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...
The date is sometime around 2400, and Jenny Jackson is ready to graduate from high school. She discovers, contrary to every reasonable expectation, that she is not picked as a wife, nor is she going to college. After an interminable wait in line, she discovers that she has been routed to Reliable Ponygirl and Engine Manufacturing.
Three girls stood ahead of her, apparently being processed. Each one stood as an attendant used a power shear to strip her clothing, letting it fall into a pile of brightly-colored discarded scraps. When they had completely denuded the poor girl of everything except her chastity shield, she walked forward, knelt in the submission pose, and was collared. Then they led her away to something else she couldn’t quite see.
A guard scowled at her. “Over here, we haven’t got all day!”
She took a deep breath to calm herself and walked, still stunned, to the empty spot. The attendant looked at the card clipped to her dress and then unbuckled her belt, handing it to the waiting guard.
Two minutes later it was all over. She got to her feet, naked and collared. A guard put a leash on her collar and led her past a row of frames, each of which had a kneeling girl bound facing forward and head tilted back. A group of attendants was doing something to them, but she didn’t have the time to figure out what.
They turned a corner. “I’m not going to have any trouble with you, right?”
There didn’t seem to be any answer other than “no.”
“Good.” He unsnapped the shackles on her arms and handed her a tunic. “Get dressed.”
She looked at the garment and then slid it on over her shoulders, twisting a bit in pleasure as it fell across her body. It was remarkable, she thought, how much difference a simple mid-thigh length tunic could make. Even without underwear.
He handed her a belt and her purse. She put them on and twisted to settle them around her waist.
“Hit the head.” He gestured at a partition.
She gratefully walked to the other side and saw, as she expected, a flexible pipe. She snapped it into the catheter valve and stretched as she felt her bladder empty. A minute later it was done. She unfastened the pipe and walked back to the waiting guard.
He snapped a leash on her collar and led her outside.
“Stay here until someone comes for you,” he said as he wrapped the end of the leash around a convenient post.
It couldn’t, she thought, have been more than five minutes since she had reached the end of the line inside the auditorium.
When she looked around she found herself standing near a fence, close to the temporary building she had just left. As soon as she got settled, she saw them lead a naked, collared and cuffed girl out of the shed and clip her leash to a long, neck high chain that ran between two posts. There were several other naked girls already on the chain, and spots for several more. The girls, she noted, didn’t seem to be talking. She frowned. It made sense that they’d have blocked talking right away, but they still seemed to have the use of their mouths. Strange.
It looked like Hey Girl! had their area on the other side of the fence. She noted the same organization; the processing shed, the chains of girls and the trucks. However, the girls on the chains wore tunics and weren’t cuffed; quite a few of them were talking to each other in low voices.
On the other side of the Hey Girl! enclosure a number of people wandered around an open area. They seemed to be some of her classmates; a mixture of single girls and boys with their new wives. They were talking with older people in a range of booths bearing signs of companies she had never heard of.
A thought occurred to her, and she got her compact out of her purse. A bit of angling and she could see her collar. It didn’t, she noted, have her name on it. That area was blank. The other side said, as she expected, ‘Reliable Ponygirl and Engine Training’.” So she’d wound up as a collared worker. Well, it was better than being an engine or ponygirl, although Swifty certainly seemed to be a busy and fairly happy being.
“Having fun?” an amused alto broke into her thoughts.
“Uh?” she turned around, startled.
The speaker was a somewhat older woman, probably in her mid 30s, wearing a Reliable uniform and a collar.
“I’m Helen,” she said. “You’re coming with me.” She untied Jenny’s leash and led her to one of the waiting trucks. She held the right side door to the driver’s compartment open. “Hop in.”
A moment later, Helen seated herself on the left and slammed the door shut. “Strap yourself in and hold the questions until we get onto the road.”
Jenny fastened the safety straps and sat back to watch. This was the first time she’d ever been in a truck.
