Movies, Music, News, Games and Courses. She poked her finger at News. The words dissolved, and more words appeared. It said: “There is no news. Were you expecting any?” and there was an OK button below it.
She shook her head, causing the vision to vanish momentarily. When it came back on, she was back at the original menu, which had shrunk to four items.
She decided to try Games. This time she was rewarded by a list of further choices. A little poking around showed her that there were literally thousands of games. They must have every game ever put on a computer! Then she smiled at herself, amused. If New Babylon was as big as it looked from the very limited view she’d had so far, it stood to reason.
She’d had a couple of friends that were into gaming, big time, and who had sworn that there was nothing like the old Zork games. She selected one called “Grand Inquisitor,” and soon she was wondering what to do with a fish that kept insulting her.
In the middle of her perusal of the latest insult, her stall door opened. She twisted around to look. There was a young man, dressed in a short skirt, leather boots and the ubiquitous collar, carrying a pitchfork.
“Stay where you are,” he said, waving at her. “You’re new, right? I’m just cleaning the stable.” So saying, he dug the pitchfork under the straw in the corner of the stall where she’d evacuated, and threw the mess into a bin. Then he threw down some more straw, and closed the stall gate. She got up and walked to the front, where she saw a ponygirl harnessed to a wagon. He picked up the reins and flicked them once, and the ’girl started walking forward, pulling the refuse wagon behind her.
She went back to figuring out what to do about the insulting fish.
She’d finally figured that one out, and gotten killed by the grue, when her stall door opened again.
“I see you’ve found out how to amuse yourself,” Rinda said. “It looks like you’ve recovered.” She held out the bridle. Yvonne sighed and held her head out for Rinda to buckle the device around it. Rinda looped the lead around one of the posts between the stalls, and then opened the door.
“Let’s see your feet,” she said. Yvonne lifted her left foot when Rinda touched it. Rinda probed the ankle and foot bones, and nodded thoughtfully, putting the sandal back when she was done. Then she did the same thing for the right foot.
“Turn around,” she commanded. Yvonne turned, managing to wrap her lead around her throat. She spun to the other side, turning bright red in embarrassment.
Rinda chuckled. “That’s a good girl. Now bend over just a little.” She ran her finger over the end of Yvonne’s spine, in the space between the two globes of her ass cheeks. The area felt tender.
“Not bad for a few hours,” she said to herself. “Now, let’s see.” She went to the wall and picked a piece of shaped plastic. Then she brought it back and slid it in the space she’d just probed.
“Good enough,” she muttered. In a moment, Yvonne felt something cold.
“Hold still while the cement sets,” Rinda commanded. A couple of minutes later, she told the ponygirl she could unbend. Yvonne flexed her ass cheeks, and felt the bulk of the plastic intruder at the base of her spine.
Now, let’s just give you a nice tail,” Rinda said. A moment later, Yvonne felt the intruder press upward, and then heard a click. The tail brushed between her legs, tickling her thighs.
A minute later, Rinda grasped the reins just below her chin, and led her down the corridors. Yvonne almost stumbled when she noticed herself doing a high step without thinking about it. “They’ve really got to me,” she thought. Then she recovered and kept walking next to Rinda.
They came out the front, into the parking lot where Rinda had left her ponygirl and chariot. Rinda marched her prize to the back of one of the chariots and tied her reins. Then she untied the sitting ponygirl’s reins from the hitching post and got in. The girl rose to her feet in a smooth motion. Rinda flicked the reins, and the girl started walking backwards, still looking straight ahead. Yvonne backpedaled quickly as the chariot came toward her. Then Rinda flicked the reins, and the girl stopped. A moment later, they were going down one of the paths through the emerald lawns.
A few minutes later, Rinda stopped her ponygirl next to a young man sitting on a contraption that looked like a lawn mower with two shafts in front.
“Yvonne’s a novice,” Rinda told the man, whose collar proclaimed him to be Fred 5. “That’s fine,” he said. “Doesn’t take much training to pull one of these things.” He untied the reins and guided the ponygirl to the center of the shafts. Then he lifted them, and buckled the straps to her corset. He stepped back to admire the view. Then he shook his head, and took a bottle from the tool case on the back of the mower.
“You’ll broil in this sun, girl,” he said, holding it out in front of her. “Sunscreen. You’ll tan up nicely, but we don’t want you to burn. Takes too long to heal.” He poured a little onto his hand, and methodically proceeded to work it into her face, under and around the bridle. Then he continued on down to her neck, her shoulders, and her arms, making certain he got in between where they were held together by the shackles.
He slowed down over her breasts, making very sure that he had the goop rubbed in thoroughly, slowing down even more as her nipples slowly hardened. He grinned as he thought he heard a slight whimper from behind her bit. Then he continued on down, rubbing it in over her ribs and under the edges of the leather girdle. Once he was done, he proceeded to the other end of the girdle, and rubbed the lotion over her hips and ass, into her crotch where it gleamed over her thatch, and finally down her legs and over her feet. He noticed that she was really a novice; she was wearing sandals rather than the hoof boots most of the ponygirls wore. Finally, he put the top back on the bottle, and rubbed his finger between her legs and over her sex. “You liked that, you little minx, didn’t you?” he laughed, teasing the erect nub of her left breast. “Well, let’s get going. There’s grass needing to be cut.”
