Ponygirl Minder

by Xaltatun of Acheron

This work is copyright 2000-2006 by Xaltatun of Acheron (A Pseudonym). It may be posted on the Internet to any free forum. It may be reformatted to match the forum's look and feel, and the forum editor may make minor spelling and grammer corrections. Otherwise it must be posted in its entirety, including these notices. It may not be sold, or included in any compilation that is sold, or posted on any forum that requires a fee for access, without my written permission. My permission will require payment, terms to be negotiated. For purposes of this notice, sites guarded by Adult Check or similar packages are considered pay sites. Posting on any site must include this copyright notice.

Adult Content Warning - this story contains adult themes, including non-consensual bondage/slavery and forced sexual acts. If you are under the lawful age for such materials (18 in most jurisdictions) or if you would find such material offensive, please go elsewhere.

Safety Warning. This story may contain descriptions of practices that are decidedly unsafe, either in general, or if performed by someone without adequate training. There are a number of good books available on safety in the BDSM scene. Most large cities, and some not so large ones, have organized BDSM groups that will usually welcome a newcomer. I'm not going to point out which practices are safe, and which aren't. Any practice is unsafe if performed by someone with inadequate training and experience, or if performed when not paying attention. Please think before you act. Don't make yourself a candidate for a Darwin award.



Now on to the story...


Table of Contents


Chapter 1. Jenny: Graduation.

Chapter 2. Jenny. Processed by Reliable.

Chapter 3. Audry: Drop Out.

Chapter 4. Jenny: This is your life. Adapt ... or else.

Chapter 5. Jenny. Ponygirls in their cages.

Chapter 6. Jenny: Training Carol.

Chapter 7. Jenny, Carol and the Tentacle Monster.

Chapter 8. Jenny: Ponygirl Ronnie.

Chapter 9. Audry: First step.

Chapter 10. Jenny: As Luck Would Have It.

Chapter 11. Audry: Faux Ponygirl.

Chapter 12. Jenny: On the Road Toward College

Chapter 13. Audry: The Taxi Service Acquires a Wild Ponygirl

Chapter 14. Beth: If it’s wrong, it’s wrong.

Chapter 15. Jenny and Beth: At The Mountain View Motel.

Chapter 16. Jenny: Beth is my

Chapter 17. Audry: Wild Girl.

Chapter 18. Jenny and Beth: Settling In.

Chapter 19. Jenny at the Taxi Service

Chapter 20. Jenny collars Beth.

Chapter 21. Jenny Discovers a Wild Girl Infestation

Chapter 22. Audry: Interlude.

Chapter 23. Jenny: Decisions.

Chapter 24. Jenny: Programming Seminar.

Chapter 25. Audry: Good News, Bad News and News.

Chapter 26. Jenny and Beth: Preparations.

Chapter 27. Audry: A step forward?

Chapter 28. Jenny and Beth: What’s in the box?

Chapter 29. Audry: The light dawns.

Chapter 30. Jenny: Should I?

Chapter 31. Jenny: Engine Girl.

Chapter 32. Jenny: All is Revealed.

Chapter 33. Jenny: Well, maybe.

Chapter 34. Jenny: Tamed Girls.

Chapter 35. Jenny: Vacation Time.

Chapter 36. Jenny: Collared!




Chapter 1. Jenny: Graduation.


“Calm down!” Jenny’s mother instructed. “You’ll muss your makeup.”

“Why?” she answered with the unanswerable logic of a late teenager.

“If you expect to get picked as a wife, you need to look attractive, not like you’re going to jump out of your panties at the slightest sound.”

“She won’t be wearing then much longer anyway,” Debbie, the youngest of Jenny’s sisters, put in.

“She does not need your remarks,” their mother said.

“She’s going and she won’t be back,” Debbie shot back.

“One more remark.”

Dave, the only boy still in the brood, vanished down the hall.

“It’s time I got mine back!” Debbie said.

“That’s enough,” Sara said, holding her hand out for what Dave had fetched. “Open up.”

Debbie looked at the device and grimaced. Mother really must be mad, she thought, but she opened her mouth obediently. A moment later her mother snapped the latch on the ball gag closed behind her youngest’s head.

