Raw Material

This work is copyright 2000-2004 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.

There are fifteen stories in the series entitled �Ponygirl Transformation.� At this point, I have no intention of writing additional stories in this series, although I thought that before Engineer burst on the scene. The stories are listed in order of the series timeline, although there are a few overlaps and several continuing characters. The first three set necessary background, the next three cover one formative event from three different viewpoints.

Acknowledgements. The setting and several of the characters are taken from a series of books by Sir Thomas (A pseudonym). �Adventures on the Hoof� and �Ponygirls, Inc� are both copyright by the Academy Club. Used by permission of Sir Thomas. These works are commercially available, and should not be on any web site on the internet, except for a short excerpt on Sir Jeff�s ponygirl web site.

Some of the characters and settings have been changed, either due to the different legal environment in the United States, my partially successful attempt to make the setting more consistent, and in one case a simple error of memory that got woven into the plot too deeply to back out by the time I discovered it.

In no case should you infer anything about the prior stories from this one. Sir Thomas has substantially different objectives for his stories.

There are a number of hidden references throughout to obscure (and some not so obscure) science fiction and fantasy stories. This is a game that some authors play. Should you care to look, have fun finding them.

Chapter 1. Selma

Selma was getting more and more depressed as her job hunt lengthened without result. It was the middle of the early 21st century economic contraction. Unemployment was high, and employers were getting pickier and pickier.

At 5�10 in her stocking feet, the lithe tomboy with close-cropped blond hair had an adequately curved, but not spectacular figure. She kept herself in shape, but was never going to land a job on looks alone. Not that she was bad looking. She wasn�t. But she wasn�t beautiful either. A few years earlier, and she would have had job offers coming out her ears. Now, however illegal the practice, jobs for women were going to the ones that could serve as office decorations, as well as do something useful to earn their paycheck. She could do the latter, but not the former.

She lived frugally and was current on her bills, but she had no cushion, and the unemployment checks would end in a couple of months. End of unemployment meant end of apartment, meant the hopeless and short life of the homeless, of whom there seemed to be more and more.

Marriage wasn�t a way out. She didn�t lack for boyfriends, but they were all in the same boat. Even the ones that were employed didn�t have enough income to support a non-working wife. She was more than willing to work, but marriage didn�t bring an automatic paycheck. It still took two paychecks to support a couple at the beginning of their career.

Her family wasn�t a way out either. Her father�s family was dead, and as for her mother�s, the less said about them the better. She�d rather be dead than accept their help. It was beginning to look like she�d find out shortly.

She cruised the Internet regularly, looking for leads. She had even considered the sex industry, hazardous as it was, but she simply didn�t fit the profile of the tiny blond and curvy sex toy, even if she could do something about her hair. One out of three didn�t make it.

Lifetime employment guaranteed. All needs furnished until the day you die. No taxes. No paperwork. No bureaucratic hassles. No office politics.

The successful candidate will be a 26yo or younger female, athletic, good looking, willing to sever all relationships with her current environment. If you are interested, email pgjobs @ coldmail.com

Must be a scam, she thought. At least, I can get a chuckle out of it. And I do fit the requirements. She sent a reply, and then forgot about it as she went on to the next scraping from the bottom of the barrel.

Chapter 2. Prescreening

Selma�s message popped up on Jim�s screen, followed by the Internet trace back to her home ISP. A moment later, her home address came up. The other screen cleared, showing her sitting at her desk, working on a laptop. He moved the viewpoint a bit. Blond, looked like she kept herself in shape. Definitely not overweight. He triggered the Autofit program. 5�10�. Classics were still in demand.

He marveled, not for the first time, how easy it all was. Alice was definitely a wizard. Then he chuckled at what he had called the chief (and only) Sorceress of Ponygirls, Inc.

He sent the response packet. Special equipment inserted it directly into her ISP�s email server. There was no way to trace its back trail, since it had no back trail to trace.

Chapter 3. First message.

A half hour later, Selma was still working. Her email program pinged. Incoming mail.

