This work is copyright 2000-2003 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.
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.
This work is copyright 2002, 2003 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.
There are (currently) two stories in this series:
1. Read What You Sign (currently 7 parts)
2. Jill's Ponygirl (in preparation)
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 -------
Chapter 17. What are Golf Courses For?
This is the fifth part of the story. If you haven’t read the first four parts, here’s a bit of a synopsis. If you have, just trot on down to the first chapter (which happens to be Chapter 17 – that’s what you get for starting in the middle!)
Our focus character, Yvonne, is the daughter of an up and coming businessman who is desperate to be accepted among the top flakes of the upper crust. She’s at a posh private school, being snubbed by all the other students, when suddenly she’s expelled and dropped in the slums. About all she knows is that her father’s company flamed out, and he came home, shot his wife, missed his son and then committed suicide. After a couple of months of fending for herself, unable to contact anyone who can help, she discovers a storefront offering jobs.
It is, of course, a recruiter for New Babylon. She signs a contract with them without reading the fine print (or any print at all, for that matter – she’s kind of desperate,) and gets whisked away to their private resort on Maui, 26 thousand years in the past. She thought she was going to do five years as a sex slave, and then be returned with a cool 100Gs.
Instead, she finds herself in a ponygirl stable, being trained to be a ponygirl. Even worse, her hair falls out to be replaced by a mane, she grows a tail, and her feet change into hooves. Yvonne 8 (which is her new name – it says so right on her collar, which was cast in place around her neck when they shoved her through induction) doesn’t seem to have much choice but to go along with all of this.
Eventually, they think she is ready, and she’s sent out to join the ponygirl herd that services the golf course. She discovers what being a bag girl is all about. She strikes up a slight rapport with a Mrs. Sindler, who’s a reasonably good golfer, and she also discovers what grooming a golf course entails. In between all of this, she finds out that ponygirls have something else in common with horses other than the mane, tail, hooves and job description. She’s a herd animal, and no fooling.
Her riding instructor rides her into the forest, where she discovers the joys of being ridden. It’s highly addictive. Really. On one of the treks, her trainer brings down a wild girl with a bolo, and they have a highly enlightening talk, which confuses Yvonne further. We may meet the girl later if I ever get her story off of my hard disk and to Sir Jeff.
Some time later, Mrs. Sindler returns with her daughter, Sally. Sally turns out to have been Yvonne’s old college roommate! Oh, embarrassment.
Sally takes the situation in stride, and some things are clarified. It turns out that Yvonne didn’t know what Daddy did for a living. She still doesn’t, but whatever it was, it wasn’t exactly kosher. However, Sally wants Yvonne back; she had been using her as a housekeeper and general assistant in return for helping her with her studies. Sally has a bit of a temper, and has fired the last three assistants her mother stuck her with; at least she can get on with Yvonne.
Yvonne, on the other hand, is doing the Hamlet thing. She doesn’t quite know what will happen if she comes back and they can’t turn her hooves back into feet. Mrs. Sindler, however, is quite certain that she doesn’t want Yvonne to have the chance to find out.
Yvonne 8 lay sprawled on her stomach in the meadow, staring at a short strip of metal lying in the grass in front of her, and occasionally poking holes in the air with her finger. As she sprawled, the breeze occasionally played with her chestnut mane and tail, blowing the hairs now one way, now the other. She didn’t notice as a dragonfly lit on top of the hoof she had sticking in the air behind her. After a moment, the dragonfly spread it’s gossamer wings and took off again, equally unaware of its close brush with instant death. The equipment in Yvonne’s collar couldn’t be said to relax as the insect turned its attention elsewhere, only because it couldn’t be said to have tensed up. It was just performing one of its minor functions: that of keeping the body whose neck it circled free of small pests of one variety or another.
Several grooms walked up to the edge of the meadow and looked over the herd. One of them looked at a piece of paper in his hand, and called out: “Faith 3! Yvonne 8! Denise 6! Tara 2!”
Yvonne waved her hand in the air, and then sat up, picking up the strip of metal and plastic she’d been staring at. A moment later, she trotted up to the group of grooms, telly in hand. One of them said: “This way, Yvonne,” and she followed him into the tack shed.
