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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.
There are seven stories in this series, which takes a young lady named Sally from her first attempts to scratch an itch she isn't able to ignore to becoming a full time career ponygirl, subject to the desires of her legal owner.
1. Trainee Ponygirl
2. Stable Discipline
3. Weekend Ponygirl
4. Show Ponygirl
5. Resident Ponygirl
6. Indentured Ponygirl
7. Academic Ponygirl
Now on to the story...
Life, Sally reflected as she drove along, could really take some strange turns. Moving was always a pain; she never could figure out how she managed to accumulate so much stuff, and winnowing it took literally forever. This time, though, was different. If it wasn’t clothing or vital records, it went. And even most of the clothing went. She had a dozen work outfits carefully packed in garment bags, with all the needed accessories, together with two evening gowns. She grinned about that. Paradoxical as it seemed, she might actually get to wear the things fairly regularly!
Informal day and evening wear occupied another couple of suitcases. And that was the sum total of the
She drove past the decrepit and mostly abandoned factories and warehouses to the end of the road, and turned into the lot, the smallest trailer she’d been able to lay hands on bouncing behind her. Twenty minutes later she had all of her remaining worldly possessions loaded on motorized dollies. She walked to the guard station, the dollies following her with robotic aplomb. The guard opened the gate for her, and she headed down the corridor to the changing room.
The changing room looked the same as it always had, a long makeup table and bench down one side, a shower area on one end and the columns of lockers on the other end. Her old locker had been in column B, with the rest of the transients. They’d assigned her a new one in column E and showed her how it worked. The permanent residents’ lockers were something else. They were ten foot wide closets, staggered so that a closet on one side faced a mirror wall on the other side of the wide bench in the middle. The wall wasn’t, of course, waste space. It was the back of a closet in the next corridor over. Staggering them this way had several benefits, among which was more space to change. The big benefit was that they had sliding security doors, each of which boldly proclaimed the ponygirl’s name. Nobody was going to get into her closet other than her and the staff, and for that they had a clever little one foot section where she put dirty clothes and they put cleaned clothes.
Eventually, she got everything arranged to her satisfaction, and stood back, hands on hips examining it. She nodded, brick red curls bouncing, and then grinned. “Close, sesame!” she intoned in what she hoped was a suitably
Of course, she thought, voice activation would be too much, or maybe not for this place. She’d actually closed the door by giving a command on her internal data connection, and she was quite gratified to see that it worked.
An hour later she’d returned the trailer and pulled her car into the assigned slot. This time when she came in, she used the returning ponygirl’s turnstile. As usual, it checked with her chastity and control shield, and turned the light green before she actually got to the device. She walked through without pausing and continued on to the changing room.
She opened her closet with a mental command, and then swiftly stripped out of her clothes, dropping them in her dirty clothing basket. She looked at herself in the mirror. Red hair, done in a mass of curls that bounced when she walked. It was the only style that worked for her. She’d inherited kinky hair from some ancestor or other, and the only treatments that straightened it were so strong that they ruined it for much of anything else. At least it was easy to take care of, and Myra had assured her that they would handle the perms she needed every couple of weeks.
A pretty undistinguished face, with one of the very few pairs of green eyes she had ever seen. Fairly small but firm breasts, but that was actually good for a working ponygirl. Large breasts bounced and started to sag fairly quickly. Narrow waist, wide hips. She’d lost several inches around her waist over the last year, thanks to the very tight corsets that were part of her tack.
The chastity and control shield gleamed between her thighs, completely concealing her sex. She hadn’t seen it in the close to half a year since she had the shield installed, other than when she removed the circular insert that allowed a male to use her for sex. She frowned at it, and then giggled softly. Win a few, lose a few. While it allowed both the stable and amusement park’s computers to control her, it also had a number of features she liked. The data channels had some interesting capabilities.
The big difference, though, was the way her body had acquired a layer of smooth muscle. It wasn’t bulky or bulgy, but it did set her apart from the many women who never managed to exercise regularly.
