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. Instead, she’s been routed to a job as a collared worker in Reliable’s ponygirl manufacturing process. She finds out that manufacturing only looks simple; it’s anything but.
Meanwhile, a girl named Audry has decided to drop out and become a wild girl; she’s going to hide out at the Taxi Service as a ponygirl.
By now Jenny has spent several months in Stage 2 of Ponygirl Manufacturing, has gotten to criterion on shift work and is learning more of the business. She’s trained three of her former classmates and has been trained as both a ponygirl and an engine.
Then she finds out she’s headed to college. She collects the other three girls who will be traveling with her and gets the engines installed on their mounts in the rental car they will be taking. They have an enlightening discussion on the way.
Then they stop overnight. When the dust (not to mention the sex) settles, Jenny discovers that Beth thinks she’s Jenny’s wife.
“So this is it,” Jenny said as she and Beth got out of the taxi in front of the apartment building.
“It’s the number the office told us, anyway,” Beth agreed. “Let’s see what we got.”
They walked up the steps to the second floor. The door opened when Jenny held her card against the reader.
“You really should carry me over the threshold,” Beth giggled.
Jenny looked at her and then grinned wickedly. She picked up her plumpish apartment mate easily, walked in, and then put her down. She pulled her in, Beth putting her hands on her taller apartment’s mate’s shoulders.
“It’s now officially home,” Beth intoned once they’d untangled themselves.
“I guess it is,” Jenny agreed.
“You don’t look that happy,” Jenny said once they’d gone through it.
“It’s a bit higher maintenance than I’d like,” she answered.
“You do know that a lot of women’s work is makework?”
“Really. Hey Girl! was training me to be a high class housekeeper or a second or third wife, and that was one of the lessons. The upper crust thinks that if you’ve got it, you flaunt it, and one of the things that lets them flaunt it is lots of servants. And that means lots of stuff to take care of. Efficiency means you’re not working hard enough.”
She shrugged. “They trained me both ways: how to do it the fast and easy way, and how to take my time and make it look like I was working hard. An apartment like this shouldn’t take more than an hour a day, and maybe three for weekly cleaning. If it’s set up properly, which this one isn’t.”
“We’ll share the work.”
“No, we will not share the work,” Beth said flatly. “You’re my husband, you do not do housework. That’s my job.”
“Aren’t you taking this husband and wife thing a bit far?” Jenny asked curiously.
“Well, maybe.” Beth giggled. “I meant it about being a good girl; that’s how I was raised, and it seems to be stuck in there hard. Hey Girl! was getting awfully tired of my refusing to do sex training; I think I got taken out just in time.
“I know it sounds crazy, but they never drilled in that a husband had to be a guy. They just assumed it, so it seems that’s the piece that gave. I can keep being a good girl, and I don’t have to deal with the obedience programming Hey Girl! stuck in my head either.
“If you want to balance my doing all the housework with your doing something else to contribute, go right ahead, but balance it with something that’s kind of husband-like. Please?”
Jenny looked at her and pulled her in for a hug. “Sure, honey. Being a husband is kind of new, I always wanted to be a wife!”
“Of course it is, and of course you did, and I know I’m imposing something awful, but still...”
Jenny hugged her new wife and shook her head slowly.
“Now,” Jenny said, “comes the hard part.”
“The hard part?” Beth asked as Jenny propped up the full sized reader on the table.
“The Mom call.”
“Oh! I’d better not. Dad will come right through the reader and kill me!”
Jenny giggled at the image. She stroked the back and then set it on the table. In a moment it cleared.
“Mom? It’s Jenny.”
The gasp on the other end was clearly audible. “What happened?”
“I’m at the university in Tenth City. Well, I’m in the apartment Student Services got for us.”
“Just a minute while I sit down! So tell me everything.”
Jenny laughed. “There isn’t that much to tell. Reliable took me as a manufacturing trainee, and then I got a late pick for college. So here I am. Beth and I are just moving in.”
“So you’re safe! Good!”
“Debbie will be frosted.”
“Do her good,” Sara answered. “She’s the worst of Swifty’s brood. Ester at least knows she doesn’t know everything.”
“True. I like Ester.”
“So do I. I hope she makes it. So what did Reliable have you doing?”
“I was in the ponygirl training process.”
“Training ponygirls?” Jenny could see her mother’s head tilt slightly to one side. “That’s something I’d never thought of for you.”
“Well, someone has to do it.”
“Too true. Maybe you could scare some sense into Debbie when you’re home for the holidays.”
“Scare Speedy? She doesn’t have the brains to be scared.”
“Too true,” her mother sighed. “Well, call again. I’ve got work to do.”
“Come in,” the voice said from the depths of the office.
Jenny walked in with a bit of trepidation. The woman behind the desk had been collared and wore the university’s staff uniform. At the short distance the legend on the top of her collar was clearly visible. She was a wife who had joined the workforce after her children had all graduated, which didn’t reduce her authority in the least. In fact, it enhanced it a bit.
She didn’t get up to greet her new advisee.
“Have a seat. You’re Jenny Jackson and I’m Mrs. Langston. I’m your adviser. All right so far?”