He straightened his skirt as he got back onto the machine, said “Giddyap!” and flicked the reins. Yvonne strained forward, and was rewarded by a whir of blades as the mowing machine moved with her.
Fred spent a few minutes feeling out how she responded to the reins, and then brought the mower in a wide sweep to the strip where he had left off. Yvonne plodded along, getting used to the feel of the bit in her mouth, pulling her head forward. After a while, she just let the feeling of the bit take over, and started moving right and left to the pressure. Fred nodded to himself. This one might make it to Guest Services in time. Meanwhile, he’d have some fun with her.
An hour later, Fred and Yvonne had mowed a large swath of the lawns. He pulled her left onto grass that he had just mowed, and then tugged both reins. Yvonne stopped, the silence loud after the incessant whir of the mower blades. Fred pulled out a bottle of water from the box on the back, and then walked around to his draft animal and took her bit out of her mouth. He held the bottle up, and let her take a long drink. Then he picked a banana out of the cooler, peeled it back and held it in front of her. She looked at it and then opened her mouth, taking a neat bite out of the end. He fed her the rest of the fruit, and then bitted her, noticing the way her nipples expanded at the attention.
They spent another hour mowing another section of the lawn before Fred called a halt. This time after watering his pony, he held up a small candy on the palm of his hand. Yvonne looked at it, and then took it between her tongue and upper teeth, rolling it into her mouth. Fred scratched her behind the ears. “Time for some more sunscreen, girl.”
He took the bottle and rubbed the lotion thoroughly into her skin, paying particular attention to her breasts and pussy. By the time he was done, she was panting slightly. He swatted her ass lightly, and with a flick of the reins, started his thoroughly frustrated pony mowing another section of lawn.
Two more breaks, and he had finished the quarter that had been scheduled for mowing that day. “You’ve been a good girl,” he said. “I think you need more sunscreen.” By the time he finished up the bottle, she was definitely panting, her skin flushed to an extent that could not be accounted for by the late afternoon sun.
“Well, if you insist,” he said, and took the bit out of her mouth. He lifted the front of his skirt, showing the beginnings of an erection. She promptly knelt before him and took the shaft into her mouth, teasing it with little flicks of her tongue until it stood straight and stiff while he teased her breasts, with occasional excursions to tickle her ears. Finally, he had enough.
“Stand,” he commanded, voice husky with desire. She stood, legs spread, as he crouched before her and grasped her ass in his hands, and then impaled her with a single swift motion of his hips. She gasped, and then spasmed in the throes of orgasm. He pumped a couple of times, and then came, catching her as she descended from one orgasm and driving her into another.
He withdrew slowly, and then watched his pony totter on her legs until she managed to get her balance after the unexpected climax. “You’ll do,” was all he said as he straightened his skirt again and mounted the seat of the grass cutter. He flicked the reins, and she strained at the traces, getting it started on its way to the groundskeeper’s shed.
At the groundskeeper’s shed, a groom picked her up and led her, hand holding her reins just under her chin, to a row of metal poles behind the stable. In between the metal poles were sturdier wooden poles covered with tack and various implements. He stopped her in front of one of the poles, which turned out to be a water pipe ending with a showerhead on a length of flex piping, and wrapped the reins around the pipe. Then he bent down and locked a shackle around her left ankle, taking off her sandal at the same time. He took the other sandal, and then stood, looking at her. He took the now familiar untying machine and removed her waistband and unshackled her arms. Then he took off the bridle, leaving her standing there tethered by her left foot.
Once he got everything stowed to his satisfaction, he took the showerhead and drenched her from head to toe. Then he shampooed her hair, and covered her entire body with soap. A second pass with the showerhead rinsed her off. He finished the job with a hair drier, and put it up in a perky ponytail. He noticed her erect nipples, and lightly flicked one with a finger so that it stood out even further. “Slut,” he said with a chuckle, “you already got it from the mowing man, if I know him! Besides, if I wanted you, I’d have to do it before washing you down.”
“Are you going to be good?” he asked. She whinnied at him, a question in her eyes.
“What I mean is, do I have to shackle your arms, or are you going to be good on the way back to your stall?”
She whinnied at him and nodded. “I take that as a yes.” He took a rope halter off the pole and slid it around her head, wrapping the lead around the water pipe. Then he unlocked the leg shackle, and, throwing her discarded tack over his shoulder, pulled her after him, holding the lead rope just under her chin so that she had no freedom of movement. He led her into the stable, and then paused, looking briefly to the side and making a gesture in the air. The display checked his eyes, identified him, and presented the list of ponygirls and their stall assignments. Then he walked her down the corridors to her stall, opened the gate, and stripped off the halter, giving her ass a swat before he closed the gate and shot the latch.