She took her tail out of the closet where it hung and inserted it into the slot that had been added to her tailbone. She gave it a couple of experimental swishes, managing to wrap it around her waist from both sides, and then flipped it up on her back so that the tip peeked over her shoulders. She liked her tail. The stunts she could do with it regularly got her an extra half point at shows.
Then she frowned in thought. Her closet didn’t contain her hoof boots. Myra had told her to simply close the door when she had finished undressing, and everything would be taken care of. She had, in fact, been a bit mysterious.
Sally shrugged. She sent the command on her internal data channel that closed the door, and watched it slide out of its hiding place, slowly removing sight of her outside wardrobe. It closed with soft, but final sounding click. Then she felt the commands from the stable computer start on her control channel.
She turned and walked out of the room and down a corridor as if it was something she had done many times before. Then she turned down another corridor, even though she had never been down this one before. It still felt completely natural. By now, she knew exactly what was happening. The stable computer had taken control of her movements. She was still slightly amazed that the result of its commands seemed exactly like she was doing it because she wanted to go wherever it sent her. She knew the mechanics, but the result was still perplexing.
As she walked along, she shifted into what she thought of as ponygirl mode. In this mode, many of her higher functions shut off. She was much more aware of everything around her, but she didn’t think about it. Stimuli occurred, and she reacted as she’d been trained, or however the whim happened to strike her at the time. Not thinking meant she never wondered about why she did something, which was quite helpful when the computer took over, as it did now.
After a few twists, she arrived at a room with a number of keyhole shaped openings on the floor. She squatted over one of them, and let go. After she emptied out, a jet of water came out of the hole and rinsed her off.
Then she trotted out another door into a room that was filled with a mechanical monstrosity. The computer had her trot past this machine and position herself with hands and feet planted on a small cart. As she positioned herself, a set of shackles snapped around her wrists and ankles, holding her in place.
The cart rolled in between another machine with a set of nozzles, and she found herself drenched with warm, soapy water. A moment later, a supersonic scrubber cleaned her skin with amazing efficiency. Then the cart rolled forward to another machine, where she was blow-dried with warm air. Then it rolled to another machine which rubbed her down with a light coat of massage oil and combed out her hair and tail.
The final machine was another monstrosity with more arms than seemed entirely reasonable. The cart released the shackle on each foot to allow her to lift it while the arms slid her hoof boots onto her limbs.
This set of hoof boots was slightly different from her previous set, although it was the same as the ones she had been using when Janey was taking her out to show. They came all the way up her legs to where they almost merged into her hips. They were covered with short horsehair that matched her hair and her tail, although the right one had a white stocking, and the left one had a black stocking. They were made of some kind of memory fabric that contracted to a tight fit when it sensed her body heat.
Once she had her front hoof boots on, the cart rolled out of the way, leaving the ponygirl on all four hooves. She trotted out of the booth and down another corridor to a set of corridors and stalls she hadn’t seen before.
This set of corridors had stalls on both sides; there was no tack in sight. The stalls didn’t have doors, nor did they have the somewhat eccentric toilets. As she trotted past, she saw that a number of stalls had ponygirls in them. Or at least she saw the ponygirl’s hindquarters, legs and tails as they stood on four hooves in the stalls.
Part way down the corridor, she turned into a vacant stall and stopped. It seemed to be no different from the first stall she had occupied. It was about three feet wide and five feet deep, with solid wood sides that were around four and a half feet tall.
The front of the stall had an alcove positioned a little bit over two feet off the floor. It was about two feet wide, a foot and a half high and a bit over a foot deep. It contained her water bowl and a gently curved plate with her food. It didn’t look, she thought, like permanent residents got a
Well, she thought to herself after eating her fill, it was time to find out if she had made a horrible mistake. She shifted to what she thought of as normal mode and then tried to stand up. She found she couldn’t; her body simply wouldn’t obey her intention.
