In the morning Malua and I got in her cart, with my ponies on bridles behind. We sped out along the road I already knew, but on past Judy’s house. The road got narrower and less-traveled, then we climbed some hills, and after winding steadily upwards we came to a high clearing. The view was wonderful, I could see most of the walled-in valley from here, and bits of the Pacific where the circling ridges met. The monkeys were winded from the long climb, so we rested and Malua got them some water. I watched some Cupids and other butterflies circling, and big-beaked parrots squawking in the trees. When they were ready (my pony was standing calmly, not breathing hard at all, but it hadn’t been pulling a load) we went on another bit to a sprawling house with an even better view. I met Malua’s friends - four women lived here, all in their 30’s by their looks, as comely as the other island women. I got the idea pretty soon that they weren’t married, and that they liked each other’s company. But they weren’t at all hostile to me, and after a welcoming jug of wine they laughed at Malua’s tales of my arrival and encounters with island culture. These were the first ‘unmarried’ females I’d met, not because they were rare - more than half the women over 30 don’t marry - but because I’d met almost nobody at all since coming to the island. Partly because I’d been so busy, and (I darkly suspected) because Malua was keeping the real stunners at bay until she had me properly nailed down.

Curiosity finally got the better of me and I asked about how they got around.

"Families are forever being pulled here and there, even when they could easily just walk, but here you folks are way way up in the back of the valley. Do you pull one another, or what?" That caused merriment.

"We were all ponies not long ago. We like pulling, and just because we aren’t in an official team any more doesn’t mean we have to stop. We make carts, and have to take them to town, so three of us pull one who drives. When we leave the cart we just run back up here. For supplies it’s the same, but we pull the cart back too. It’s the only way to stay in shape, look at how fat Malua’s getting now that she rides around all the time." That provoked a squeak of outrage from my fiancee, who did have to admit that she wasn’t quite as sleek as she had been. She was quite sleek enough for me, though. Ponies didn’t have a lot of extra fat on, and tended to ripple more than they jiggled. I liked jiggling parts better.

We went back to look at the racing cart, and I was impressed. Light, almost flimsy, built for just one person like my training cart but maybe half the weight. And extremely well made, these women were craftsmen. I thanked them profusely for the loan and got some instruction on how to take care of it (they use cocoanut oil for bearing lubricant) and how best to hitch up three bodies to it. In fact they did the hitching, going over each of my pony-parts carefully, showing me just how they should be strapped.

Then it was off home, Malua’s team and mine going line-abreast on the wider parts of the road. Going down the hills was exciting, I had to learn fast how to use the brakes on this light carriage so not to overrun my pony. The gals clipped merrily along, just light bits and their #1 belts, having a fine time. I practiced using a light whip whenever Judy looked like she was planning to get out of step. She didn’t.

We stopped at Judy’s house on the way back. I unhitched all of them and led them into the house together, where they talked in unison to her mother. She’d heard that they were like this now, but couldn’t quite believe her daughter.

"Judy’s so meek now, she’s so well controlled. I just can’t imagine how you did it, the little dear has been as independent as a parrot all her life, and in just two weeks she turns into this!" And more in that vein. As one, they told her how hard they worked on being one, on submerging themselves into the new personality that was my pony. She saw us off, and stood watching until we disappeared around the first bend.

So now we had a real, professional, racing rig. For the next week I grappled with that, and a lot more. Speed practice with the pony, driving drills with the pony, letting Jappala exercise rigid discipline on the pony, feeding the pony, taking the pony to the toilet, cleaning the pony, grooming it, tending to the cart, tending to their harnesses. When I wasn’t physically with the pony, cart or leather I was talking to Malua about it, or helping Lelani with various chores so she could devote some time to the special show harness she and her sisters were making, or helping out with chores at Malua’s house to keep my debt of favors there from becoming too top-heavy. What with all that and seeing Malua at night, I was burning my fuse short in a life exclusively devoted to my pony.