The tack shed was an open roofed space filled with tack covered walls. The groom led the way to the section that contained Yvonne’s tack. She dropped the telly into the recharging rack, and held her arms up as the groom fastened the corset around her waist. He pulled it snug, and then picked the lacing machine off of the wall and very carefully ran it up the back of the corset from bottom to top, letting it thread the laces and pull them tight. Then he ran it up a second time, and a third, letting it pull them a bit tighter each time. When he was done, the corset had pulled Yvonne’s waist in by a good three inches, leaving her with a 36 – 22 – 40 figure. Yvonne, like all of the ponygirls, was very heavy across the hips and thighs. None of it was fat; it was all bone and muscle.
Next, he took a leather harness off the wall and draped it over her shoulders. A moment later, he had the horizontal bands above and below her breasts buckled, and the vertical bands buckled to her corset.
He took a pair of light cuffs off the wall and held them out. Yvonne brought her arms behind her, and the groom quickly cuffed them in the small of her back. Then he dropped the rope halter around her head and tightened the friction latch under her chin.
“Done,” he pronounced. Yvonne snorted. Of course he was done. He’d done this enough times he should be able to do it in his sleep. Grooms, she decided for about the hundredth time, weren’t the brightest people in the world.
He picked up her lead and walked off toward the clubhouse, Yvonne trailing along obediently as she idly wondered who they’d assign her to today. She knew she was one of the better bag girls; they usually gave her to someone who could use an experienced caddy.
They led her toward a foursome. The two men and one of the women were talking earnestly to each other, the other woman stood there looking out at the course. She recognized two of them immediately. They both golfed here often enough that she figured they had to work here, although they usually didn’t golf together.
She knew she wasn’t going to be assigned to either one. They both brought their own personal slaves and ponygirls. She didn’t know what Ted did, but his slave girl, at least, was quite good at judging the course, although she didn’t have the extra course knowledge that came from living in the course’s ponygirl herd. Maeve’s personal slave, on the other hand, usually didn’t seem to know one end of the club from the other. Yvonne often thought she would be better off leaving the guy behind in the clubhouse and renting one of the ponygirls to carry her bag.
The other difference was equally striking. His personal slave looked like she could be his daughter. Yvonne didn’t think so, but then, nothing about New Babylon would surprise her any more. She hoped. There was no way the other one could be his mistress’ son, however.
Then her smile vanished abruptly as she recognized the other man and woman. No! It couldn’t possibly be! But it was Uncle Andy and Aunt Bess, and neither one looked at all happy to be here. That, at least, wasn’t surprising given what she knew of their background. When they got back, Aunt Bess would probably go to confession for a week, at least if they could find a confessor to listen to her tale of woe!
Aunt Bess spotted her at about the same time. “Why, it is Yvonne!” she cried, almost as if she were a hound.
Andy looked around. “Why, I do think you’re right, love.” Then he said, “I had hoped they were wrong,” in a softer voice. Andy being Andy, Yvonne could still hear him clearly.
Yvonne suddenly felt naked, a feeling she hadn’t indulged since the first time Sally had spotted her a couple of months ago. She took as deep a breath as she could manage in her harness and kept walking forward.
“Which one is mine?” Bess asked as the grooms brought them up to the foursome. “Yvonne!” she almost wailed.
Yvonne had to work to keep from cracking a smile. That was so Aunt Bess. “You should take Denise and Tara,” she replied in as professional a voice as she could manage. “They are both very good with novice golfers.” She knew Denise would have glared at her if she could, but Tara would appreciate the warning.
The grooms looked around in confusion at this breach in the normal state of affairs. Ted nodded to them, as if to say: “Do it.” They hustled around, getting the two golf bags settled on Tara’s and Yvonne’s shoulder harnesses.
“Can she keep my score?” Aunt Bess asked the empty air.
“Certainly,” one of the grooms replied. “I’ll just unclip her hands for you.” He knelt down and reached under the golf bag to unzip the Velcro cuffs. A moment later, he had them off and hung on a hook on the back of the ‘girl’s harness.
Tara brought her hands forward while Bess handed her the scorecard and pencil. Tara slid them into small hooks on one of her harness straps.
“How cute! You’ve thought of everything,” Bess said as she saw where Tara had put her card.
“We do try, Ma’am,” Maeve said. “It’s all part of the New Babylon Experience.”