Startled, she shifted her awareness to check the programming in her chastity and control shield. The stable’s section had a completely new in-stall routine. She looked it over and noticed something. She tried to back out of the stall, and found that blocked too. She snorted. Well, that explained the lack of a door, all right. It did look like she wasn’t going anywhere until the computer decided to move her.
It wasn’t, she thought, all that different from the stable she stayed at on the weekends she was being shown. That seemed to have the same degree of automation, and seemed to do the same things.
She grinned slightly to herself as she examined the programming. One thing she’d found out was that she had learned a great deal more about how the control shield worked, and what she could do with it, than most people who had one installed. The average ponygirl, she knew, would be completely unaware of the commands coming from the shield to her brain, and would only be able to examine the programming in her section of the shield, if that.
She knew the shield’s security core prevented her from changing any of the other sections, just like it prevented any of the other entities with programming in her shield from changing anything but their own section. However, it didn’t prevent her from intercepting the commands they generated. She normally didn’t do that, though. There was no profit in randomly irritating the people that she had willingly given control of her actions.
She then shifted her awareness to the data channels and gave a command that she had been told would log her onto the stable’s system. A few seconds later the stable’s main menu came up. It printed itself into her visual field, looking for all the world like a very old style terminal. It was slow enough that she could see the words paint themselves on the non-
One line said there was an administrative message waiting. She selected it. It said: “Do you want to work tonight? We could use you in the amusement park.”
She sent back an immediate “Yes”, and then brought up her schedule. It told her she had about a half hour before they would be ready for her. She chuckled. It wasn’t like she was going to refuse on any kind of regular basis. The payments from the amusement park took care of her stable fees, and the extra payments from the ‘special’ weeknight assignments more than took care of her fees to Excelsior and looked like they would provide spending money, training and show entry fees. Her day job provided a
She spent a few minutes looking at the rest of the menu, and found that it contained, among other entries, a chat facility for the resident ponygirls and the usual mail and web interface. She wondered briefly how that was going to work on what promised to be an excruciatingly slow connection.
Well, maybe they had the same setup as the other stable. Myra had hinted as much the first time they had discussed going full time. She looked at the beveled edge of the food alcove, and saw the two small holes that hid the video display. If she sat on her heels in the triangle position, her head was at about the right height and angle for the low powered lasers to draw directly into her eyes. She quickly checked and discovered that it had the same capabilities: all of the entertainment channels, a wide variety of games and courses, and a much better visual connection to the stable’s system.
She shut down the network connection and shifted back into ponygirl mode. A minute later, she settled to the straw on the floor of the stall with her legs folded up under her and began to doze lightly, letting the sensations of her recent meal digesting wash through her.
A few minutes later commands started coming in on the command channel that woke her up, got her to her feet and backed her out of her stall. She found herself making a quick stop in the latrine, and then going to the room with the machines with all the arms. This time the computer stopped her in one of the booths. The machines efficiently removed her hoof boots and tail, and placed her on one of the little platforms, limbs shackled to the platform.
She went though the wash, dry and comb, and wound up between the two machines that had put her hoof boots on the first time. This time, after putting her hoof boots and tail back on, they produced her waistband from somewhere, and proceeded to buckle and lace her into it. At the same time, another set produced her bridle and buckled it around her head, while a third set wrapped a shoulder harness around her shoulders and buckled it tightly to the corset. They finished up by placing little bells in her ears and on her breast rings. Then the arms withdrew and she found herself trotting down another of the maze of corridors that infested this place. Eventually, she got to the park, and then to a booth near the entrance marked “Assistance”.
“Oh, good,” the attendant said as she trotted up. “Here’s our ’girl now.” He pointed at a chariot that already contained a young lady, her leg up in a splint. He picked up the shafts and shortly had Flying Hooves harnessed to the chariot. He handed the girl the reins. She looked at them doubtfully. “How do I handle her?”
“You’ve never used reins?” the attendant asked her.
“No.”
“Maybe this would be better,” He rummaged in the back of the booth and found a joystick, which he mounted on the side, next to her right hand.
