The two black-eyed, sharp-toothed pictsies made their down the central aisle of the cold and dingy stable, their ice-blue skin bold against the gloom. It was impossible to see what manner of creatures were held behind the solid oak stall doors; whatever they were, they were not very vocal. The only noises were soft movements of bodies on straw, and occasional scarfing or slurping, as of an animal lapping at food or water.

"Here we are." The male faerie stopped in front of one of the heavy, oaken gates and released the giant bronze bolts. He slung open the stall door with a creak.

The beast inside was clearly not what his female companion had expected. Her eyes widened with wonder as she saw the pale human girl, curled up naked on a bed of straw, bronze cuffs chaining her wrists close together, shackled to a bracket in the floor by a nose ring. The faeries had obviously woken her up - she sleepily hauled herself up onto all fours as she heard her stall door open, looking at the two fairies nervously. She was far larger than them, who at perhaps two feet tall were head high to the girl even on her hands and knees.

"This, Erebelle, is a ponygirl," the male faerie said.

"How curious," Erebelle mused, peering with furrowed brow as her jet-black eyes danced like starfields with sparkling points of light.

"After you," the male pictsie invited with a bow.

"Thank you, Banon," said the female faerie, her voice thin and wispy, as the male held the door for her to enter. She looked over the ponygirl curiously.

The girl was young, perhaps late teens or early twenties, but her wiry, nubile body already bore a history faint welts, the legacy of her taming. Her fearful eyes were fixed on the faeries, nervously waiting to see what they had in store for her; this was a shell of a girl, utterly subjugated. In this she was not alone. The people of the north had long ago been overrun by the debauched Unseelie faerie court, and the terrorised human population were now little more than slaves helpless before the whims of their glamorous overlords.

"A ponygirl," Erebelle repeated, rolling the delicious new word around her tongue. "It certainly seems docile. Is it trained?"

"Watch." Banon took a step forward. "Beg," he demanded firmly.

Instantly the girl rose up, heavy nose-chain jangling, her arms out in front of her like a begging dog as her long, sandy blonde hair flopped over her face. There were more huge rings hanging from her nipples and another piercing a fleshy clit from within a messy nest of pubes, and another long, heavy chain ran from nipple to nipple, passing through the clit ring on the way to form a decorative V of clunking bronze. Erebelle giggled and clapped.

"Very good," said Banon. "Now, kiss your mistress," he continued, and pointed at Erebelle.

With equal haste, the girl lowered herself back to the floor, Erebelle recoiled in surprise as the girl dipped her head towards Erebelle's feet, but then burst out with laughter as the girl began to lick the fairy's little boots for all she was worth.

"Oh, how wonderful!" she exclaimed, giggling.

"See?" he grinned as she slurped. "We round up the best girls from nearby human villages, and our beastmaster sets to work taming them. It's usually only a few weeks before they're ready to ride. Then we put them through mock battles so they won't shy from the real thing."

The ponygirl had been licking Erebelle's boot throughout. Banon let her carry on for a few moments before cuffing her over the head. "That's enough, silly." She shrunk back to her ready position.

"I must say, I never imagined them for this," Erebelle said in wonder. "Where I come from, our nobles sometimes keep pet humans. But riding? I had no idea human girls could be of such practical use!"

"Ah, now," said Banon. "The thing you must understand about ponygirls, is that they are not girls. We break them very thoroughly. She will not ask your wishes or use initiative, the way a human slave might. A ponygirl must be handled with care and ridden with skill. But if you can do so, she will become as loyal a pet as any hunting hound, and respond to her reins with greater dexterity than any human could to a spoken command."

"I understand."

"Excellent. Now, since you will be joining our little band, this one is yours."

"My own? Really?"

"This young animal is freshly trained. She was rounded up from a human village just a few months ago, and chosen in anticipation of your arrival."

Erebelle jumped and clapped with glee. "What's her name? Does she have one?"

"Not yet. You are her owner, you may give her a name."

Erebelle slowly walked closer to the ponygirl, and the girl shrank away, gasping, but made no true attempt to retreat.

"Oh, stop quivering, you craven pony," Banon sighed at her.

Erebelle paused and looked over her shoulder at Banon for a moment. "That's it!" she exclaimed wickedly. "That's her name: Quiver!"

The newly-named Quiver cringed slightly and trembled, but the young ponygirl allowed Erebelle's hands to paw at her.

"She's a bright one," noted Banon. "She already understands that you're her owner." Alone until now, the girl perhaps sensed that here at last was some consistency, and in that, a crumb of comfort that some instinct was urging her to grab a hold of. She nuzzled back against Erebelle's little hands.

"She looks happy!" smiled Erebelle.

"Well, she's had no owner until now. We train our ponygirls to be loyal and obedient, and without an owner, she's had no one to be loyal to! I expect she's starting to feel more at home now that she has you to submit to."

"Really? Well, don't worry, girl, " Erebelle whispered, grinning as she stroked Quiver's nose. "I'll ride you good and hard. You'll always know I'm your mistress."

She lightly skipped up and straddled the ponygirl's back, and the tamed girl now only gave the subtlest of flinches.

"You'll need a saddle to ride properly," Banon cautioned. "They'll crawl on their knees, or scamper on hands and feet; but we train them to rise onto two legs to move at full speed, and we don't want you getting pitched off her back."

Erebelle nodded. She gasped with delight as she slowly moved her hips back and forth, enjoying the feel of the pony's skin. "The hide is so soft," she said in wonder. "I always thought human skin would be like bootleather. Oh, this is magical!"

"And do you know the best part?" Banon chimed in as Erebelle fussed over her new pet, tugging curiously on the girl's greasy hair.

"What's that?"

"This is the humans' own idea."

"Oh, go on, you're teasing me."

"It's a fact. We just copied it."

Erebelle was thrilled. "Truly? No!"

"Truly."

"Goodness! So how...?"

Banon's face was suddenly serious.

"We found it on one of those hideous computifiers humans used to have. It took our alchemist nearly a week of work with the thing to get it going."

Erebelle winced sympathetically. Ancient human technology dated from a time when mankind had conquered the mystical. It was cold and confusing and painful to the touch. It must have been a brave faerie indeed to poke around with it for a whole week.

"But he found pictures and documented accounts of humans doing this to each other! Can you believe it?"

"I knew they couldn't always have been as timid as they are now."

"Well, you see, the fellow who had archived this information was a nobleman. Sir Jeff or something."

Erebelle nodded with understanding. "Ah, that explains it. I expect he got away with all sorts."

"Indeed. Made himself quite the expert on this sort of thing, it seems. He must have been something of a tyrant."

"I expect he'd be pleased with his legacy here, then," Erebelle suggested, giving her girl one last stroke before swinging her leg back and slipping down from Quiver's back. "Maybe you should name your stable after him."

"Sir Jeff's Ponygirls. That has a ring to it," chuckled Banon. "Now then. There's plenty of moonlight left, and I want you patrolling with us within the week. Fetch some tack, and I'll show you how to saddle her. Time to go for a ride."