“Now what?” Andy asked in the quietest voice he had used yet after Yvonne clipped his scorecard and pencil to the same place on her harness.
“We discuss the course, what else do you do with a caddy?” Yvonne replied as they moved up in the starting line.
“Humph,” he snorted. “It does look like a real interesting course, at that.”
“And your golfing buddies would probably think it very strange if you’d played it and couldn’t tell them all about it.”
“Cover stories,” he sighed. “One question first. Do you want to come back?”
“I don’t really know?” she answered him. “Like I told Sally a few weeks ago, the way they’ve got it arranged being a ponygirl is actually fun, but it’s no way to spend a lifetime. I suppose so, but I have no idea if they can change me back. I take it you’re here to make arrangements?”
He nodded cautiously. “Well, then have me assigned to you for your stay, and go on some nature hikes. We can talk to our heart’s content once we’re out in the wilderness at a campsite.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “They said the course condition was damp.”
“It always is this time in the morning,” she answered. “Don’t expect a lot of roll until we’re about on the fifth hole. The greens will have dried out, though.”
“Damp means the traps will be wet?”
“Absolutely. If you don’t hit the ball before your club goes into the sand, you might as well not bother.”
“Humph,” he replied. “Well, it looks like we’re up.” He swung into Faith’s saddle, and they trotted toward the first tee.
The small safari of ponygirls and riders trotted single file out of the forest into a gem-like clearing.
The lead groom held up his hand and pronounced: “We’re here, folks.” He rode his ponygirl around the hearth that dominated the center to a place where a long, straight tree branch had been set horizontally on two posts, and stopped her in front of it. She dropped to sit on her heels. He dismounted and flipped her reins around the branch.
Sally followed him, riding Yvonne. Sally had showed up the day that Andy and Yvonne had been golfing, and had promptly attached Yvonne as her personal ponygirl. The first Yvonne had known of it was when Sally, rather than Andy, had come out of the cottage where she had been hitched that morning.
Andy and then Bess followed them, with Maeve, the other woman from the golf foursome, following on her personal ponygirl. Then four pack ponygirls followed in turn, and finally the other groom trailed the pack on his ponygirl.
The grooms bustled about getting the pack ponygirls unloaded; then the four ‘girls set about unpacking and preparing a picnic lunch while the grooms unsaddled the riding ponygirls and prepared to move them to a spot on the meadow away from the picnic.
“Uncuff Yvonne and leave her here,” Maeve directed the lead groom. He grinned and removed the Velcro cuffs that held her arms crossed behind her back.
In a few minutes, four of the ponygirls were tethered on the other side of the meadow. The grooms then unpacked a low table and filled it with fruits and vegetables; some of which they picked right off the surrounding trees.
When the four pack ponygirls finished setting up the picnic, they retired to the other side to join their temporary herd. The pack ponygirls were short timers; they still had a full head of hair, and wore comfortable boots that only looked like horse’s hooves. Their tails were inserted into an inconspicuous plastic widget that was attached with surgical glue. Since they didn’t have the back adaptations, they couldn’t be ridden.
Once all five picnickers had started eating, Maeve broached the question.
“Well, Yvonne, do you want to go back or don’t you?”
Yvonne thought for a moment, a small wedge of sandwich part way to her mouth. “I want to go back, but I don’t see how to manage it.”
Maeve nodded. “That being the case, there are some special circumstances here. Without them, we’d simply say no. We’ve got a valid contract, and we’ll enforce it. However, there is an overriding circumstance.”
Andy and Sally nodded almost simultaneously, both convinced they knew the circumstance.
Maeve fused and dropped her bombshell. “Yvonne’s father, George, was a shareholder in New Babylon.”
Andy recovered first. “How big a shareholder, if I may ask?”
“Big enough that we didn’t consider buying his share, and small enough that he didn’t have a significant say in the management of the enterprise. In fact, he left his proxy for management to vote.”
“Isn’t that normal?” Sally said. “If you don’t trust management, get out and invest in something else.”
“That’s the investor’s viewpoint,” Andy said. “Some people like running things themselves.”
“People do have different viewpoints on that,” Maeve said. “However, this is an inheritance case. George left instructions with us for the disposition of his share in the event of his death. It was to go to Yvonne. He made that instruction before his son was born, and never updated it.