Lets see what got past the Spam filter this time, she mused. Bring up the email program. There was the header: LIFETIME EMPLOYMENT GUARANTEED - response to your inquiry.

Pull it up. There was an executable attachment. Oh, oh. This looks serious, or maybe seriously nasty.

Selma,

Thank you for your interest in our offer. We would prefer to continue this conversation by encrypted e-mail. In fact, we will only do so by encrypted e-mail. Further unencrypted responses to our server will be ignored.

The attachment is a convenience. It will install one of the several excellent, free email encryption programs on your system. If you choose not to use it, you can install any of the encryption packages yourself.

Sincerely,

Jim

Raw Material Analyst 1/c

She looked at the list of web sites. Interesting. If any of them were legit, she could always use an encryption package. And it sure beat looking at more sweepings from the bottom of the barrel.

Three hours later, she had selected a package, installed it, and sent a response. She checked her schedule for tomorrow. There were three employment agencies, and two leads that wouldn�t pan out. At least, it looked good in her job search log. They kept those unemployment checks coming.

The automatic watcher read her e-mail off of her computer. Meanwhile, the encrypted copy made its way to her ISP�s mail server, and then on to its next destination. It never arrived, although it seemed to. The technology that Alice and Pretty Lemon had worked out dealt with all of the details of getting things on and off the net without leaving traces. Or at least, without leaving any traces that anyone could follow up with.

She got up, and headed for bed. The automatic watcher noticed her getting up - the first significant change in posture for the last four hours. It started recording as she undressed, went to the bathroom, cleaned her teeth, put on a negligee, and slipped between the sheets. The recording went into the file for the next time a human looked at her.

Chapter 4. A real offer, at last.

Jim got into the office bright and early. He had six open files, and four second responses. One of them was Selma�s. He opened files on the four second responses, and sent the next standard message. From here, it would get interesting. Most of the second responses were met with outright, astonished, rejection.

Chapter 5. Morning at the apartment.

Selma bounced out of bed as her alarm went off. Then she did her usual morning routine. Hit the toilet, then fifteen minutes of aerobics. Put on a running outfit, and out the door. An hour later, she was back, exhilarated. Shower, eat a light breakfast, and dress in a housecoat. Ready to continue her futile job search.

Selma,

Thank you for your continued interest in our employment opportunity. Let us take a moment to tell you something of our business. Before we continue, we should warn you that this is a highly unusual business, and most people will not want to continue this conversation beyond this point.

To put it bluntly, we are in the slave trade. We provide highly specialized slaves to wealthy people with very specific interests.

If we make you an offer, and you accept it, you may expect to be sold at auction after successful completion of our training program. Our products are extremely high quality, and command correspondingly high prices. These high prices, in turn, virtually ensure that the slave will be kept in good condition, to provide years of service.

Sincerely

Jim.

Raw Materials Analyst, 1/c.

Selma stared at the message in disbelief. What the hell? There was no way she was going to continue this. She ought to report it to the authorities!

First, though, she had to do her daily tour of the employment offices and the unsuitable, unavailable jobs. Let�s draw a veil over that activity. It might be of interest to aficionados of Samuel Becket�s rather boring play, �Waiting For Godot.� It certainly isn�t of any interest to anyone else.

Eventually, her futile day drew to a close, and she returned home. Another session of aerobics, and she was ready to return to her equally futile search of the Internet.

She opened her e-mail, and there was Jim�s letter. She had forgotten to send it to the trash. Well, why not? It was actually the most fun she had had recently.

Dear Jim

Why should I consider this offer?

Sincerely

Selma

Puzzled.

Dear Selma

I really have no answer as to why you should do it. I know I wouldn�t. A perusal of our files indicates that reasons for becoming a piece of property are highly individual.

You might try this:

Open a file, and make two columns. In one column write statements about your life. In the other column, make statements about the corresponding facets of a slave�s life.

If you email it to me, I will endeavor to correct any misconceptions you may have about the nature of our product.

Sincerely

Jim

Raw Materials Analyst 1/c

Hum. It seemed that there was a real person there after all with a real answer and an interesting exercise. Time to start her futile job search for the day. She dropped a notebook in her purse as she headed out the door.