Yvonne looked at him as he hung the tack on the wall, absently rubbing the spot on her bottom where he had landed the stinging slap. It looked like his skirt was already drying out after the drenching it had taken while he scrubbed her down.
The ponygirl to her right was nowhere to be seen, but the girl on her left was standing up, looking disconsolately around, hands still shackled behind her back. Yvonne remembered the conversation, and noticed that she was Fatima 6.
“Why so glum, Fatima?” she asked.
“Nothing to do, dammit!” Fatima shot back. “I can’t make the telly work with my hands like this.”
“What did you do to make them shackle you?”
“I tried to get out. All I wanted to do was see how the stable looked, and where things were,” she said, sounding put upon.
“Well, if you can’t keep your hands out of trouble,” Yvonne shrugged. “The rules are the rules.”
“But…” Fatima wailed.
Yvonne cocked her head slightly. “I take it you signed up for five years as a ponygirl,” she threw out.
Fatima’s eye’s widened. “Five years?” she squeaked. “My master told me I’d be here until I learned how to be a ponygirl.”
“Oh? You’re not on a contract with New Babylon?”
“Contract? Master owns me. I like being his slave.”
“And I bet he lets you get away with lots of stuff.”
“He’s so … masterful … when he gets angry with me.”
Yvonne looked at her. “Let me share a suspicion with you, Fatima. He’s lost his patience for the last time. That’s why you’re here.”
“Really? I’d wondered. He’s never cared for heavy bondage. Will he sell me once I’m trained?”
“Who knows?” Yvonne spread her hands in a gesture of futility.
“More getting acquainted?” Rinda commented dryly from the corridor. Both ’girls jumped back from the partition as if it burned. “Getting to know your neighbors isn’t exactly forbidden, but please keep an eye or ear out for us.” The threat hung in the air, no less real for being unstated.
Rinda walked into Yvonne’s stall. “The mowing man likes you, girl. Here.” She held up her hand, palm up and out. Yvonne bent her head to look, and saw the confection. She brushed her tongue over Rinda’s thumb, and then took it daintily between her lips. Rinda brushed the line of her jaw. “He says you’re a hot one. You like him?” Yvonne nodded and whinnied excitedly.
Rinda brushed a hand over Yvonne’s right breast, hesitating at the erect nipple. “Looks like you want another one,” she said in a sultry voice. Yvonne drew a shakey breath. Her tongue flicked out to touch her upper lip. “I guess you do at that,” she said as she put her hands on Yvonne’s shoulders and pressed down. Yvonne fell to her knees and looked upwards in puzzlement. Rinda drew the skirt of her tunic up, and Yvonne gasped at the partially erect penis it revealed. Rinda drew Yvonne’s head in with her other hand, and Yvonne took the member into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue. Rinda drew a deep breath as her member thickened, and then another as she smelled Yvonne’s juices. Her dick got thicker and tighter as Yvonne continued teasing it, alternating flicks of her tongue with deep sucking. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand any more, she pushed Yvonne over, gasping “Down!” between inhalations.
Yvonne fell onto her back, legs spread as far as the walls of the stall would permit, and Rinda fell on top of her. She slid into the welcoming channel to a gasp of pleasure, and then both of them rocked back and forth, building the waves of sensation higher and higher. Yvonne came with a convulsive grunt, followed immediately by Rinda’s blast of cum into her womb. They both drew several deep, shuddering breaths as they came down from the peak.
Finally, Rinda levered herself to her knees, and drew her finger from Yvonne’s nose, across her mouth and down her throat, crossing the collar on its way down her sternum between her breasts to finally rest in her navel.
She stood. “The mowing man was right. You are a hot little slut. Well, not so little.” She grinned at the prone ponygirl. “That’s good.”
Rinda pulled down the skirt of her tunic and ran her hands through Yvonne’s hair, restoring some semblance of order to the chaos. She closed the stall behind her and walked down the corridor. A very puzzled ponygirl followed her swaying hips until she vanished around a corner.
“I see she got to you,” a familiar voice sounded from the adjacent stall.
“Millie! What is she? With those breasts, I thought she was a woman!”
“She is, basically,” Milly said. “Although that came later. The powers that be seem to like she-males, so any male on a permanent contract that isn’t absolutely locked rock solid into masculinity has a good chance of ending up as a hermaphrodite. The ones with bigger breasts present as female, the ones with smaller breasts are a mixed bag.”
“Is this place crazy, or what?” Yvonne muttered.
“Or what, mostly,” Millie replied. “Every time I think they’re crazy, it turns out there’s a reason, so I’ve quit thinking about it. So. Tell me about your day.”
Our very trepid ponygirl has discovered that there are some compensations to her predicament. Is she going to spend the rest of her life as the motor on the lawnmower, or are there more surprises in store for her? See the next exciting episode of “Watch What You Sign” coming to a server near you.