“This gets administered under the laws of New Babylon; we don’t regard national courts as having jurisdiction. I assume you’re aware of what happens when national courts get involved in our affairs?”
“Only from a distance,” Andy assured her as both Sally and Yvonne looked blank.
“At one time,” Andy clarified, “interference tended to result in dead bodies. These days intelligent, or at least prudent, people tend to negotiate first.”
Maeve added. “Our policy on that is very simple. There are winners and losers. We intend to win, and we have certain, let us say resources, that give us the high ground if force is needed. If the other party also wants to win, we’ll do anything reasonable to negotiate a mutually satisfactory solution, but we simply don’t recognize the validity of many so-called legal procedures. Since you’re an owner, our bylaws protect your financial dealings from arbitrary confiscation, whether under the color of national law or not.
“Your father,” she said directly to Yvonne, “left a major mess behind him, and the fact that we converted you to a ponygirl before we knew who you were simply complicates things. It’s been argued that we should simply leave you here and forget that your father’s share even existed. It would be simplest.
“However, Sally discovered you here, which foreclosed that option before it ever got off the ground. We didn’t discover who you were until Sally’s mother made a few suggestions as to how to handle the matter to the Managing Director. Then the information came together.
“The legal nastiness has gotten to the point of trying to get you declared dead so they can confiscate your inheritance. You’re probably going to have to appear in court personally to confirm your identity.”
Andy nodded. “The next court date is in two weeks, and you most likely need to be there unless we can settle first.”
“Exactly,” Maeve continued smoothly. “We’re engaging Mr. Chatham from our own law firm to handle the estate. They have quite a good track record, but they’re going to have to have you in order to establish their interest.
“Even if it was possible to reverse the ponygirl transformation, there’s no way it could be done in two weeks. It took several months to reshape your feet into hooves, and any hypothetical procedure to reverse the process ought to take the same amount of time.
“This means you’re going back as a ponygirl. Normally, ponygirls simply aren’t happy without a herd; they get quite despondent. We’ve quit trying to separate them after a couple of, um, unfortunate incidents. In your case though, we’re going to replace the collar with a set of implants. They’ll allow you to avoid the worst of the herd instinct.
“The main thing we’re missing is clothes. Effectively, you’re a representative of New Babylon, and we’d prefer you appear in public suitably attired. The problem is we’ve never made up a wardrobe for a ponygirl, and our fashion designers are still figuring out how to handle your tail. They’re also trying to figure out a look, considering your mane and hooves, and the fact you’re thicker through the hips than is currently fashionable.”
“Where does that leave me?” Sally asked.
“That’s between you and Yvonne,” Maeve told her. “What our owners do, as long as it isn’t directly against the interests of New Babylon, isn’t our concern. If she wants to keep being ridden, and I’d imagine she will, and she wants you as her rider, that’s her business.
“What does concern us is that at the time your college expelled her, her father had died, so she was an owner and under our protection.”
“I never did like the provost,” Sally said to no one in particular.
“Well, it may not come to that,” Maeve told her. “Most people discover all kinds of grounds to forget their principles and act reasonably when their personal survival is at stake.”
“We’re probably better off without the ones that don’t,” Bess spoke up for the first time. “I’d like to talk to the fashion designers. I’ve got some ideas,” she continued, changing the subject.
“I’d appreciate that, Aunt Bess,” Yvonne said. She reached over and put her hand on Sally’s knee. “And I do want to be your personal assistant for a while, as long as you intend to keep riding me!”
Sally scooted over to kiss Yvonne. “Pet, I’ve missed you.”
“Likewise.”
“Well,” Maeve cleared her throat, “I think that takes care of the main issues. Sally, since Yvonne seems to want you to continue riding her, we’d like to show you a few things about grooming and harnessing ponygirls. Outside of that, Yvonne’s schedule is going to be quite full for a while. There are a lot of things she has to know to function on her own as a ponygirl.”
Sally pouted for effect, and then laughed. “So I don’t get to ride her as much as I want right now. We’ll work it out.”
“The Honorable Abner J. Witherspoon. All Rise,” the bailiff intoned. “The case of Livingston Industries Employees Retirement Fund, et.al. vs. Estate of George V. Livingston.”