By the time she got back in the evening, she had smoke coming out of her ears. Looking at what she had written had brought her predicament into sharp focus. The only thing was; she couldn�t figure out whom to kill in order to get a job.

A look at her face in the mirror brought the absurdity of the situation home. She went from anger to laughter in a moment.

She went to her laptop, entered the notes she had made, and looked at them. Added a few items here and there. Well, why not.

Jim

Please see attachment. It makes absolutely no sense. If I am reading this right, a piece of property has more chance of lasting happiness than I do. Where am I missing the boat?

Sincerely,

Selma

Steamed material 1/c

She went to bed. The next day, after another day of trotting around, looking at unavailable jobs, there was an e-mail.

Selma,

Your responses indicate that you think we do harem sex slaves. We don�t. There are other services that provide these. I must warn you, however, that the life of a sex slave is usually pretty short. People who can afford the product usually have enough money that the sex slave doesn�t have enough to do to keep her occupied, and her mind focused on her duty, and the relationship deteriorates quickly. The aftermarket in sex slaves is quite small, and is mostly patronized by pimps and procurers, looking for prostitutes to add to their string or bordello.

We actually do a very specialized category called a �pony slave�, or �pony girl�. A properly trained pony girl acts, in most respects, like a pony. If her owner wants, she participates in dressage, racing or jumping competitions among aficionados.

I�ve attached a short video of some typical competition activities. If you would kindly send a recent picture, and some description of your exercise schedule, I can possibly make a more detailed comment.

Sincerely

Jim

Raw Materials Analyst 1/c

Jim

Thank you for the video. After I got over the shock of what you did to that poor girl, I have to admit that she moves beautifully. That dance routine was a stunning interpretation of the music. And done in restricted motion.

I�ve included a short video of myself doing my aerobics, since I suspect that is what you would be most interested in. I also do an hour run every day.

A pony girl. Huh. I suppose she sleeps in a stable, eats hay and gossips with the other ponies.

Selma

Raw Material 1/c

Selma,

Thanks for the video. You keep yourself in quite good shape, I see. That would speed up your training program, since not as much time would have to be spent on physical conditioning and endurance training.

Yes, Silence Is Golden is quite exceptional. There are very few ponies that can come up to her standard, and even fewer that are better.

We don�t keep our ponies in a stable. They sleep on a quite comfortable mat, in a form of bondage called a hog-tie. It initially takes some getting used to, but after a short time the pony sleeps quite comfortably.

They eat something we call mash. It�s actually a very well balanced mixture of foods, vitamins and minerals that can keep the active pony in good health indefinitely. It tastes like a gourmet ice cream. In fact, most of the training staff eats it occasionally. It�s much healthier than the typical machine junk food snacks.

Ponies are trained not to talk. It�s simply not allowed. We are quite strict about that. The typical pony loses all desire to talk fairly early in the training course. You should also be aware that, based on current market statistics, about 86% of our product goes to owners whose staff speaks a different language than you do.

Since you are the runner type, I�ve included a short video of a running competition.

Jim

Raw Materials Analyst 1/c

Not to talk? Yeeech! But on the other hand, how many meaningful conversations had she had lately? Her current most interesting conversation was with a recruiter for a ponygirl herd! Have to think about this.

Jim

I�m not sure whether to say that the race in that video was obscene, beautiful, or just weird. Who were those sulky drivers? I�ve never seen such small people. Did you contract with a tribe of leprechauns?

About the sleep. It�s just as well; I�m allergic to hay. Is mash all that they eat? That could get monotonous. Not talking? I�m not sure I could take it.

Which brings up an interesting point? If she sleeps in bondage, what do you do with her during the day when you aren�t using her?

How do you do the training? All the ponies I�ve seen in the pictures you sent act like ponies, not like normal girls. Are there breaks? How much is classroom, how much is hands on, or should I say, hoofs on?

Selma

Really curious, now

Selma,

They are small, aren�t they? They are really reclusive, and are the basis of the leprechaun legends. They are absolutely the best trainers around. I suspect that they stick around us because they�re getting their own back after all these years. We certainly haven�t been kind to them. Revenge must be sweet. They get to ride the humans like horses.