That pony was getting familiar. Near the end of the week I noticed that my pulse wasn’t pounding any more when I adjusted harnesses on the pony, or made it contort itself with little twitches on its reins, or even cupped its breasts and twitched its nipples while putting it to bed. I was, as Malua had supposed, getting so familiar with my pony’s three enticing, wonderfully feminine bodies that they weren’t stopping me in my tracks any more. On top of that was that for 8 hours a day I was working on technical issues with those bodies, getting them to do the right thing, go fast, and be poised correctly. There were few mysteries left, they could have gone completely naked without making me twitch. When I kissed them, which we did frequently - they liked to get a four-way going, everyone in contact with everyone else’s lips - it was still an intimate experience. But it no longer carried the charge of that first kiss with Suhanee’s sweet, full lips.

The pony made great progress towards becoming one entity. It could speak easily with three voices, not having to stop and figure out what they were going to say but just speaking naturally in unison. Not as fast as an individual, but reasonable. The bodies never took independent motions, and would all do the same thing if only one was stimulated. I began to be able to control it by just touching middle’s neck or tugging gently on her bit. The six hands and arms were completely flaccid, never wriggling or testing. They probably could have been tied with a thread without any problems, but Jappala kept them in strict posture control harnesses most of the time. She was even more of a demon for this than her sister had been. It was outside my experience, this girl acting like a dominatrix and taking evident delight in the discomfort and contortions of other girls much older and larger than her. Malua said it was not uncommon, that children were exposed to ponies in their harnesses all their lives and developed an easy familiarity with the process. She claimed it wasn’t cruelty, just an insistence on discipline and posture. That was a common element on the island, as reflected in the excellent carriages everyone had.

But Jappala was extreme. No amount of straining or arching or waist-nipping satisfied her, it was always possible to do better. The three bodies acquired a permanent arched-back, pelvis-forward stance as a result, and they could easily put their elbows together behind them without straining. The result of all this was a delight to my eye, three pouter-pigeon-breasted, ram-rod stiff identical forms who could balance on just two of their combined total of four legs for as long as required. Their legs moved in unison without being physically connected, now. If Joanne’s right leg came up, Suhanee’s left was always there as if glued to it.

All six eyes stared straight ahead, and you could gaze into those lovely blank orbs without seeing much of a sign of independent thought or feminine preoccupations. They simply stood, waiting for a touch to put them in motion. At the end of one of these ‘stand at attention’ sessions I offhandedly asked ‘Is the pony thinking of anything?’ and got a pause, then three simultaneous shakes of the heads. They didn’t even register surprise at their suddenly-discovered thoughtlessness, just kept staring blankly ahead. I touched Judy’s mouth to check her bit, and all three mouths gaped open. I lifted Joanne’s left breast a bit and all six breasts were elevated, postures going even more erect. I closed Suhanee’s mouth and the other two snapped shut right with her. They were getting robotic about it. So of course I took things further.

The next day I asked Jappala if there were blinders available for pony’s bridles. Her young face creased in a frown.

"Blinders, master? What are they?"

"Leather shields which are fixed beside a pony’s eyes to keep it from looking to the side, keep it from being distracted. Very common on the ponies in the OW."

"Oh, master, ‘shutters’. They are not common, but they exist. There may be some in my family’s stables."

"I’d like to borrow three sets for a few days. Would you run home and see if that’s possible?"

"Yes-master", and she was off, running at full tilt. Soon she was back with some stiff leather patches clutched in one hand.

"See if you can attach these to the pony’s bridles so that they completely cover its eyes. I want to blind it so it can’t see anything."

With a prompt ‘yes-master’ Jappala went to work on the pony, which was stiffly posed with its reins over a rail. I went into the stable to do some repairs on the carriage. After a few minutes Jappala came in, leading the pony. Its wide, staring eyes were now covered with leather.

"Excellent. Pony, can it see anything?" Shakes of all three heads.

"I know it’s a bit disconcerting, it has been trained to look at me full time and now it can’t. And it can’t see where it is going. It can still turn its heads towards the sound of my voice, though. I have blinded it because I want it to become even more tuned to my commands. We’ll run a full day of practice this way. It will have to trust me completely, and pay very careful attention to its neck rein commands. It won’t be able to see the road, or any obstacles. Just concentrate on its reins and trust me to keep it from running into things." I had devoted considerable thought to this. When people are blind, their other senses are sharpened. Since all my communication to the pony while driving was by its reins now, I thought that being deprived of its major connection to the world would make it pay closer attention to the tactile sensations. If it trained enough this way, it would probably ignore the visual world even when it could see it. And that lack of input would help it become blanker, tuned only to reacting to my commands.

