Chapter Eighteen: In Training

Terri arises to the creaking of the neighbouring stall door as it slides open. Stretching tender muscles, she stands to gaze through the bars on her window. Outside the rising sun is just cresting over the horizon, its morning rays painting the landscape with a palate of champagne and apricot hues. Mist like insubstantial tendrils of cigarette smoke waft from the fronds of reeds and grass surrounding the small pond near the main house. Already the air is alive with the snapping of leather, the jingling of metal, the soft cries of the ponies and the harder, more insistent commands of their trainers. Kyner Stables is waking up.

Despite being more tired than she could ever remember, she had not slept well the night before. Her rest had come in fits and starts, interrupted by the thought of what now awaited her. After a week of demanding exercise, Terri would be fitted with her tack. Her instruction as a pony was about to truly begin.

After their arrival, both she and Linda Sue had been weighed, measured and put though a series of tests designed to establish a conditioning bench mark. Linda Sue's work at the Geryon farm had stood her in good stead; she had been placed on a different, less stringent training regimen than Terri.

Terri, who always thought that hot, sweaty, vigourous sex and plenty of it was the best form of exercise, quickly learned different. The first week at the stables had been spent in what her trainer called "extreme conditioning," and she called torture.

Once at the stables, the new pony's regimen started before the dawn and lasted well into the night. Five times a day she was fed a special diet designed to quickly build muscle and endurance while lowering her body fat. Consuming creatine, HGH and selected psychoactive compounds, coupled with a series of injections including insulin and a range of anabolic steroids became a daily feature of her existence.

After each "meal" she was put through a short but intense workout. Each workout was designed to sculpt a different body group. One session would work on muscles that pulled. The next one muscles that pushed. The third on the upper body while the fourth was dedicated to the lower body. The fifth session was given over to priority training for stubborn and lagging muscles groups. Not a usable minute was squandered on unproductive activity. Kyner Stables would have this pony ready for the Chiron Cup.

Her existence became a recurring series of squats, thigh curls and extensions, chest and incline presses, lumbar extensions, walking, jogging, riding and rowing. She measured time not by minutes or hours but by the number of repetitions left.

Between workouts and meals, the weary equine was massaged more often than Donald Trump's latest wife. Ice, whirlpools and ultrasound were used to allow the muscles to recover more quickly. Even a hyperbolic oxygen chamber was called into play. The goal would be met.

And the goal was being met.

While it would never be thin, her rounded body was becoming more solid as layers of adipose tissue melted away leaving firm muscle in its place. Softness was being replaced by definition, strength supplanting frailty. Even her breasts had firmed, rising higher on her chest and, for the first time in years, leaving room between their underside and her rib cage.

Nor was her body the only area where changes were occurring. Her mind was becoming adjusted to her new status as a pony; her already formidable will to triumph growing stronger every day but now focused on a new objective, winning the Chiron Cup. Terri the fledgling pony was developing the "look of the eagle" seen in the eyes of winning horses.

As she has been trained, the young filly stands next to her door awaiting its opening. She wears a simple outfit composed of loose fitting smock and shorts in a drab shade of poppy, as unattractive as it is practical. This is the standard livery for Kyner stables. Horses wear the livery for workouts, tack for training and racing. Horses that aren't working out, training or racing wear nothing at all.

Terri has grown used to that fact that there is no conversation to contribute to, no choices to be considered. Her stay has already taught her there are only commands to be obeyed. Still human and intending to stay that way, she is, none the less, well into the initial stage of the conversion process.

Although she was waiting expectantly, the sound of her stall door sliding open causes her to start. Presenting a docile demeanour to her handler, she is led out across the main area of the stable and toward the tack room.

Once in the tack room, Terri is stripped of her livery. Nude, she is made to sit on a small stool to one side of the room. The two grooms attend her, one on each side, their role to help fit her and, if necessary, restrain her. At this point in their training it is not unusual for the new ponies to panic.

A stable girl brings out a rolling cart. Short and somewhat husky, she is not beautiful or even conventionally attractive. But her squat body exudes sensuality like an expensive Parisian perfume.

