The next morning, a new Trainer appeared and introduced himself as William.

“Today, ponygirl, you join our stable as one of my charges and there are some rules that you must obey at all times”. He paused before continuing, “One, you must, in the morning bow to me the first time you meet me, your eyes lowered in respect.”

“Two, you may only talk to the stable girls or the other ponies once you have been divested of your bridle and bit in the evenings, but never, ever at any other time, unless there is an emergency. You are a ponygirl and you must remember that at all times”.

Three, once you have an Owner, then you must drop to your knees, legs apart and hands on the top of your thighs unless you have restraints to your hands”.

“Four, you will use the following signs for ‘yes’ and ‘no’. For ‘yes’, you will nod your head and stamp your left shoove on the ground and for ‘no’ you will shake your head and stamp your right shoove on the ground, is that understood.”?

I nodded again. “Yes, William, I understand”.

“Now then ponygirl, just to show you that we do have your welfare at heart, you may use your make-up in the mornings, before you are harnessed. When you have used up any of it, you must tell a stable girl and she will make sure it is replaced.”

He paced across the stall, turned and said, “In the evenings, ponygirl, you will be allowed to fraternise with the other ponies before lights out, and you will be served by a ponymaid. At no time are you to talk to her, other than to ask for a drink.”

He completed my little lesson by saying, “You will not have that privilege for the next three days”.

He pointed to the dressing table.

“In one of those drawers is a book of Rules and Regulations, read it and learn it off by heart, for there is no leeway from now on”.

Saying nothing more, he left my stall.

Seconds later, two stable girls entered and started to harness me.

Wide metal studded belt, a ‘Y’ yoke through strap, stretched down between my breasts, a bridle and bit with a red plume on my head, and shooves.

Wrists once more secured at the back of my belt, I was led from my stall to find another ponygirl harnessed as was I.

Side by side, a chain fastened us to each other and once that was done, we were led by our reins from the stable to the courtyard. In front of us stood small four wheeled carriage.

A stable girl led us by our reins to the front, then carefully reversed us until we felt a single bar between our bodies and we finally felt a cross bar across our backs.

Belts chained to the crossbar, we were told to grip the bar with our hands.

We stood, looking sideways at each other as we waited.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity, through the gateway appeared a woman dressed in riding gear, immaculate from her top hat to her highly polished riding boots.

In her white kid gloves she held a long whip, on her face a very haughty look indeed.

She strode straight over to us and carefully checked our harness for fit and tightness. Not once did she look directly at either of us as she went about her task.

Satisfied with what she found, she moved behind us and we felt the shafts move as she mounted the carriage.

Reins slapped across our shoulders and then the order, “Drive on, ponygirls, drive on”.

Our steel shod shooves dug into the cobblestones, scraping across them as we started to draw the carriage towards the courtyard entrance.

As we passed through, our bits pulled sharply to the left, dragging our heads in the direction our driver wished to go.

We started a wide turn, left onto the dirt track that led towards trees.

We straightened up and the whip curled across our flanks, “High step, ponygirls, high step”, the order was given.

Obediently, we shortened our step, raising our knees level with the ground.

Further on, “trot, ponygirls, trot”, was accompanied by a flick of her whip.

At the beginning, we were badly out of step and that caused our waist chain to snatch hard against us, encouraged with several correcting flicks of the whip, we at last fell into step together.

Satisfied at last with our performance, our driver settled us down to a steady, easy trot through the woods.

We passed groups of peasants who seemed to be collecting firewood, and with each group was a waggon with two ponygirls hitched between the shafts.

All looked at us as we trotted by. In spite of everything I felt quite proud as we trotted along in our leather finery.

Out of the woods into bright sunlight and I was, quite honestly ready to lie down and cry, but my companion seemed to be having no problems and I decided if she could do this, then so could I.

Ahead, Castle Brno loomed and standing at the entrance were two women, obviously, I realised, waiting for us. Both were dressed for equestrian sport of some sort. Us, I realised immediately.

We drew level with them and the bit snatched my head back with a jerk. “Whooaa, ponygirls, whoa”.

I was never so thankful to obey an instruction in my life, for by then I was gasping for breath, hot and sweating, my breasts heaving against my harness, my legs like lumps of lead.