Yes, mash is all they eat. We vary the flavor, but it does get monotonous. Hay would be just as monotonous, and wouldn�t taste nearly as good.

You will spend essentially all of your time in some form of bondage, except for the morning shower and grooming. When you are not actively being worked, you will be mounted on what we call a display stand. I�m including a video of a couple of our ponies on their stands.

Our training methods are proprietary. You will become a pony, and be treated as a pony, right from day one. We will start breaking you immediately. There is no point in delaying it. You will not like the process of being broken to obedience. You will, however, have no choice about it, and you will be broken. Many of our female trainers go through it as part of their preparation for pony training. They don�t like it. However, it is quite effective.

Jim

Raw Materials Analyst 1/c

Jim,

They look cute on that display stand. Those puppy paws are just too much. But why are their heads tilted back? I�d think they�d be bored out of their minds - if any. Of course, they were out of their minds to sign up, so it probably makes no difference.

Selma

Curiouser and Curiouser

Selma

You�re getting into interesting questions. Their heads are tilted back because their collars are shaped to force that posture. And the main reason is that it makes them look cute. Another one is that it makes them arch their backs, which brings their breasts forward. Most men find the effect erotic.

Another is that it puts their nose between their eyes. That makes their vision somewhat more like a horse�s. Pony�s eyes are on the sides of the head; they don�t have binocular vision because the fields of vision only overlap a little bit in the front.

Also, it�s the best angle for the head while being ridden. Since the trunk is tilted when under a saddle, the additional tilt of the head lets them look forward.

No, they aren�t bored. We don�t permit it. A bored pony gets into trouble. Seriously, have you ever seen a bored pony? When they�re on the stand, they are trained to stay alert and pay attention to the most interesting stimulus they can see. If there really isn�t any, they doze.

I thoroughly agree; they were out of their minds to sign up. But they did.

Jim

Raw Materials Analyst 1/c

Jim,

One thing still puzzles me. Why are you telling me all of this? I would think that it would drive applicants away. I�m surprised you just don�t kidnap people off the street?

Selma

Puzzled.

Selma,

It�s called informed consent. Our boss has a real bug about that. You�d be surprised at how many go through with it. There are a lot of people who think long-term bondage is exactly what they want. On the other hand, I don�t think any amount of informed consent would cover what we do to initially break a pony.

We used to kidnap girls right off the street. We still do on occasion, but we make most of our raw material requirements from volunteers.

We like what we see. We think you would train up real nice, and net us a good profit at auction. We�ll extend a formal offer, with appropriate paperwork, whenever you are ready.

Jim

Raw Materials Analyst 1/c

Jim

Thanks for clearing that up. If I accept the job offer, where would I go to begin?

Selma

Raw Material.

Selma,

We will tell you when and where to report at the time.

Our evaluation committee has met, and agrees that you would be good raw material for our program. Consider this an offer to be included, and to become a pony slave.

I�ve attached an acceptance form. If you accept, you may or may not be able to back out. That depends on circumstances. You will definitely not be able to back out once you are physically in our possession.

If you want to back out after acceptance, please e-mail attachment 2, marked �decline�.

If you want to accept, please digitally sign and email attachment 1.

Sincerely,

Jim

Raw Materials Analyst 1/c

99-YEAR TRANSFERABLE INDENTURE

I, Selma Murchison (hereinafter known as human livestock), do hereby indenture myself to Ponygirls, Inc. (hereinafter known as owner), for a term of 99 years. Owner�s interest may be transferred to any other party, at any time, without restriction.

The standard definition of the class of human livestock called a ponygirl, as defined by the International Ponygirl Consortium, is attached by reference. Owner will break the livestock to obedience, and will train it to the specifications referenced above.

The livestock agrees to accept the training, and understands that any attempt at disobedience will be trained out.

Livestock certifies that adequate information was given to constitute informed consent.

[Signed]

Chapter 6. The capture.