Her nondescript brown hair is cut short but still feminine. A pair of cloisonne earrings decorated with purple iris dangle against her squarish jaw. The first three buttons of her chambray shirt are undone revealing fleeting glimpses of a pair of rosy conical tits unimpeded by a bra. Her blue denim pants are scuffed and faded pressing tightly against a compact, muscular ass which rotates to and fro as she strides across the floor.

The stable girl glances at the nude young pony and gives a quick smile like a patient with a fever. Her hand silkily brushes the crotch of the nearest groom who grins back and says "Later, Lexie."

On the plastic trolley are a number of appurtenances made of apple green leather studded with metallic hardware in shades of silver, pewter and blue.

The pony's outfitting begins with her bridle. A thick leather strap is placed under her chin while the remainder of the device is set on top her head. The chin strap goes up several inches and then splits into two separate bands. One, goes over her ears, then buckles into another band which encircles her brow. This ear band has two rings attached to it, each facing toward the front of her head.

The other belt reaches back toward the nape of her neck where it undergoes a second bifurcation, one portion meeting a buckle at the point where her skull attaches to her neck, the second climbing upward to meet with the brow band. This arrangement is repeated on the other side of her cranium.

About two inches behind her ear, the brow band splits into twin straps, separated by about a half inch of space. A thicker thong, with a buckle in the middle, runs across the crown of her head.

Terri feels uncomfortable and a little apprehensive as the grooms tighten and adjust the four buckles. Until now she has been able to think of herself as a human at a very unique health spa. The reality of her situation, that, no matter how temporarily, she is now just livestock, begins to sink in.

One of the grooms pulls Terri's head up while the other attaches a high and rigid cervical collar to her neck. The combination of bridle and collar restricts her ability to turn her head. Any movements she makes will be slow and awkward, demanding a great deal of effort.

Satisfied with their work thus far, the pair of grooms grab the young pony under the armpits and force her to stand. Terri feels her legs being kicked apart and then the cold contact of metal on her flesh as a spreader bar attaches to her legs.

Next the stable girl hands the head groom the pony's waist belt. It looks like a misshapen girdle, its top line rising smoothly up the pony's abdomen to just astride the navel while its lower portion gradually curves down to a point just inches above Terri's crotch.

Seven rings are attached to the waist belt. Three form an inverted equilateral triangle on the front with two rings at the top and one centred just above the pony's exposed pubis. One ring adorns each side of the belt just above the waist while two rings are located on either side of the pony's spine about half way up the belt. The back of the belt has yet another strap and buckle arrangement which descends like a tail over the crack of the pony's buttocks.

The grooms fit the belt snugly around her middle. The pony gasps for air. At the sound of her strained breathing, one of the grooms makes adjustments to the back.

"Can't have her passing out before she hits the yard, can we now," he asked his compatriot.

The second groom kneels down in front of the pony. Although her pussy lips are glistening with the leaking of her cunt, the equerry pays them no attention. His job is to ready this pony for race training, not to prepare her for breeding. Besides, Lexie will pleasure them as soon as they are finished. It's part of what she is hired for.

The squatting groom buckles two pairs of leather straps into place on each of the pony's legs. The initial set are secured to the pony's thighs about four inches above her knees. A bright metal chain about eight inches in length links the first set of straps together. The second set, with a 12 inch chain are attached just above the pony's ankles.

The inside of all the straps are lined to reduce unnecessary friction while the outside are as smooth as the rest of the ensemble. These are the pony's hobbles, designed to restrict her movement and to help her trainer establish the proper gait.

Terri feels her pussy lips being pressed flat against the side of her groin as her crotch strap is set into place, a sense of desire flooding through her body. Since she has arrived at the stables, the only pleasure she has received has been what she has given herself, a poor substitute for the touch of others.

The vee of the leather bikini is topped with two smaller straps, a ring attached to each. A third ring, positioned in the centre of the bikini, is swiftly snapped into the waist belt while the thinner straps encircling the bottom of her buttocks are fastened into place.

The grooms now turn their attentions to the pony's upper torso. The pony's chest is encircled by a tight leather jacket, her ample breasts exposed by large incisions in the material. More belts and buckles go under her armpits and over her shoulders. Again the garment is constricted until her breathing is hampered.