We did our full day. I kept the blinders on even when the pony was resting. After all, aside from providing entertainment to itself, it had no need to see. It could not use its hands, all its needs were attended to by Jappala or me, and when it was moving it should, and did, react only to commands. My pony was a little diffident at first, but soon became used to running full-tilt and cutting tight corners without being able to see. It was a success, and as with my other successes it therefore became common practice. All further training was conducted with its eyes shut off. As I thought, it did become much more sensitive to its reins, and more responsive. I got better too – I had to pay very close attention to where we were going, and give precise commands – I couldn’t depend on the pony to do any small corrections.

After three days of blindness I had Jappala leave the blinders off the next morning and we trotted around. After a bit I pointed my pony at a rose-bush. It trotted right at the bush with no hesitation. I got it stopped just in time, but still the bush was scratching its thrust-forward nipples and breasts and raised knees. It stood in that uncomfortable situation until I backed it up. Then I came around in front. Its six eyes all swung to me, but in an unfocused way. They were wide, as usual when Jappala had been given latitude in her adjustment of its harnesses. Wide, but not focused.

"Pony, is it thinking?" Shakes. "Can it see?" It nodded. "Was it looking where it was going?" Shakes of all three heads. "Excellent! I am sorry that it got scratched, we’ll tend to that straight away, but that is exactly what I want. It should never look, even when it can see. Keep that wonderful blank stare, that will be its trademark. React to its reins without any thought, without any concerns about where it’s going. I will do all that thinking for it. Don’t worry about posture, its harness will make sure it poses correctly. All it has to do is react instantly to commands, use its shapely legs, and keep in unison. I am very pleased." And I was. Not only was my pony team a well-trained trio of girls, it was very close to being just a single entity. And there was something disturbingly erotic about the blank look. I let it stand while I gazed into those wide, staring eyes. "Look straight ahead, please. That will be difficult, but if you just zone out and stare you can do it." I moved, and the eyes stayed looking blankly ahead. They even blinked in unison, slowly.

"Jappala, tighten its harness. See if you can get its eyes wider." To give my small but fiendish groom that kind of command should have produced piteous whinnies from the pony. It knew all too well what Jappala would do to it when she was not limited by my orders. It certainly would have gotten me looks just a while ago – the pony’s bodies were already strapped and braced in a strict training harness and Jappala had everything at tolerable limits. But there was tolerable and then there was much-less tolerable. As the little sadist jumped to the chance, pulling on straps with all her might, the pony just stood, braced. I watched the eyes. Sure enough, as Jappala did her diabolical best they were an exact indicator of the strains being produced. Already wide-eyed, in a half hour my pony was almost pop-eyed. It was now incapable of any significant motion, waists whittled, breasts straining against restraining straps, nipples bulging, backs arched over 90 degrees, pelvises thrust forward against punishing crotch straps, breaths coming in tiny puffs. But it still stared blankly ahead from its staring orbs. It had discipline! It also had enormous appeal, trussed up, helpless, bodies in wanton display. I quickly thought of something boring.

There was no way the pony could pull in its contorted, strained position. It could barely move. I’d have to walk back. I told Jappala to put the blinders back on and let it stew for a bit, then undo it and lead it blindly home. Jappala gave a little moue of disappointment. If it was up to her, I think the poor pony would have been in this condition full time! Not all islanders were the calm, easy-going folk they seemed. I wondered if it was a phase or if Jappala was really that much of a dominant. I was to find out…

When Jappala came back leading the pony, I saw that ‘undo’ had been interpreted as ‘slightly loosen’. Oh well, it was probably good for the pony’s fortitude. Jappala took its three bodies out of the training rig, rubbed it down, and substituted a ‘mild’ standard harness.

"You can remove its blinders now, and then go home. You’ve been an excellent trainer, Jappala, as usual." Jappala bobbed her head, removed the blinders, but didn’t leave immediately. She paused at the door of the stable, and gazed longingly at the three-bodied pony, her stare lingering particularly on her sister in the middle. Then with a little sigh she ran off toward home.