Esther started to say something and then thought better of it.

“You had something to say?” Sara asked sweetly.

“Nothing that needs saying now,” she answered.



Jenny took a deep breath and let her eyes wander to her mother’s marital collar. It was a simple circlet of a light-colored metal, about an inch tall and 3/8ths of an inch thick with a post and a ring in the center. It had her name, Sara, boldly engraved on the left of the post in half inch high letters and her husband’s name, Dennis Jackson, equally boldly engraved to the right. The legend ‘devoted and obedient wife of’ crossed the top in smaller engraving.

It was almost impossible to see the join where the pin had let it pivot in two half circles until her husband had placed it on her neck and closed it with a rivet gun. According to the Church, it symbolized the two halves of the marriage, permanently linked. By law and custom it would never be removed. It would be the only thing that remained after she was cremated; its surface discolored and the circuitry inside fused by the heat of the final flame that consumed the body she had ceased to inhabit.

She let herself imagine what it would feel like to have one like it encircling her neck, engraved with ‘Jenny’ and ‘Jack Davis’. She could almost feel his hand on her head and the thud of the rivet gun.

“There, all better?” Sara asked her current eldest.

“I suppose,” Jenny answered. Then she giggled to release the tension. “As good as it’ll get.”

“What’s the problem?” asked Dave. “Your grades have been good, you shouldn’t have to worry.”

“You know how it works?” Jenny asked.


“Right,” Sara said. “Esther, tell your brother how the selection system works.”

“Uh,” she started off. “Well, the bottom 40 percent becomes ponygirls and engines, and the top 30 goes to college to become Professionals. Unless one of the guys picks them as his wife.”

“And the rest?”

“Some kind of drudge. Maids, that kind of thing.”

“Which is why you’re studying like mad,” Dave said.

“Of course! Being Swifty’s daughter is not a guarantee of college if I don’t get a guy!”

“Persistence, properly directed, will get you a long way,” their father, Dennis, put in.

“Well, that’s almost right. Only 50 of the professional candidates are going to go to college, the rest will get snapped up to do something else.”

“So being in the top 30 percent isn’t a guarantee?”

“Right. That’s what’s got Jenny bothered.”

“And they don’t tell you where you rank, either,” Dave added. “She should be in the top 30 percent, but we don’t really know.”


“Dave, make sure Swifty’s harnessed,” his father instructed. “Jenny, you’re looking about as good as I’ve ever seen.”

She preened a moment.

“So it’s time. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

She sighed again but obediently turned and clasped her hands.

Dennis slid one set of cuffs up to just below her elbows, and another on her wrists, and then pressed her elbows together until the latches caught.

“That’ll have to do,” Sara said as she hung Jenny’s purse on her belt.


“Well, let’s get going,” Dennis said. Jenny sighed again, her bosom heaving because of the way her pinioned arms made her breasts stick out, but obediently followed her mother out the door, being very careful of her footing. Three inch heels without arms to keep balance could lead to a nasty spill if she wasn’t careful!

Dave stood in the driveway holding Swifty’s reins. Swifty was a typical ponygirl. Her two inch wide mane fell carelessly to the center of her back, and blew a bit in the slight breeze. It complemented the chestnut horsehair of her tail and which covered her powerful legs from the top of her thighs to where they vanished into mid-calf length hoof boots. Her collar looked, at first glance, to be the same as Sara’s collar. It said ‘Swifty’ on the left, and had the names ‘Dennis’ and ‘Sara’ stacked on the right, with ‘Jackson’ in slightly larger letters following. There was no legend.

The collar, together with chastity shield and her nose and breast rings, was her only adornment. She occasionally wore various pieces of jewelry, ribbons and such, but never wore anything that could be described as clothing.

Her hip harness firmly attached her to the shafts of the trap. Her hands rested lightly on the shafts, held in place by wrist cuffs and a light chain. A bridle with blinders encased her head; a bit-like device that attached to her permanent jaw block held her reins.

“You’ll have to ride with us,” Dennis told his daughter. “There’s no way you’re going to be able to walk it with those heels.”