Terri's arms are pulled behind her. She feels the cuffs being placed around her wrists, hears first a "snick" then a metallic clanking, then another "snick" as her arms are handcuffed behind her, the attaching chain passing through one of the restraining rings on her waist belt.

Now the head groom brings forth the final piece of tack for this pony, her bit and bit mount. Even as she opens her mouth for the bit, Terri closes her eyes, unable to watch as this final symbol of her submission to ponydom violates her mouth.

She feels the rounded plastic-covered bit roll over her lips, like a dick sliding sideways through her mouth. Her teeth scrape on the soft bit which settles to rest just behind her incisors. Her mouth begins to fill involuntarily with saliva. A brief moment of panic sets in and the newest pony begins to gag.

One of the grooms tilts her head back and the choking stops as the moisture rolls down her throat. She swallows convulsively.

"Take it easy girl," he says trying to calm the frightened animal. "There's nothing new here. Relax. Relax. That's a good girl. I know you've swallowed a lot of spit before when your mouth was full of cock. This isn't any different. Just loosen up. You're going to be ok."

The head groom uses snaps to connect the bit mount to the front of the bridle and to the neck collar. Behind her the other groom fastens a series of belts, buckles and snaps, turning the disparate pieces of the tack into a unified whole. Thin leather reins are attached to the lower arms of the bit mounts and then thrown back over her shoulders. As a final step, a long leash is attached to the centre ring of the pony's waist belt. The leash is allowed to drop to the floor. Her eyes follow the leash.

"OK, we're about ready," says the head groom to the stable girl. "Why don't you go get Bevan and Cort?" Lexie gives a mocking " whinny" as she leaves the room.

The pony senses soft tugs as straps are adjusted. Although her collar makes it difficult, her head is tilted down as far as possible, her eyes focused on the floor. She knows that good ponies only look where they are told to look and she knows first hand what happens to disobedient ponies.

She has no desire to again be placed over a bale of straw, switched with a riding crop and left to spend the night naked, her hands strapped behind her, a gag in her mouth, shackled to the wall by a short length of chain with just enough slack to allow her to lie down in a pile of loose straw, unable to relieve the constant poking and itching or her bedding material.

Her one experience with this form of discipline, which was mild compared to some she had seen other ponies receive, was enough. After her second night at the stables she had changed her mind about wanting to be a pony. The reality was far less appealing than the fantasy that had precipitated it. But, by this point, her desires mattered not at all. Her rebellious attempt to run away earned her first serious chastisement.

When she was unchained the next morning her body was lightly welted and covered with hundreds of tiny cuts and gouges that stung and burned like the furies when the antiseptic was poured over them. The lesson that disobedience of any sort, no matter how mild, would not be tolerated at Kyner Stables was well learned by the young pony and would not have to be given again.

The pressure of a crop moving upward under her chin causes her head to ascend. Two men are standing before her. One, rawboned yet whipcord thin, is wearing black jean pants and a blue denim shirt. The shirt sleeves are rolled up above his elbows exposing a small tattoo of a mermaid on a bulging bicep. He wears rimless wire glasses with gunmetal frames upon an angular face full of crags and crannies. A black baseball cap without any markings sits on the top of his head, medium black hair poking out from under the edges. This is the man holding the crop.

The second man is smaller in stature and lighter in weight than the first but no less muscular for being diminutive. His well tanned arms look like they were carved from golden brown marble, every vein and muscle outlined in sinewy bas relief, the result of his work with the reins. He is wearing a simple pair of off-white tennis shoes, tan shorts and a t-shirt bearing the legend "The only time some people work like a horse is when the boss rides them." His face is rounded with a gentle cast, his eyes hidden by mirrored sun glasses. His light brown hair is cut in a "fade." Empty hands hang at his side as he contemplates the fit of the tack on the new pony. Finally, satisfied at what he sees, he gives a short nod and turns to leave the room. "Good enough, Bevan, let's put her through her paces and see what we've got."

He turns to the two male grooms. "Nice job here guys. Do me a favour and take off the spreader bar will you?" The grooms rush to comply.

After the bar is removed, Beven picks up the leash and, with a short, sharp tug, begins to guide the pony from the fitting room to the exercise yard, the crop hanging from his right wrist. The pony's movements are slow and deliberate, the hobbles restricting the range of motion of her legs.

