The cliac slithered around, slim tentacles of touching electrical impulses attached to nerve endings, allowing him to establish communication with the body he now inhabited. Recently he had jumped from his former host to this male human, allowing the other male human to pass on, to wrinkle and die, exhausted from carrying the cliac, yet unaware of what had killed him.

The cliac does not allow his host to be aware of the predator inside, does not feel anything when he is taken, just a shiver across the shoulders, as the entity slips into the brain of the new host, absorbing the ideas and the intelligence of his new home.

The former host had taken a heart attack as the cliac had left him, dropping and dying on the pavement in the busy street. Impulses of life, gathered from the brain of the host, ideas and conceptions, thoughts and processes had been harvested by the cliac for the leap from this host to another, and he slipped almost unnoticed apart from the shiver as he entered the new brain, his new home.

A cliac can not be seen as he moves from host to host, but have you ever noticed something out of the corner of your eye, and yet on turning it's not there? Have you felt the presence as you walked along alone somewhere and turned and looked and listened?

Busy impulses and silent intrusions crept through this new male human as the cliac settled down to enjoy the sensations, the feel and the touch of humanity. Time passes and the cliac experiences the power of this male as he subjugates females, punishing them with hard and wicked strokes, drawing out screams of pain and ecstasy as they are exposed and ravished by this man and his friends and minions.

On discovering the cliac, I have followed him through seven transitions from person to person, each a male, strong in character and willpower. Yet when the cliac was finished or ready they all died from heart attacks as the cliac gathers strength from the brain of his host, sucking up all the electrical impulses before using the power of the host brain to leap across to the new host.

Watching the transformation of females to willing slaves became a favorite pastime for this cliac, absorbing the pleasures and the sense of power within the brain of his host. The cliac gorged himself on the domination, reveled in the feasting of sexual mores as this man took his willing captors and ravished their bodies, pleasuring and hurting, forcing and fighting, and always building up his reserves of strength from the host readying for the next leap.

It had been difficult for me to infiltrate the home of the present host, for he was a master in the world of slavery and submission, but over a period of a year I had worked my way in to the inner sanctum and was now privy myself to the deprivations placed upon the women therein, and stunned at the most common female within 'the ponygirl'. These were women that had been captured or volunteered to be transformed from everyday women into human ponies, and this Master had stripped them bare and then rebuilt them. Clothing was a taboo, leather straps and restraints the norm, being kept in pens and fed and watered and treated like ponies was their new lot in life.

The Master unaware of his incumbent cliac walked along the side of the barn inspecting the latest batch of ponygirls, three trained and ready now for sale to the highest bidder, maybe even to overseas. He enjoyed the look on their faces, eyes lowered as they stood tall and proud, their bodies on display, their manes glowing, their hooves polished, and as Master feasted on the pleasures he took from them, so did the cliac feast on the Master's own thoughts and brainwaves.

Two larger girls had become draught and breeding animals, taught to pull their new Master-to-be in a carriage or sulky, taught to carry loads as required, and further to be always willing to be sexually treated and abused, for they had had their breasts enhanced for milking and child bearing, and their sexual organs made sensitive and always willing for service. The third girl was an outstanding ponygirl, standing over six feet tall with an exquisite figure. Strong shoulders pulled back by the arm bindings allowing the firm and large breasts to stand proudly before her. A thin waist made hour glass perfect by the leather corset she wore as part of her regalia, and strong hips surmounting long strong and shapely legs, ending in special hoof boots made for running. This pony had been molded into the finest racer and should fetch a pretty amount when sold.

Master stretched out his hand running it across the breast of this tall pony, reveling in the touch and yet dismayed that she would be going. Probably one of his finest ever creations he mused, rebuilt from a thin and emaciated sprinter who ran for her country, into a tall fine bodied woman through surgery, implants and body enhancements, until finally training her into obedience and servitude as a ponygirl for racing. He trailed across the breast, flicking lightly at the ring through the nipple, pulling the chain attached to the ring that led down to the pony's clitoris, and watching as she tossed her magnificent head and raised a hoof to paw at the ground.

Watching Master with his prize pony I felt slight annoyance of his treatment of women, and yet having lived on the estate for some time, I had become accustomed to them all, the women that were slaves to Master and also slaves to their sex. Women that were treated as playthings for visiting guests, for punishment or pleasuring with never a care for the slaves own feelings, although I am sure that as slave they were not allowed to have feelings unless Master wished them too. Yet I had grown attached to the ponies, number of women that had allowed themselves to become ponies in all manner of things from dress, to their actions and responses, their obedience and their wishes to serve as a pony in all ways.

The cliac stirred as his hosts brain went into overdrive, felt the power he held sway over this pony, and the cliac rolled in the beating of the heart, the pumping of the blood, the building of an erection and the disappointment of loosing such a fine creature. The cliac also understood the host's feelings for the strengths of the pony, the beauty of the pony, and the desires that this pony would bring to men and women that gazed upon her. The cliac leapt.

It was almost comical to watch as I saw the Master grab at his chest, and at the same time the shiver cross the shoulders of the pony. The pony tossed her head in abandonment as the cliac immediately examined the body he now inhabited, experiencing the feel of the muscles as she moved and swayed, and I watched as she again settled down, regaining that pose of indifference to her fate as she stood awaiting her next duty or command, not even glancing down at the body that collapsed before her and died.

For years I had chased the cliac, watching how he had leapt from host to host, watching as he killed each one by using their brain powers to fuel his jump, and now he was caught, for within the skull of that wonderful ponygirl there was no longer a thinking brain. A ponygirl of this magnitude is just that, a pony to serve, and no longer has any requirement to think, for Master makes the decisions, has no longer any requirement to look after herself, for Master looks after her, and even has no need to eat or clean herself, for Master will ensure her wellbeing. She is now my property and as I look out across the rear garden I can see her as she paces up and down waiting to be raced or fed, and I know that caught within is the cliac, for there are no thoughts that he can gather strength from, and I know that as time passes the ponygirl becomes more pony and the cliac slips away until even he will become a thing of the past.