“It’s good when everything goes the way you expect. So your trip here gave you time to settle a bit. It says you were doing some kind of manufacturing assignment with Reliable Ponygirl and Engine Training? I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone who worked for them. What was that about? I’ve got a list of tasks, but they didn’t put it together.”
“Manufacturing ponygirls.” Jenny tried not to laugh at her advisor’s expression. “It’s so highly automated and standardized that it really is more manufacturing than training.”
“So you already know more about them than most of us?”
“Somewhat. I had to read and pass tests on a lot of background. I was in the second stage. Our job was to train them in the ponygirl functional brain pattern and make sure they couldn’t stray outside of it, do initial rein training and do the initial work on the proper way to use their muscles. The rest happened downstream.”
“That settles your work assignment then. I’m putting you with the local taxi service, unless you want something different?”
“Uh. That’ll be fine.”
“Good.” She turned and made an entry in her reader.
“Now to your classes. Except for your personality quirk, you fit the profile for a teacher fairly well. There are some other things you could do, and you might want to go in one of those directions once you get a feeling for what they’re all about. I suppose you’ve been told that you won’t be allowed to be a teacher?”
“It’s not quite that simple. You certainly won’t be allowed to deal directly with children. However there are a lot of positions that are teaching which aren’t concerned with children, and you could do quite well in assignments where you come in, get people up to speed on whatever the subject is, and then leave.
“You could also do well in one on one settings with, um, recalcitrant subjects.
“Anyway, your courses. You do five a quarter. There are three required and two electives. For most of our students we’d explore interests to select electives, but you don’t really get a choice. You’ll be taking Introductory Anthropology and Introductory Psychology.”
“Oh?” Jenny asked.
“There’s a reason. They’re both prerequisites for the courses you really need. I’m not going to sugar coat it. You’ve been diagnosed as a borderline sociopath. It’s possible for that to work out, and work out really well in the right circumstances. If it wasn’t possible, you’d be halfway through engine training.”
Jenny tried unsuccessfully to suppress a giggle.
“That is not funny, young lady!”
Jenny recovered. “I am halfway through engine training. Well, maybe a third of the way.”
“That’s one of the things Reliable does: I’ve been trained far enough to have spent a day and a half mounted as an engine. Once. Quite successfully: I looked at the monitor reports.”
Mrs. Langston shook her head in disbelief.
“They have their reasons. I know what being an engine or ponygirl is like from the inside, and it’s not at all scary. It’s also not me, and it’s not what I want to do with my life.”
“Which is, after all, the point I was trying to get across.” She paused to collect her thoughts.
“Borderline means that you can behave acceptably as long as you know what the rules are. You don’t have the innate sense of the boundaries the rest of us have, so you need to think about it, situation by situation.
“You’re moving out of childhood into adulthood, and the rules change. The course you need to take is Introduction to Contemporary Social Organization, but that requires Introductory Anthropology. CSO goes into a lot of detail about the fringes, why we allow girls to go wild, and why we allow a thriving market in off the record services. You need to know where the limits are, and you need to be able to keep yourself safely on the near side of the limits.”
She fixed her advisee with a basilisk stare. “Remember that crossing the limits is a quick trip to a lifetime peddling a generator.”
“The other course you need to take is Brain Organization For Therapists. That’s usually a graduate course for professional therapists, but you’ve got special permission to take it early. However, the faculty absolutely insists on your taking the introductory psychology course first.”
“I’d think the last thing they’d want me to be doing is conditioning someone.”
“Let’s look at that. There are legitimate uses, and there are, um, acceptable uses that are usually off the record. There are a lot of reasons why someone might want a personality tweak, or at least a discussion with someone knowledgeable that won’t show up in the health service dossier. People have a certain reluctance to admit that some part of their personality isn’t working; we’re not going to force them to go through the official health service.
“We allow a certain amount of off the record services, and we allow people to drop out if they want. The police do keep track, and if things go too far, they crack down, and they crack down hard.”
“I think I ran into one of those,” Jenny said. “When I arrived there was a girl named Carol in one of the training cages. She’d vanished a couple of months previously, and my supervisor said the police had picked her up. I never did know exactly what she’d done besides just be a wild girl.”
Mrs. Langston shook her head briefly. “Exactly. She may have gone over the line, or there may have been too many wild girls in the area. Those are the risks that a girl takes going wild. Your reaction to seeing her was?”
Jenny frowned. “I suppose interested. I knew her a bit before she vanished. My supervisor gave her to me for practice.”
“And that’s the point. Most people would feel bad in some way or other about effectively destroying a friend by training her to be a ponygirl. It’s a form of execution; what’s left not only isn’t the same person, it’s no more human than one of our remote ancestors, say erectus or afarensis. You don’t feel that. You can’t trust your feelings about whether what you’re doing to someone else is going to be acceptable. You have to reason it out.
“Your personality type indicates you will be playing on the fringes. That’s not because you like living dangerously, it’s because you don’t see the boundaries. They don’t make any sense to you. So you need a course in where the boundaries are. If you want to offer off the record services, the police aren’t going to object as long as you’re reasonably competent and don’t cross the outer boundary. Understand?”
“I see,” Jenny replied.
“For your sake I hope so.”
They’ve settled in, and Jenny has found out what her advisor thinks of her. Besides where her student work assignment is going to be. We’re going to get right to that 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.