�That was amusing�, thought Selma. �Wouldn�t it be rich if someplace like Ponygirls, Inc really existed? Oh, well, off to bed. Another three employment agencies and two failed leads tomorrow.�

The next day dawned crisp and clear. Selma did her aerobics, and did her run. Then she headed back to her apartment to begin the long series of futile job interviews.

Last stop for the day. Try to look interested. You know you won�t be hired. They know they won�t hire you. They know you know. You know they know. STOP THAT!

She took a deep breath, and opened the door. Stornath Engineering. Never heard of them before the unemployment office gave her the lead. They had an opening for a file clerk.

The girl at the desk was a quite decorative, possibly useful honey blonde. Exactly the type you wanted at the front desk. She stated her purpose. The honey blonde pulled out a form, and handed it to her. She pointed at an office across the hall, and said to use it to fill out the application. Selma walked toward the office as a couple of men came down the corridor, deep in conversation with each other. As she reached to open the door, she saw the name printed on it, in neat little letters. Ponygirls, Inc. She froze for a moment. She never felt the stunner.

Terry and Mike grabbed her. Time was essential now. She had to be mostly packed before she recovered from the stun.

They carried her into the office, and laid her out on the desk. First things first. A blindfold and a gag went on her head. They put a belt around her waist. This was leather, about two inches high, and locked in front. There were a number of rings attached.

Leather cuffs went around her wrists. They pulled her hands behind her, and padlocked the cuffs to the belt. Then they put cuffs on her ankles. They took off her shoes, and then bent her feet up behind her back. Her ankle cuffs were now hooked to a short steel rod that attached to her belt. She was hogtied.

They lifted her into the transport box. This was heavily padded to avoid any damage in shipment. She struggled a moment as she started to come around. Terry and Mike worked quickly, attaching her to a webbing of restraints. They would keep her from moving around and possibly hurting herself. Keeping her quiet used to be one of the objectives, but it was now secondary.

Jill came into the room, and picked a curious contraption off the shelf. She lifted the girl�s head, and inserted it into her nostrils. Then she quickly attached hoses from a pair of oxygen bottles, and a container of sleepy gas. The gadget began to hum quietly to itself. She attached a final hose to a fitting on the inside of the box that led to the outside air.

Jill put her hand under the girl�s rib cage. She was breathing normally. If she stopped breathing, the gadget would take over, forcing air into her lungs, and then exhausting it. Jill attached a final hose to a fitting in the front of her gag. This hose ran to a receptacle for saliva. It was no part of their plan that they drown her from being kept gagged too long without attention.

Jill checked Terry and Mike. All done. She swung the lid over, and padlocked it. Then she pulled a sticker from her clipboard, and pasted it on the box next to the padlock. Selma was ready for shipment.

Terry and Mike left the room. Jill stayed behind to watch. After a moment, the box seemed to shift somehow, like it had a mind. And it couldn�t decide whether it was here or there. The feeling grew, and then suddenly the box was no longer here. It was definitely there. The table where the box had rested was empty.

�As many times as I see that, it still seems unreal. I mean, how can a box be somewhere, and somewhere else at the same time? It isn�t possible, but I keep seeing it.�

�Well, I�m glad it�s you and not me. The one and only time I saw that, I went into hysterics. They had to stun me to quiet me down, and Alice had to give me some posthypnotic suggestions. I�ll just stay out of its way, thank you.�

�Me, too. It just isn�t natural. It�s better than the old method, so I�ll put up with it, but don�t ask me to watch. Gives me the willies.�

The procurement team cleaned up behind themselves, and left. Tomorrow the builders would begin remodeling the office for a new company. It had no connection with anything that had just happened.

Chapter 7. Orientation.

I came to lying on my face. All kinds of different sensations. Tightness around my waist. Bands around my head. Hands and feet folded up behind me. No slack there. I felt several pairs of hands doing things to me. Too many sensations, too much going on to make the pieces fit.

Then I felt something shoved up my nose. Panic. Try to breath, girl. Everything began to drift away into a delicious lassitude. Nothing mattered any more. I heard a dull thud above me. An image of that door drifted through my mind. Ponygirls, Inc. Would there be ponyboys?