“Oh, good! Forward, back, right, left?”
“Back to stop; I wouldn’t suggest you trying to back her up without help!”
Flying Hooves snorted as she watched a burst of activity as the computer wrote another program into the amusement park’s section of her control shield.
The injured girl turned out to be named Mandy. She and her boyfriend had teamed up with another young couple for an evening in the adult park. Flying Hooves spent the evening pulling the chariot around from one attraction to the next as the chariot accumulated a number of sex toys.
When they finished, Mandy levered herself out of the chariot onto a pair of crutches and hobbled to the front to scratch her ponygirl behind the ears. Flying Hooves whinnied at her as she did it. Then Mandy fumbled a candy out of her bag, looked at it and asked: “May I give her a treat? That was a very nice ride!”
“Of course,” the surprised attendant said as he squatted to take the ponygirl’s bit out. Mandy bent over and held the candy out, and Flying Hooves stuck out her tongue to bring it into her mouth. Then she licked the startled girl’s hand and gave a delighted whinny before beginning to suck on the candy.
Mandy’s party walked away toward the exit as the attendant replaced the ponygirl’s bit. He looked around and decided that he didn’t need her at the moment, so he unhitched her from the chariot and keyed in the release code at his terminal. The amusement park’s
Eventually the night wound down, and they delivered the last load of patrons to the gate and delivered the tram to its holding area. The attendants unhitched them, and eight ponygirls trotted back to the stable area in micrometrically precise single file, and then lined up for their evening grooming.
As she might have expected, the line of patiently waiting ponygirls went through the latrine and then into the automated groomer. It left her with just her hoof boots and tail. Then she trotted back to her stall.
Saturday and Sunday were more of the same; she worked in the amusement park for most of the day, barely seeing her stall after waking up and before falling asleep.
Monday turned out to be different. The computer routed her through the latrine and the grooming machine, but instead of putting her hoof boots back on, it sent her trotting on two legs to the changing room, tail streaming behind her, and left her standing in front of her locker. Twenty minutes later she had dressed for the day and walked out through the guard station to her car.
That, she thought as she drove down the road with its abandoned factories and warehouses, was rather weird. It wasn’t so much the shifts in what she was doing at the park as the fact that they’d completely automated caring for the permanently resident ponygirls.
In fact, it seemed to be the same system that the convention centers used for the ponygirls that were being shown. She mused on it for a while, and came to the conclusion that it was probably a standard system. It made sense for this stable, but the convention center might not have been able to afford something that sophisticated unless it was a very standard system. Probably manufactured and installed by the same people that made Industrial Ponygirl Mush. She giggled as she drove to her day job.
Being turned into a robot was one of her secret fetishes. One of the reasons she’d found it easy to give up her boyfriend was that he either didn’t have the imagination or the inclination to dream up different and amusing ways to control her. Bringing him a beer at the press of a button got boring after a while.
That evening she caught herself thinking that she was coming home as she drove down the road to the stable. Well, she mused, it was nothing less than the truth. The stable was her home. She came in through the guard station and made her way to the changing room. After dropping her clothes into her dirty laundry
She shifted onto the chat circuits, and discovered that they were very much like an audio party line. She listened to the chatter for a while, and gradually build up a picture of a largish room with clusters of ponygirls at different locations talking about different things. It wasn’t, she knew, at all accurate. For one thing, the geometry didn’t seem to be all that rational, and it kept changing. For another, the computer seemed to be quite helpful in supplying the name and status of anyone she focused on. It even gave her identifying marks, stall assignments and other things that she wasn’t at all sure she should know.
She shifted to looking at the feed from her shield, and then laughed. It seemed like with all the work she’d done on improving her ability to use the control and data channels, she’d stumbled into an administrative channel. That didn’t seem to be something she should talk about, though.
There seemed to be several general topics. Several groups seemed to be having fun comparing the different grooms that had used them recently. Another set was just generally complaining. A third set seemed to entertain themselves discussing the amusement park and the various attractions that they participated in. Another set seemed to be interested in dissing everyone they weren’t talking to at the moment. She finally settled on a group that was discussing a play she had seen the previous week.