The carriage shafts jerked as our driver dismounted and at the same time a peasant appeared, a pail of water in his hand and towels draped over his shoulder.

To each of us he offered the pail, tilted slightly so that we could drink around our bits, water slopping down our chin and over our heaving breasts. We sucked down the sweet, cold liquid and once our thirst was slaked, he rubbed us down with the towels, fondling our breasts as he did so.

I snorted at him and moved my shoove in his direction and he hurriedly stepped back from us.

One of the women laughed, “Not too tired, after all”, she commented.

The women stood discussing us and one said, “The one on the right is straight from the training farm yesterday and Robert says he released her slightly earlier because she progressed so well.”

I thought, that’s me with a tiny glow of pride.

Then the shafts jerked and the reins were taken up, slapped over our shoulders and the order, “Forward ponygirls, forward “, was given by a new voice and once more we started forward again, a new driver in control.

We did our full repertoire again for our driver and it was quite some time before, well inside the woods, she finally drew us to a halt, turned us and trotted us back to the castle.

Once more, watered and dried down, we then had the third lady mount the carriage and again we reacted to her given instructions, before once again being drawn to a halt well inside the woods.

But this was different. She dismounted and then inspected us, touching and testing our harness, her gloved fingers stroking our breasts, opening our mouths and checking our bits, smoothing over our dusty, sweating flanks all the time not saying anything and not even looking at us directly.

We may as well have been inanimate statues.

Then, once more seated in the carriage, the reins slapped again over our bare shoulders and she had us trotting back to the castle.

Once more watered and towelled by the peasant, I realised that my bladder was almost at bursting point.

I tried crossing my legs, but eventually, I could only stand legs apart and allow my flood to pour directly onto the track, much to my embarrassment and the amusement of the three women.

My face flaming red at what I had been forced to do, our original driver mounted the carriage and had us trot at a more reasonable pace back to Home Farm, our shower and our stables.

Two days later, I was allowed to mix with the other ponygirls in the evenings.

All had names apart from me and a stable girl told me that I would only be given a name when I had an Owner.

I felt rather left out, the other five in the stable all having names, Blaise, Eden, Aurora, Allegro and Sable.

I learned a lot from them in the first few evenings and realised that my captivity was not a short term thing at all.

Blaise and Eden had already been with the Association for three years and part of that time had been spent on an island called Staneholme that the Association owned as well. I was to go there some time later with my Owner and saw that they had strictly controlled male slaves there, dressed in thick black stockings, high heeled boots or shoes. In fact, like our own stable ponymaid, who had originated there.

I learned how we worked for the farm with the peasants from the nearby village and how the Owners used us when they were in residence at the castle.

There was a Farm Director and it was she who had driven us to the castle the other day, then the Trainers, Robert and William who I had already met, but also another called Mark.

The shower periods and the old men, they told me, where so that we would become institutionalised to being handled as animals, but I had already worked that out for myself.

As was the way in which we were expected to release our body waste wherever we were, as I had the other day as well.

Life improved once I was integrated with the other ponies in my stable and I certainly felt happier with company. I was also told that there was another stable at the far end of Home Farm and I was to meet some of them later.

Our ponymaid’s name was Highstep and as she served us, she did just that; she pranced slowly about her duties, her high heels clicking on the stone floor. At her waist, over her sparse harness, she wore a pretty

Maid’s apron, trimmed with lace and on her head a maid’s little lace cap.

Bitted and bridled, her bridle covered the lower part of her face, so that effectively, only startlingly blue eyes were visible.

Personally, I thought her eyes were the wrong shape, but could not really think why.

Days passed as I was hitched to waggons and worked for my mistresses.

Some days I was in teams of four pulling the really big waggons that were used for firewood collection and at other times, by myself with one or two peasants, working in the fields.

Days with them were long and boring, I stood docile and waiting, whilst they planted or singled or hoed vegetables. Eventually of course as the year drew on, then it was harvesting which was a little less boring with more mobility.

I had, during these days a long time to think over my predicament and realise even more, that there would be no short ending.

Harnessed in the bigger waggons, as there was no talking allowed whilst bitted and bridled, then the days seemed even longer for only the jangle and clink of chains and the tinkling of our nipple bells would break the silence.