The front of the passenger compartment didn’t look all that different from the several passenger cars she had been in; they were also quite familiar from school and 3-V shows.
The wrap-around window at the front extended all the way to the back of the passenger compartment. The various displays and readouts wrapped around just below, extending from door frame to door frame. Pullout tables and control panels sat below the line of displays.
There was enough space on the bench for three passengers. The space under the dash had two closed and two open cabinets which separated the passenger’s spaces; at least if they wanted to stretch out their legs.
Helen manipulated a joystick for a minute, moving the truck back and forth until it got out of the lot and turned onto the road. She finally put the joystick away and sat back. “The computer in this thing sucks,” she announced to no one in particular.
“Huh?” Jenny said to the unexpected comment.
“The lead engines are pretty good, but the computer can’t coordinate a back and forward maneuver to save its screwed-up electrons,” she explained.
“Huh?” Jenny said again.
Helen laughed. “We’ve got an hour to kill, so ask away. And shut up when I tell you; traffic rules say I have to have the controls out and my complete attention on the road when the traffic computer gives me an alert.”
“OK. What did you mean about the engines?”
“You know that the engines actually do the driving, right?”
“I’d heard that, but?”
“Well, two of them do, one for forward and one for reverse. They use the front and rear cameras. I tell the computer where we’re going, and the computer feeds them the route minute by minute. They handle all the detail, and quite well, too. What they don’t do is coordinate; that’s supposed to be the computer’s job. Unfortunately, this model is so totally screwed up on back and forth maneuvers to get in and out of tight spaces that it’s easier for me to tell them what to do.”
“I suppose it’ll make sense,” Jenny said.
“It had better.”
“So what’s going to happen?” Jenny asked.
“You’ve probably guessed you’re going to be a slavegirl?”
“I thought that was on the other side?”
“I call it like it is: slavegirl and collared worker are the same. We’re both slavegirls. You want to be prissy and call us collared workers, I won’t complain. Almost all collared workers start out at Hey Girl! Reliable likes to start its manufacturing trainees out right away rather than getting them from Hey Girl! We let Hey Girl! train our office staff, though.”
“So that’s what I’m going to be doing?”
“Something in the manufacturing operation. I don’t know what. I’ve got a bunch of stuff I’m supposed to tell you if you ask, and another bunch of stuff that I’m not supposed to tell you. Not that it’s secret, it’s just that they don’t want to take the time and effort to make sure I’ve got it right.”
“So what’s going to happen when we get there?”
“You’re going right over to medical so they can install the mods.”
“You’re going to get part of the ponygirl and engine mods.”
“I don’t understand?”
“I don’t either. They didn’t give me the memo.” Helen laughed. “They’re not going to install them all. You can still talk, right?”
“Well, the girls in back can’t. They’ve already had the throat unit installed; that’s what keeps them from talking.”
“Oh. So that’s what they were doing.”
“Yep. It gets them started out right, and they can’t scare each other with rumors.”
Reliable seemed to be huge. Helen watched alertly as the truck turned off the expressway onto a side road, and then turned into an entrance road with big Reliable signs and the usual warnings about “Private! Keep Out!”
The truck drove down a couple more roads and then stopped in front of a large building with a sign that proclaimed it was “Stage 1 Manufacturing, Building 4.”
Helen, Jenny noticed, had pulled out the joystick again. She moved it back and forth as the truck pulled forward and then back into an unloading slot.
A guard opened the door. “Jenny Jackson? Get out here.”
She looked at him, unfastened the harness, slid out of the cab and stretched.
He held out a leash. “Work rules say you’re to be leashed at all times in this facility unless specifically told otherwise. You don’t have to be cuffed.”
“Uh, I’d rather not,” she answered as she bent her head back a bit to let him snap the leash on her collar.
“Funny,” he chuckled. “They all say that.
“The next thing,” he said conversationally as he led her along, “is that you’re supposed to watch the unloading process for our new ponygirls and engines.”