On their way out they are passed by a returning Lexie who is cradling a soft blanket in one arm. Both men eye the stable girl with knowing smiles. If the blanket and the way her rock-solid nipples were pressing in arousal against the pale lemon fabric of her blouse weren't enough to signal the tack room's next use, the rustle and thump of clothing hitting the floor behind them tells the rest of the tale.

The shorter man reaches out an arm, blocking Lexie's passage. She stops expectantly. His hand reaches lazily through the unbuttoned top to cup her right breast, strong square fingers rolling across a nubby nipple adding even more distension to its out thrust dimension. "Lexie, when you're done playing doctor with the boys why don't you go wash up and then meet me at the sulky shed."

"I'd love to Cort," she says her eyes aglow with passion as his hand abandons its mammarial caress, brushing slowly against her tight little ass on its way back to his side. "Just one other thing," he continues as a bemused Beven listens in. "Be sure to bring that new toy I bought you."

Lexie blushes as she nods in eager agreement, her cheek's carnation colouring coming from a combination of excitement and embarrassment. "A new toy," quizzes Beven as the trio moves toward the gate. Cort just laughs. "The only reason you prefer Lexie is that you don't have to get up on a stool to fuck her like you do Gin or Barb." Cort just laughs harder, throwing a mock punch at Beven as they walk along.

The disposition of the two men changes as they open the gate to enter the exercise ring, their insouciant manner being replaced by a "no-nonsense, let's get our work done and done right" attitude. The pony responds to Beven's use of her leash and moves to the centre of the ring. Cort leans against the railing, his eyes missing nothing as he observes how the pony is walking. "Run her through the usual sequence will you Bevan," he asks. "I'll stop you if I see any problems or if I want anything repeated."

The young female equine stands stock still in the ring, her attention focused on her trainer standing at her side. She not only knows she must obey his every command, quickly and completely, she desires to do so. Her obedience will please her as much as it does him. He kneels down in front of her to unclip and remove the chains from her hobbles then rises and backs away.

A slight tap from her trainer's crop starts her in motion. She is walking in a tight circle about five feet in diameter with her trainer at its centre. After three revolutions she hears her first instruction. "Lift your legs higher. Keep those calves and thighs straighter." A quick switch of the crop, one with just a little bite in it, helps her to comply.

The pony lifts her legs as high as they will go, her tendons straining at the effort. "That's better" she hears her trainer say. "Now let's pick up the pace." As she moves faster her trainer is playing out more leash, expanding the diameter of the circle, making her walk farther to complete a circuit. "A little faster now." The pony moves quicker, almost but not quite breaking into a trot.

As she circles the ring she is distracted by the activities around her. Two rings over she thinks she sees Linda Sue in harness pulling a heavy cart behind her. A sharp pain like a wasp's sting refocuses the pony's attention. "Concentrate on what you're doing, not on what's going on around you," her trainer orders, shortening her leash. "I won't have you distracted when you race. All you need to worry about is pulling the sulky as fast as you can. Your driver will worry about the rest. Now get going. Put some speed into this." In response the young pony breaks into a full-fledged trot, hoping to gain a small measure of redemption for her misconduct.

After an hour of strenuous exertion the pony's skin starts to resemble well-weathered cedar, coated grey from the dust of the yard and deeply grained where the rivulets of sweat are trickling down her body. Despite the previous week's intensive conditioning every muscle burns as though an unseen flame is continuously pulsing against them. Tendons stretched to near rupture scream for a chance to recover. Beet red spots mark where her trainer's crop has kissed her skin, gently at first but more resolutely as the session wore on. Still the pony slogs on, obeying each command as best she can but it is clear to both her trainer and her driver that they have taken her as far as they should today.

The pony is grateful when Beven calls the proceedings to a halt. Her body, drained of its physical strength, shakes in a series of random shivers as muscles contract and expand in unpatterned spasms. She longs to sit down, to slide to the ground and lay there, her lungs panting as they draw oxygen for her blood. But despite its corporeal debility, her body retains its mental toughness. She can't control the quivering of her skin, that is beyond her ability. To give in any further to her weakness would shame her trainer. She won't let this happen. And so she stands there straight as a newly planted tree, her eyes again cast downwards awaiting further directives from her trainer.