The pony’s wide-eyed look remained. Not as popeyed as when it had been totally constricted, but very wide. And, I was pleased to see, very blank. But placidity to the point of stupidity was not going to help matters, no matter how fetching I found it. I engaged the pony in a long conversation about training, sensory deprivation, ‘looks’, and told it how much its blank stare affected me. I also apologized for allowing Jappala a free hand, but pointed out that it all had a purpose and the gains in deportment and mannerism was worth the momentary discomfort.

"Master it understands why it must be strictly controlled. It does not like it at all – it is beastly uncomfortable - but the control is good for it. It also appreciates why it has to run blind. Master knows exactly how to train it and how to keep it up on its toes. Master is a perfect trainer. Please, master, continue to be very, very strict with it. It will be the most responsive pony ever and it will have the widest, blankest eyes possible." And the six eyes widened while staring blankly ahead. I thought: oh, babies, will I ever be strict!’ but I said something different:

"Why, thank you, pony. I certainly will continue to be strict, and if I let up even a little bit I am sure its groom will take up the slack. And then some. I have more ideas for training. It is a wonderfully moldable pony and a joy to work with. It has spectacular bodies and posture and is a total pony now." My mind churned.

"Master, am I permitted to stare ahead instead of looking at you? You told me to do that when we were outside, can I keep my eyes still or should I always look at you? It is easier to stay blank-looking and wide-eyed if I keep my eyes still."

"It’s probably best to keep looking straight ahead. If I want to be looked at I’ll snap my fingers like this." Then I got more philosophical. The ensuing conversation, if captured on film, would have seemed so bizarre as to be pure fantasy. Here was I relaxed on a rough chair, and here were three girls seated facing me. They were joined at ankle, knee, hip and shoulder by straps, wore almost nothing but more straps, and were staring blankly ahead with very wide eyes. Their waists tapered sharply, backs arched, breasts thrust forward, chins up. They were almost completely motionless – they could have been three bizarrely-posed shop mannequins. And they spoke with one voice.

"Tell me what it’s like now, how it feels as a single pony."

"Master in their lives before, my parts were all independent-minded, now you have brought them together into one unified pony. You have made the parts stand and walk correctly, all together. You have made me talk with one voice, and do everything else as one being. The parts spend all their attention making sure that they are together, being one pony. I am more than the parts, something better than just the three of them. You brought me into being, master." The blank eyes all shone, then a tear appeared. In all six eyes, of course.

"I don’t think you have the book ‘Frankenstein’ on the island, but you sound just like his ‘creation’. I am proud of you, pony, and very happy that you are working as one individual. Let’s hope the judges agree. But whether we win or not, you have become an excellent pony, just what I wanted, and you are the best. The fastest, the most beautiful, the best controlled. I will be so proud to drive you in the races."

It was at this point that my aims for this pony-trio started to diverge from what the pony itself wanted. The pony wanted to be the best trio of bodies in the annual races, and to have its master be proud of it. And to pull me around in a cart for years to come, sporting jeweled slippers. Such was life on this island. But today’s exercises in extreme restraint, and little Jappala’s evident fascination with that practice, had changed me somehow. For the worse, I feared, as far as the pony was concerned. When the three bodies had been immobilized, twitchless, in their harnesses with their blank, wide-eyed stares - some kind of switch had been thrown in my head. Or my glands. This was extremely exciting! Sure, driving the beautiful darlings to and fro was also stimulating, but when they were helpless… When "it" was helpless, I corrected myself.

I needed advice, and not from my pony. In its present frame of mind it would cheerfully agree with me if I proposed tossing it into the sea! It had surrendered its common sense and will; content to do whatever I wanted. After taking it to the privy and getting it settled, I sought Malua. The discussion I wanted to have would have been completely impossible anywhere else – a man asking his fiancée what to do about three other nubile young women that he was contemplating conducting some rather extreme invasions of privacy on – but it made perfect sense here. However, Malua was elsewhere. I hadn’t talked to Doc in some time, and suddenly realized that he could give me excellent counsel. So I wandered over to his house.

Doc was somewhat of an oddity. As a man, he should have had two or three wives; as a family he should have had a team. But he had neither. I found him alone, reading a medical book.

"Hullo, Jim. I haven’t seen you much since your early days here, Malua tells me you are constantly training. How are you adjusting to life in this paradise?"