Every month there was a Pony Pamper Day when we were given massage, perfumed Jacuzzi baths, gymnastic periods and special showers. We were also given nail care, hair dressing, chiropody, and beauty treatments, most administered by the younger women from the village and some of the more precise treatments by trained stable girls.

When I first saw the village girls enter the stables, I thought they were nuns, dressed as they were in long black habits and white and black headdresses.

We were stripped, examined minutely from head to toe, any problems noted before being passed on to the masseuses and beauticians.

Then we were allowed to enjoy ourselves in the gymnasium, then the baths, followed by the massage tables, hair dressing and finally beauticians for make-up and nail care.

It was absolutely delightful to share a bath or table with another woman and feel the soft bodily contact that we were denied at other times, as we luxuriated together.

No Trainers or old men on those days, just luxury pampering.

The masseuses poured sweet smelling oils and perfumes onto our bodies as we lay, relaxed face uppermost on the tables. They worked slowly and carefully as we, by then relaxed and almost asleep savoured the time spent in total luxury. First came waxing and the removal of our body hair. The hot wax slowly flowed over my groin, setting over the slight body hair that had grown since I became a ponygirl.

Then, with one vicious yank, I was denuded. So fast was it that I had no time to scream even, or to jerk awake. By then I was naked again. Legs and arms followed, then the masseuse started to massage with oils and perfumes, gently, slowly, from my head downwards.

From my throat to my shoulders she worked, smooth oils soaking into my skin, her hands and fingers taking me into almost a trance.

Down over my breasts she worked, gently, carefully, slowly down to my belly and hips before sliding slowly between my thighs. I sighed, smiling to myself at the feeling of total relaxation I was being taken to. I moved my left leg slightly, bending my knee outwards and upwards slightly, feeling her fingers search deeper.

It happened so easily that I was almost asleep as I felt her fingers slip into the entrance to my vagina, stroking and caressing the soft folds of skin at the entrance to my sex.

I heard her soft voice whisper against my ear, “You will be pleased to know, ponygirl, that I have instructions to bring you of today”.

Eyes closed, I moaned at the sensation and lifted my hips slightly as she worked her magic between my thighs.

With a great sigh of satisfaction, I felt myself climax, easily, totally, as her hands and fingers continued their exploration of my intimate body.

I felt so happy and lethargic that I hardly noticed her hands continuing down each leg in turn, ending in a foot massage.

Slowly, she turned me over onto my belly, before her hands again oiled and perfumed my back, running down my spine, easing muscles, her hands once more inducing a soporific effect on me.

To my haunches where she carefully massaged and stroked each in turn before once more delving slowly, easily between my thighs, her fingers this time entering my body, stroking and oiling my back passage.

I lay, head resting on my folded arms as I offered my haunches up to her, feeling her fingers search inside me whilst I enjoyed the sensation. I sighed and lifted my haunches up to her, begging for more, which elicited a low giggle from her, as she obliged.

Her final act was to slide my tail into place, easing it slowly and gently through the ring of my sphincter.

‘Plop’, and it was in place and I actually enjoyed that sensation as well.

My masseuse stroked my head, “Ponygirl, you may get up now and dress again”.

I groaned as I slid from the table, feeling my tail slide across the backs of my legs.

She pointed to a pair of shooves at the side of the table. “Put those on, ponygirl, then go to the hair salon”, she ordered.

They were very pretty to look at and once I had them on my feet, I found them a joy to wear. Once more I revelled in the tautness of my leg muscles, as I stood upright in my new footwear.

Feeling totally satisfied, I clip clopped out of the room, aware of my swaying haunches and breasts as well as the tail swirling deliciously across the backs of my legs.

The shooves were a delight and were slightly sprung so that I had a little ‘bounce’ to my movement as I entered the salon.

Seated in a special seat that took account of my tail, I was then given a manicure, my hair styled to their requirement and a beautician, who applied make-up, again to their requirement.

Once that was complete, I was fitted with a new bridle and bit and ordered to the corridor where I was tethered to a chain with two other ponies, all looking as glamorous as I felt.

Once tethered, a stable girl led us back to our stable where we were left to socialise for the evening.

Looking back on that first day, I realise that I thought it quite normal and natural to be naked apart from shooves and tail and in the company of other girls similarly dressed.

The reality was the following morning, when we returned to our daily drudgery as beasts of burden, once more harnessed, bridled and bitted and again harnessed to waggons.