The judge walked into the courtroom and looked out at the people assembled before him. Compared to the last session, the room looked positively empty. Not only that, of the few people there, many were completely new. He remembered Dave Chatham, of course. Cases where he appeared seemed to settle with startling speed. This was the first time he’d seen the young woman sitting next to him in person. She matched the pictures of Mr. Livingston’s daughter in the court filings. She had unaccountably vanished on the day of his death, causing a good deal of perplexity and legal maneuvering. She did look interesting! He hoped that hairstyle wouldn’t catch on among the current crop of teenagers; his two were positively lemming like in following all of the least sensible fads. The young man next to her was mundane by comparison. He, at least, had appeared before; he was George Livingston’s minor son.
“We have a proposal before us for a summary settlement of all issues in the case,” he said. “Is that correct?” Three attorneys stood up.
“Dave Chatham, of Dewey, Chatham and Howe, representing the heirs of George Livingston. The proposed settlement is satisfactory to us.”
“Dean Tolliver, representing the Livingston Industries Employees Retirement Fund. It looks like what we’re going to get, and it’s more than we expected, so we’ll take it.”
“Jean Parlier, representing the remaining plaintiffs as a group. The proposed settlement is more than most of our group members expected. We’ll take it.”
The judge looked at the three lawyers. Surprising what happened when New Babylon stepped in. All the high priced talent that had been swarming around the case had vanished as soon as it appeared that they wouldn’t get their fees. Dean was well known for taking pro bono cases, and Jean was new on the block; the experience would be invaluable. Not that they wouldn’t get theirs. The settlement provided for their actual time spent vetting the document. However, less than two hundred hours at a not entirely exorbitant hourly fee was peanuts compared to the actual size of the estate.
In any case, with the jackal’s legal fees out of the way, it did appear that all of the actual plaintiffs were going to get more than they’d expected. He nodded.
“So ordered.”
They all rose as the judge left the courtroom. The judge sat down swiftly so he could look at the courtroom monitor. Yvonne Livingston not only had a mane, she had a tail! He shook his head. He hoped that the newsies wouldn’t catch on and play her up. All he needed was his daughter to start sporting a horse’s tail.
In the back of the courtroom, a stringer for one of the news services watched the case and shook his head. He’d expected some legal fireworks; the case had certainly generated enough of them to date. What he didn’t expect was three completely new lawyers to show up and sign on to an out of court settlement, and for the judge to rubber stamp it without any comments.
When the woman with the mohawk haircut stood up, he almost dropped his jaw. She’d looked tall sitting down, now she absolutely towered over everyone else. She must be at least two meters! He moved out quickly so he could intercept one of the attorneys for a quick interview.
He made sure his press badge was visible as he walked in front of Dave Chatham and waved. “Federated News, would you say a few words about the settlement? I’m Ben Peake.”
Dean leaned into the microphone and boomed: “It’s really satisfying to see what happens when everyone is working to see justice done, rather than trying to pad their legal fees.”
“It’s been a truly interesting experience,” Jean added. “It’s one of the few times I’ve actually been proud to be a lawyer.”
“Dave, how does a case this messy suddenly get settled quickly? Can you let us in on your secret?”
“Only that New Babylon suddenly discovered that it had an interest in the case. People seem to be more reasonable when that gets out. I can’t imagine why,” he continued with such an obviously false air of innocence that Ben was hard-pressed not to laugh.
He aimed the microphone at the woman who, he now saw, had a tail. “Can you tell us anything, Miss?”
“Not really. I’m George Livingston’s daughter, Yvonne, and that’s about all I really know about the case.”
“I think that’s enough for you,” Dean boomed out, and the little party walked away from the reporter.
Ben took a deep breath and reached for his cell phone while considering how to phrase his report. He sure hoped the pictures worked out; the last thing he wanted was for his chief to ask him for a case of whatever he’d been drinking!
Well, our intrepid ponygirl is on her way back into the real world, mane, hooves and an almost irresistible desire to be ridden. What’s going to happen to her when she and Sally arrive at school?
If you enjoyed this story, please e-mail the author and let him know. He likes to hear from his loyal fans, and it does provide some motivation to continue writing this stuff. Of course, if you've got a business deal, please let him know!