A minute later they were off down the lane, Swifty trotting fairly slowly so the rest of the brood could keep pace without running.


Part way there, they heard a beep-beep from behind them. Swifty pulled the trap a bit over to the side so whoever had beeped could pass.

Jenny looked out of the trap at the wagon. It seemed to be a fairly standard four engine light truck. The engine compartment was open to take advantage of the pleasant spring day so she could see the four engines nestled next to each other, two abreast. All four wore engine hoods and had their legs going in long, powerful strokes. Their hands rested on the steering controls.

She shuddered slightly. It wasn’t at all likely, but the fates were notoriously fickle. And they didn’t give you any idea beforehand.


She sighed as they added themselves to the long line of carriages, traps, carts and other ponygirl conveyances that led into the school. Mercifully, the line actually kept moving. Swifty had her tail high; she was obviously enjoying herself. It wasn’t often she got to show how smoothly she could pull the trap in slow motion.

They got to the front and her father handed her down. One of the sophomores bounced into the trap and took a card from the dispatcher.

“Goodbye,” her mother said, giving her a hug that she couldn’t return. She melted into her mother’s arms instead for a moment. “And give me a call when you settle in with your husband.” When she turned to enter the auditorium, she thought she saw a tear in her mother’s eye.


The guard looked at his reader as she reached the head of the line. “Jenny Jackson?”

She nodded, wondering if he was really interested.

“Row 5, place 15,” he replied.

That was what she expected, she thought. Taller girls were farther back, and they were in alphabetical order within height. She was almost exactly average. She walked carefully into the large auditorium and turned toward the stands for the graduating girls on the right.

There were already a fair number of girls there, she noted. The girls in the first row sat primly on their heels, the ones in the second row knelt on little cushions. The ones in the third row stood. The rest of the rows were on terraced platforms that rose three inches for each row.

The fifty places in each row were staggered so she could see straight ahead without having to look at the back of the girl’s head in front of her. The girls were spaced far enough apart that there was no difficulty making her way through the array.

She found her place, planted her heels shoulder width apart, and settled back to wait for the graduation ceremony to start and for her to hear the verdict on what she would be doing for the rest of her life.


She watched the crowd gather, families in the center, the girls around her and the two rows of boys on the other side. Not for the first time she called down a malediction on the long dead head of whoever had created the virus which had changed the sex ratio to one boy for every five girls.

She smiled slightly as she saw Jack come in and take his place. Like all the boys, he had a collar and neatly coiled leash hanging from his belt. She tried to catch his eye, but failed. It seemed that he wasn’t really looking at the massed array of 500 girls across from him at all. Even if he was, he’d probably have a hard time picking her out of the crowd.

Her mind wandered a bit with the waiting. She amused herself by watching several of the school’s collared workers. They were easy enough to spot: they wore the school’s staff uniform and they had collars around their necks.

At that distance it was impossible to tell the difference between their collars, her mother’s collar and Swifty’s collar. Or the ones that the engines in the truck wore. Partly it was because there wasn’t any difference. They were exactly the same. Her mother and the collared workers wore clothes, the ponygirls and engines didn’t. Her mother’s collar had a legend on top; the other three didn’t. At that distance it didn’t help; her eyes weren’t good enough to see the slight difference the legend made. Neither were anyone else’s.

What did make the difference was the skirt length. Uniform tunics for collared workers were almost always mid-thigh length. Professionals and senior workers had relatively free choice in skirt length and took advantage of it, with one notable exception: wives who had joined the senior worker or professional ranks always wore their uniform tunics below the knee.

Finally, she thought as she flexed her legs the way she’d been taught to keep them from cramping, the principal arrives! Now let’s get this show moving.

She let her mind drift again, imagining what it would be like to be Jack Davis’ wife as the principal droned on with the utterly predictable banalities of the graduation ceremony.

Finally he got to the point, and the second row of boys turned and walked up to the stage, maintaining their line. An attendant walked down the line, holding a short whispered conversation with each of them and checking something on her reader. She was dressed in the school’s staff uniform and wore a collar, but she was not a collared worker. She was a wife who had finished raising her family and become a teacher. At that distance, the only way she could tell for certain was the slight distortion that the legend caused at the top of her collar. Teaching, she thought, was one of the Professions. She wouldn’t mind becoming a teacher.