"Excellently. What man wouldn’t? This is truly a paradise. I have three beautiful, spirited young ponies, I am practically engaged to the Chief’s daughter, and my prospects look not too terrible for the race." We chatted about this and that for a bit.

"You didn’t come to see me just to chat, Jim. What’s up?" The old fox was more psychologist than sawbones.

"I need your advice about the psychology, and maybe the psychopathology, (my, I know some big words!) of these people. I have a situation developing which disturbs me."

"Have some of this excellent wine and tell me about it."

"Thanks, Doc. I particularly need the advice of someone like you who has observed these people at length but also knows the way an OW person may feel about them. Where to start? It’s about a young girl I have taken on as a groom for my team. Name of Jappala, she’s sister to one of my ponies."

"I know Jappala, a middle daughter of Lelanie."

"Well, Jappala is a very good groom. She’s totally interested in ponies and tack and training."

"Most young girls are – here and in the world we have both left behind."

"Yes. But in Jappala’s case there’s something else. She has a tendency to get carried away with strapping up my pony – ah, ponies, I have developed a habit of referring to them in the singular. Jappala seems to delight in making its harnesses way too tight and I have to keep an eye on her."

"She’s, ah, overzealous?"

"Yes. Quite. In the OW I’d almost call her a sadist. Oh, she doesn’t hurt the pony or do mean things to it. But she absolutely delights in hauling in on straps and her eyes almost glow if I ask her to put the pony in a punishment harness for some minor lapse of attention."

"And? Do you have problems controlling Jappala?"

"No. That is, Jappala’s not a problem. She’s very obedient and I can control her exactly. No, I’m the problem – Today, in an effort to get my pony’s eyes wider, I gave Jappala free rein. Told the little minx to tighten them up as much as she could, then left them alone."

"Oh. I’m not going to presume to tell you what to do with your training – that’s a definite insult here – but I’m not at all sure that was wise, Jim. Jappala’s young and needs supervision; the ponies are completely helpless. Did she do any damage to them?"

"No, she’s actually quite sensible about going just so far. She has developed a good touch with straps and such. She obviously enjoys the whole business tremendously and has gotten a lot of experience in the last weeks."

"Then what’s the problem? Did your pony complain?"

"Asked for more of the same. Admitted it was deuced uncomfortable and a strain, but said it needed that to stay ‘in tune’. But the pony’s not much of a judge of what’s good for it."

"No, ponies who get so fixated on pleasing their owner rarely are. But I’m still puzzled, Jim. I don’t see the problem."

"I’m the problem - my feelings about this. When I saw the pony’s luscious bodies trussed up like that, to the point where she - they - could hardly move, let alone pull - and all the eyes did widen more, wonderfully, by the way - when I saw her like that I suddenly realized that there’s a part of me who wants to keep her that way. It was very arousing. I may have a good deal of Jappala in me, something I never would have expected."

"And?"

"This doesn’t bother you?"

"Why should it? People are excited by all kinds of things. I don’ have to tell you that life’s quite different here. This society is most pleasantly tolerant of all kinds of behaviors. So having your ponies in drastic punishment harness is exciting? That’s not uncommon, Jim. Why do you think there are punishment harnesses here? Girls aren’t that badly behaved. There are owners who really enjoy the helplessness and rigor implicit in a strapped-up pony. Not a lot of them, but they exist. Their ponies lead rather... interesting lives. And are ever so well-behaved! And you would be surprised at the number of ponies who crave that treatment. Being a pony is a submissive thing and they are largely submissive by nature. Being in a punishment harness is just taking submissiveness a step further. From what Malua and others say it’s uncomfortable, all right. But as you know what a pony likes or doesn’t like isn’t a consideration. So, is there still a problem?"

"Yes, I think so, although what you just told me helped. See, I think my pony is doing all this partly because being a pony is what young women do here, and partly because with my training she can possibly lead to a championship. And maybe because she likes me. But now I have these feelings about wanting to let Jappala go wild again, to let her do things to the pony that will make her uncomfortable and even worse, and she hasn’t done anything wrong! She doesn’t need correction or punishment, just training. This isn’t training, it’s… I don’t know, it’s a perversion of training. I would be taking advantage of the poor pony just for my own pleasure. Maybe having a blank stare and wide eyes makes her a better pony, but not much better. She’s made to be like that because I find it very stimulating. And how narrow a waist does a pony need? How much of an arch in her back? If she’s too constricted and contorted she can’t pull. So my problem is that I think I’m not being fair with the pony, that I’m exploiting her for nothing more than my own jollies. Why should the poor pony have to suffer for my satisfactions?"