Waving his hand in the air, Beven summons an equerry to the ring. "Please walk this pony `til she cools down and then take her back to the stables. Have her tack removed and cleaned. Store it in her stall. Take her to the spa and ask Gin to give her the full pamper treatment. Tell her to use the alpha wave feedback box to see that she sleeps for a least an hour during the massage."

The groom took the leash from the trainer. "Yes sir, Mr. Vass. Is there anything else you'd like done?"

"Yeh, there is. I'm sorry I don't know your name?"

"It's Kim, Mr. Vass. Kim Dun."

"Well, Kim Dun, let Gin know that I'm going to be visiting this pony in her stall tonight some time after 8:30. Make sure she understands I want her fully prepared and ready to go. That means a full seat of leathers, including the ears, mane and tail. The red and blue set will do, the one with the thin reins. No stirrups though. Also let her know I'll want this pony to get a minitreatment after I'm gone. I want her ready to resume training tomorrow morning."

"Yes sir, Mr. Vass. I'll see to this at once."

Confident that his orders would be followed to the T, the trainer pats the young hand on the back and walks over to Cort Szeman. "So what do you think? Can we pull it off?"

Squinting into the sun, Szeman sighs heavily and beings to walk toward the bunk house. "When Dirks told us about this assignment, I thought we were being given some kind of punishment, that we'd screwed up somehow and the old man was going to make us pay for it. Then I saw the preliminary fitness evaluations on this pony and I knew we were on his shit list. Now, well, now I'm not so sure.

"I mean she's not top grade yet but she's come a lot farther in the week we've had her than I ever thought she would. I'd have set the morning line on her at 100 to 1 against. Now, maybe I'd set it at 25 to 1 against. Still long odds but they're getting better all the time."

They stop at a watering trough as the driver takes a long drink of water from a tin ladle. "Yeah, I'm amazed myself," says the trainer. "But seeing is believing. I want her to keep this rate of progress up.That's why she's getting a little reward tonight." Cort hands the ladle to the trainer.

"Well, if she's getting it from you there's no doubt whatsoever that it's going to be a `little' reward," jests Cort. "Why don't you get one of the breeding studs for her. That way she's have a chance to feel something." Bevan responds by tossing the ladle of water at Cort.

"I don't know Bevan. I hate to go out on a limb but I think we've got a chance. Not much of a chance but a chance none the less. One thing she showed me today is that she's got the will to succeed and that's half the battle. The only question is if we'll have enough time before the race to get her into good enough shape to win. I just wish we had another fortnight to work with her."

"Yeah and if wishes were fishes we'd never starve. What do you think about Geryon's other pony? How's she look to you?"

"Who? Linda Sue? She is sort of the forgotten one in all of this right now, isn't she?" said Cort scratching his arm absentmindedly. Hell she'll be just fine. She was in better shape than Terri in the first place and you sure didn't have any trouble breaking her in. She took to the bit like she was born to it. The conversion may be temporary right now but I'd bet dollars to doughnuts that before too many more years pass by she'll be a permanent conversion. You can just tell. I mean hell, how many human women do you know without any hair on their body below their head?"

Although she was waiting expectantly, the sound of her stall door sliding open causes the pony to start. Her heart, already beating wildly with anticipation, increases the tempo of its pounding. Dressed in a set of breeding leathers she is on her hands and knees facing away from the door awaiting the arrival of her trainer.

She is wearing a different bridle than her training tack. This one is more of a hat with ear flaps then a true bridle. The cap completely covers the top of her head, no hair shows and her real ears are underneath the leather. In their place, two mock horse ears rise straight up and a mane of pure white hair descends down from the crown of her skull along the line of her neck.

With the exception of her breasts, crotch and buttocks, her entire torso including her arms and legs is encased in dark blue leather with red stitching. Her arms have cuffs located at the wrist. These cuffs are attached to bolts in the floor. Her legs also are attached to the floor, this time by the means of straps that connect to floor-mounted rings. The straps originate at the back of each calf just below the knee.