Another teacher, this one in the school staff uniform but not wearing a collar around her neck, stood on the platform checking something on her reader and matching stacks of graduation certificates. She handed a pair to the principal.

“Roger Stout,” he called. “Nancy Devon. Is it your will to become Roger’s wife?”

She heard a squeal from behind her, and a tallish blonde walked down the terrace. She had her arms pinioned crosswise, Jenny noticed.

Nancy walked up the stairs to the platform and stopped in front of Roger. She fell to her knees and then bowed further, torso almost horizontal, as Roger placed his hand on her head and said: “Nancy Devon, by my will and your will, I take you as my wife. You will be known as Nancy Stout from this time forward.”

He took the collar from his belt and slid it closed around her neck. The solid thunk of a rivet gun echoed through the hall. Then he unfastened her cuffs and pulled her into a deep kiss. He snapped the leash on her collar, and they made their way back to the second row. Nancy sat prettily at his feet, leaning back gently against one of his legs as his hand rested on her shoulder.

The ceremony went on and on and on. Part way through, he called Jess Stewart.

Why, she thought to herself, is Jess carrying a collar? He’s so gay it isn’t funny. Then the principal called Mary Snell, and she almost gasped. Mary was just as much a lesbian as Jess was gay.

She thought she heard someone behind her gag slightly. Then a firm soprano said: “I accept.”

Mary came down and went through the submission ceremony, but Jess didn’t undo her cuffs or kiss her. Jess clipped the leash to her collar and led her back to the boy’s side, where she sat at his feet, just like all the other new wives.

She wondered briefly: How are they ever going to make that work? Then the principal called another boy and his intended wife.

He finally got to Jack Davis, and she flexed her legs so she wouldn’t fall when he called her.

It didn’t happen. The principal called Rita Adams instead.

What! Jenny thought, stunned. What could he possibly see in that cow?


Finally the first part of the ceremony was over; all hundred of the boys had returned to their places, each of them with his new wife sitting at his feet.

“Now we come to those of our graduating young women who will be going on to college to prepare for a professional career,” the principal intoned. He reached for a graduation certificate and read the name.

“Peggy Sanchez.”

Peggy walked out of the mass of girls and ascended the platform. The principal unsnapped her cuffs and handed her the certificate, and asked her what she intended to study.

She decided, not at all surprisingly, that she wanted to be a teacher.

She walked down the other side of the stage and took her place standing in the row behind the boys and their new wives.


It was over. Fifty college bound girls had ascended the podium and received their diplomas, and Jenny still stood among the 350 girls that had not been selected. She looked around numbly.

The guards had brought out the barrier as the last few girls had been called. The first row of seated girls rose smoothly and walked out the door to the lot. There wasn’t much else they could do, Jenny thought. All that was left was to face up to whatever happened and take it like an adult. Breaking down would practically guarantee a lifetime as an engine.


Time seemed to crawl as the line crept along. The last dozen or so feet of the line had bars crossing at a two and four foot height, placing each girl into her own separate cell. The guards on each side checked to make sure they knew which girl was in each space, and then clipped a card to her dress. Once she got to the door, she found that they had set up a temporary hallway in the lot with corridors heading off to the left, right and straight ahead but then with a turn she couldn’t see around.

The final barrier dropped, letting her into the corridor. The only way she could go was left; the other two directions were blocked by bars on the doors. She walked to the left, turned a corner and stopped, wide-eyed with shock.

The sign said: “Reliable Ponygirl and Engine Training.”


Section End.


This is not what Jenny expected! Is her poisonous younger sister right, or is something else going to happen to her in the next exciting episode of Ponygirl Minder?




If you enjoyed this story, please e-mail the author and let him know. He likes to hear from his loyal fans, and it gives him some motivation to keep writing this stuff. Of course, if you're a publisher and you'd like to buy some of these stories, please let him know. The starving author in the garret makes a great story, but it sucks in real life.