She joined in, and discovered that they, and several of the grooms, tended to go to various cultural events around the city as a group. She found that the amusement park owned most of them. A few of them were stable property, and the rest were, like her, independents that had taken up permanent residence in the stable.
“So Fly,” a pretty chestnut with a white stocking on her off front leg asked slyly, “can you give me a hint for how long it will be before you’re sold?”
“Huh?” Flying Hooves came back with.
“She wants an angle on the betting pool,” another redhead said, a bit amusedly. “Since you’re a new independent, everyone’s going to bet on that.”
“Independents,” a bay told her a bit
“Of course, Singing Stream will probably stay independent until she falls over,” another one put in.
“How’s that?”
“Who knows?” the comment came with the distinct sense of a shrug of mild bafflement. “Every time she tells the story, it changes.”
“Well, we do know some things,” the bay put in. “Her family is wealthy and is paying her stable fees. Beyond that, we know she isn’t here because she really wants to be a ponygirl. Her family gave her an ultimatum for some reason, and here she is. She goes to a lot of their gatherings as a ponygirl. I get the impression it’s not so much because they like ponygirls as that she makes a great example.”
“So? She pulls her share when she’s on a team.”
“So why would an independent sign an indenture?”
“Usually it’s financial,” another one put in. “Did you ever wonder why four weekends a month pays your stable fees?”
“I thought it was a good deal, but why?”
“That’s what the park has to pay the stable per month for their indentured ponygirls. The park also pays the protective association, expenses, health coverage and spending money, plus the
“So as long as you’ve got an outside job, you’re set. The thing is, your outside job is really helping finance your being here. If you lose that job, you either find another one, quit being a ponygirl, or sign an indenture.”
“It’s not always finances,” another one put in. “I just like working in the amusement park.”
“Most of us do. That’s why it’s got a very low turnover.”
“Oh, there’s always a few that ask to be sold.”
“And every once in a while someone makes an offer that’s too good to pass up.”
“They don’t have a lot of trouble with finding independents that will sign up with them when they’ve got a vacancy.”
“Too true,” another one put in. “There’s more independents that want to indenture with the park than they have vacancies.”
Then the talk switched back to the show they had been discussing. After a while they’d talked out and the group dissolved, the various members either dropping out of the chat entirely or joining other discussion groups.
Flying Hooves wandered through the virtual space of the chat circuit for a while, and then dropped it when she found nothing else interesting.
She looked at the exercise schedule, and found that there were several vacancies. She added herself to the list, and then went exploring for what else was available.
A few minutes later, commands started coming in on her command channel. Before she knew it, she had logged off of the system, shifted back into ponygirl mode and backed out of her stall.
The computer routed the startled ponygirl through the harnessing machine and then down a path to a section she had never seen. It turned out to be a room filled with what looked like a mad scientist’s dream of treadmills. The belt didn’t look too different from what she was used to, but the sides seemed to have robotic arms with, of all things, claws on the end.
The computer positioned her on one of them. The claws reached out and attached themselves to the buckles on her waistband and shoulder harness. Another set reached out and took control of her reins. The computer sent a final command, releasing her. A moment later, her reins shook and a voice said: “Trot.” She strained forward, pushing the belt against its resistance.
An hour later, the arms released her, and the computer guided the sweaty and deliciously tired ponygirl through the latrine and the grooming machine on the way to her stall.
That, she decided when she got back, was a real trip! About the only thing the machinery hadn’t done was fuck her. She let her mind wander a moment to what a fucking machine would be like, and then decided that the natural product might be superior, or at least different enough to warrant keeping around for a while.
She snorted and took a few bites out of the ponygirl mash before dropping to the straw covered floor, drawing her hooves under her and rolling over to sleep. Tomorrow promised to be another interesting day. Just before she dropped off, she drowsily wondered if she could manage to get an exercise session in before heading to her day job.
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