"I see. Your attitude does you a lot of credit, Jim. You are a good man. Here’s a hypothetical question: Say that you decide it isn’t fair to punish the ponies, and so you keep Jappala under tight control. You only permit moderate training harness, and the ponies are fairly comfortable. What do you think your ponies’ reactions will be when they find that you’d much rather have let Jappala strap them up? That you find them most attractive when like that? But that you haven’t done so?"

"I don’t know. Gratitude?"

"No, Jim. They would be totally crushed. I don’t know these particular girls well, but I know that they want to make you proud of them, and happy with them. Whatever that takes, they want to do. If you like to have them squeezed unmercifully in straps, fine. Squeezed they will be. They would be more comfortable left ‘as is’, but that doesn’t matter. What matters to them is that you are happy with them. There are limits, of course. I don’t even have to say to you that some things are out of bounds here – we do not allow an individual to do damage to another. But up to that point, your ponies will do anything that they think pleases you. Happily! If you were to keep them strapped up all the time and they never got to pull a carriage, well, that might be an ethical issue. They are ponies, after all – their contract with you is to pull you around. But you don’t want full-time bondage for them. So I pronounce you problem-free. Have a good time with your ponies. And think how happy they will make Jappala. AND themselves."

"This place really is a paradise. Well, if I can really unburden myself, what about me?"

"What about you?"

"I like what Jappala does to them. That makes me uncomfortable. I’m not some kind of sex pervert."

"Well, it seems you are one after all. But for heaven’s sake, Jim, so is everyone! Every person is a bit different, we none of us fit the common mold. Your particular bent isn’t at all uncommon on the island, as I’ve already mentioned. If it was, there wouldn’t be any punishment or training harnesses. What makes it work here is that none of these people are tempted to go further, to the point where they are seriously impinging on another’s health or safety. There’s some kind of safety valve in the genetics here – no crime, no cruelty, and no ‘extreme’ perversions. I’ve made quite a study of this culture. Fascinating." I thought about Malua’s own strange ‘bent’. There was certainly nothing perverted about her!

"Then I can…"

"Do what you want. As long as you don’t step over the line Hippocrates established two millennia back – ‘first, do no harm’. I know you won’t, Jim, if you had those kinds of anti-social tendencies the people here would never have accepted you in the first place. They are extraordinarily perceptive about character."

"What would they have done?"

"Left you on the beach. There’s no fresh water there, you would have died in a few days and the crabs would have eaten your remains."

"That sure is ‘doing harm’. These sweet, tender people would actually do that?"

"They do it frequently. Someone washes up here every other year or so. More now that there’s a war in the South Pacific. They are kind, Jim, but not foolish. They do not want the attitudes and tensions of the OW to intrude. Once several years ago they took in two people who had crash landed in the ocean nearby. Aviators trying to set a round-the-world record. It was a mistake, and after several weeks these two were escorted back to the beach and given a crude boat and supplies. They did not fit in, and the island quickly rejected them."

"Who were they?"

"The woman was named Amelia. I forget the man’s name." Wow. I was now the only person who knew exactly what had happened to the most famous woman of the thirties. Would I ever get a chance to tell? Silly, I was never going anywhere, and I wouldn’t tell if I did – the OW would consider that murder.

"Remind me not to do anything asocial, Doc."

"You won’t, Jim. It’s not in you. You don’t have the bad parts of the outside world. If you would care, I’d be interested in hearing more about your training of three girls to become one pony. How do you do that?"

We talked on for a while about my training methods, and Doc gave me some worthwhile suggestions. Then he tried to gently prepare me for not winning the race. Everyone on this island was so concerned about how crushed I’d be when I lost, and my constant repetitions of ‘I have no intention of losing’ were beginning to sound wooden. Finally Doc told me about the Exotics society over in New London, and that if I was really getting turned on by strapping and the like I should make their acquaintance. Everybody with more-than-usual submissive or dominant tendencies and a bent for pony strapping belonged, it seemed. I made a promise to both of us to go check it out.