A tail of pure white hair is located just at her coccyx. The tail hangs over her buttocks, tickling her as she moves form side to side in a vain attempt to get more comfortable. A braided leather bit rests in her mouth, thin blue reins flowing back from the bit mount to end just above her tail.

Bevan Vass strides into the stall and moves to stand in front of the pony's face. He squats down and tenderly takes the pony's face in his hands. "My little pony, that's what you are. You did well today my little pony, very well. I'm quite pleased with you. Your owner said that you should be rewarded for good performance so I'm here tonight to give you something you've earned. If you keep progressing there will be more rewards for you. If you don't ... Well we don't have to talk about that because I know you are going to excel."

Still in a squat, the trainer leans back and unzips his fly. Reaching into his pants he brings out a short but thick cock covered with pulsing blue veins and a large low hanging scrotum with balls the size of medium eggs lying hard in their pouch. He begins to rub the tip of his prick across the pony's face leaving a trail of precum on her forehead. He circles each eye and then slides down the bridge of her nose. His hand strokes his dick across her upper lips, his emissions dripping down into her mouth.

The pony stretches her neck forward and tries to open her mouth wider to engulf his manhood but, with the bit in the way, all she can manage to do is force her tongue over the top of the bit to lick frantically at his prick, like a dog drinking from a faucet. The trainer strokes the side of her cheek.

"Hungry my little pony, yes I imagine you are. This is probably the longest you've gone without a cock in your mouth. Well, I'm going to take your bit out of your mouth but only for a little while and just so you can show me how hungry you are."

Freed of its impediment, her mouth vacuums in his prick, nursing on it like a starving baby. The force of her suction makes the trainer groan with pleasure which makes his little pony suck all the harder. Even swallowing as rapidly as she can, the pony's mouth begins to fill with saliva and precum, spilling out at the corners.

A sudden popping noise marks his rapid and unexpected withdrawal from her oral cavity. Within seconds she is sucking on the bit instead of his dick as the trainer moves around behind her.

She shivers with pleasure as she feels the hair of her tail brush the lips of her pussy while the trainer lifts it out of the way. Three thin but talented fingers begin to stroke against her already randy cunt paying special attention to her throbbing clit.

"So, my little pony, I can see that I won't need to use any lubricant on you tonight. You're already flowing like a waterfall back here." Steadying himself with one hand on the small of the pony's back, the trainer slowly inserts the head of his shaft into her pussy stopping when he feels her lips slip behind the rim of his helmet-shaped glans. Satisfied with his positioning, he grabs the reins with both hands and jerks them back. For the next several minutes he concentrates on riding the living daylights out of his little pony, her cunt convulsing around his thrusting cock.

For her part, the pony spears herself on his shaft, willingly and wantonly rocking forward and back at faster and faster speeds, first a walking pace, then a trot and finally a gallop. She meets each returning insertion of his member with a sheathing thrust of her own. Her cunt begins to tingle and the feeling spreads throughout her body even as the trainer's taut washboard stomach collides with her rolling buttocks.

The trainer holds tighter to the reins with one hand while the other moves forward to crush and maul her hanging tits. Even the pain caused by his violent twisting of her nipples is transformed into heightened passion. The intensity of their coupling causes her tail to drop back down across her buttocks. Now the white hairs are getting caught between his prick and her pussy, are being pulled inside with every push, their rough scratchiness only adding to their mutual pleasure.

The pony begins to orgasm, shaking uncontrollably as though she was just finishing a second hour of exercise in the ring. Semen begins to seep from the tip of the trainer's dick like wax dripping from a melting candle. Still they pound at each other. Giving a shout that awakes the few horses still sleeping in the surrounding stalls, the trainer tugs hard on the reins, his body rigid as the sperm flies from his dick into the depths of her cunt. He slowly turns loose the reins and slumps limply across her back, forcing her to bear his weight while he recovers from their lovemaking.

As he withdraws from her, the trainer gently strokes her cheeks. "You're a good pony. Yes you are. And you're going to win the Cup aren't you my little pony. Yes you are. You're going to run harder, and faster and stronger than any other horse on the track.

"And after you win the Cup, well, we'll just have to see what comes afterwards."