“They didn’t tell me,” he answered cheerfully. “I think it’s half ‘there, but for the grace of the Goddess,’ and half so you get a good feel for what they start out with. Of course, they may have other things in mind.”
He led her to an area by the side. Workers opened the truck and pulled the girls out by the end of the chain. By now they looked more worried and scared than stunned, but they followed along without much prompting. He led her along after the procession until they turned into a long room.
The two chains of girls separated, each one going down a corridor that seemed to be lined with booths.
“New worker?” a pleasant soprano said from behind her.
“Yep,” the guard said.
“So I get to give her the standard lecture. This is Manufacturing Stage 1. What they’re doing is putting the girls into training cages. They stay in these cages until surgery is ready for them, and then they stay another four days to make sure everything heals up properly. When they’re healed from the surgery, they’re transferred to Stage 2.”
“We give them a bit, but we don’t really have the facilities for anything major. By the time they get to Stage 2 they’re ready for anything resembling exercise. Now watch.”
She stood aside so that Jenny could see what was happening. It was, she thought, startling. A platform slid out of the booth. The guard unclipped the next girl off the chain and told her to sit on it. She looked around, shrugged and sat. Then she squirmed a bit to get comfortable on the contoured surface. Suddenly there was a snap and then the platform pulled the girl into the booth. A metal mesh slid down the front.
“Once they get done loading the row we’ll show them how they get their nutrients,” she finished.
“That’s all here,” the guard told her, giving her leash a gentle tug.
“How can they do that day after day?”
He shrugged. “The women in this section aren’t too bright. They like routine.”
“So here’s our new worker,” a chipper voice said as the guard led her into what looked like a hospital nurse’s station.
“Yep. Jenny Jackson. She’s all yours.” He handed the girl the leash and waved his badge at a reader plate.
“I’m Natalie,” the young woman said. “Orderly extraordinary. Meaning I take orders extraordinarily well.” She giggled. “Right now we’ve got to take you to your room. You’re kind of late in the day, so you’re not scheduled for surgery until tomorrow morning.”
“Um?” Jenny said as she looked at the room.
“It’s a hospital room. What did you expect? This is a hospital.”
“Hop into the bed. Orders are that you’re to be chained in bed.”
Jenny got into the bed and arranged herself.
“Now we need to connect you up,” Natalie said as she peeled back the covers and extended a tube. She reached between the girl’s thighs and deftly snapped it into place. “All good. Just don’t get it tangled.” She padlocked the light chain from the wall onto Jenny’s collar.
“Uh, right,” Jenny said as she pulled the covers back up.
“Good. Here’s a reader. While you’re here waiting for surgery and then while you’re recovering, you’re supposed to be studying. The subject is basic manufacturing. Terminology, procedures, background. All that boring stuff. It beats staring at the ceiling, but not by much.”
Jenny giggled at the image.
“Get yourself organized and I’ll be in with dinner in a bit.” She turned and walked out.
Jenny pulled the reader up and started stroking the back. There was, after all, not that much to do other than memorize the cracks on the ceiling plaster.
Audry looked at the girl on the stage with wide eyes. The dancer had just finished a number, and coyly intimated that she was available – for a fee.
“They let her do that?” she breathed.
“She’s probably wild,” Darlene said. “Wild girls have got to make money somehow.”
“She decided to drop out of the system. How?” Darlene shrugged.
“How is easy,” Francine proclaimed. “There’s all kinds of things you can get off the record. What I don’t understand is why.”
“I would if I could,” Audry almost whispered as she watched the dancer descend the stage.
“You’re nuts,” Darlene proclaimed.
That night, Audry checked her reader for messages. One popped up: “You want to drop out?” with a one time contact number.
Well, training ponygirls isn’t what she had in mind for a career choice, but it’s better than the alternative. Or is it? And what’s up with Audry? Find out 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.