It seemed weird outside for a moment. Then the weirdness went away. Nice, safe box.

There were four people in the ready room. The operator on the orientation team was a tall brunette named Sandra. Her two partners, Brent and Ted, were there mostly for muscle when she needed it. They were waiting for the next piece of raw material to arrive. The fourth person, Dora, was Sandy�s daughter. Dora was 18, and it was time she began learning how to train ponies. She was a lobo-ra, one of the small people Selma had seen in the video.

The phone rang. Brent picked it up. He listened briefly. �OK team. It�s arrived.� The team continued lounging around the table.

Dora looked at her glass, and then took another mouthful. Mmmm. Being able to drink mash was a real treat. Being the daughter of a ponygirl trainer, she had heard of it all her life, but her mother had never brought any home. It was rich, however. She would have to take her time.

�Honey, she�s only been in her box for a half hour, max. A couple of years ago, she would have been in that box for ten to twenty hours before delivery. We didn�t hurry, but we made time march then. We don�t have to hurry. She�ll still be out of her box and on her stand in less than an hour since they stunned her.�

Ted said: �No we shouldn�t. Really. You may be one of the ones that can watch a teleport without having hysterics. The rest of us can�t. Being here in the ready room while they deliver her is actually more efficient. If we were waiting in the orientation room, they would have to deliver her to the warehouse, and then bring the box over by forklift. When we get a wave of arrivals, they do just that. But for singletons, it�s much easier to just be out of the room, and let them deliver her to us.�

�Let�s go.� Everybody got up and went. Dora reached up and put her glass in the sink.

They trooped into the orientation room. Sandy lifted her daughter onto a table at the side of the room.

�You can see everything from there, honey. You�ll be out of the way; we don�t use that table unless we are processing several at once.�

Ted and Brent moved over to unlock the box. Sandy checked the manifest, and looked at the items neatly laid out on the table, in the order she would be using them. Everything was there. Ted and Brent began to unhook Selma from her webbing. Sandy moved over to remove the breathing apparatus. This was a critical point. If she had trouble breathing, they would have to move fast. She wouldn�t have any trouble, however. The red light was off. That meant she was breathing under her own power. If the red light had been on, the clever little box would have been pushing air into her lungs, and sucking it out.

The new pony continued to breathe normally when Sandy unhooked the tube from her nose. In a few breaths, the sleepy gas began to leave her bloodstream. She would be awake in a couple of minutes. They continued to unhook the straps. Finally, they were done. She was loose in the box.

Brent and Ted picked her up, swung her upright and carried her over to the stand. Then the set her down on her knees as Sandy guided the rings in the back of her belt over the pole in the middle. Sandy unhooked the rod holding her feet to the belt, and then Ted and Brent grabbed an ankle each, brought them back and attached them to the platform with short chains. The newest pony was now secured to her display platform. She wasn�t going anywhere, at least under her own power.

Sandy moved in front of the girl, and removed her blindfold. This was the moment of truth. A pair of wary blue eyes looked out at her. Sandy patted her on the arm, and said �You�re doing fine, honey.�

�Yes, we do. You were told we don�t waste any time. Are you thirsty? Do you want some water?�

Sandy got a glass of water, and let Selma suck it up through a straw. She drank about half of it, and then stopped.

Selma nodded. �You�re going to turn me into a ponygirl?� She looked like she was about to cry.

�We�ve got a few things to do here,� she said in a more businesslike tone. �Most of them are going to hurt. Its all part of the procedure, all of our new ponies go through it. OK?�

Sandy unhooked a long rod with a handle from her belt. �Can you guess what this is?�

�Good girl. Now, I�m going to hurt you with it. That�s so you will know what it feels like.�

�Don�t be afraid. We use this so you will learn what to do, and what not to do. You don�t need to fear it. We won�t use it on you without a reason.�

�It�s supposed to. You need to know what it feels like. Now, this is level two.� She reset the prod, and touched her thigh. Selma tilted back her head and screamed. She began to shake.

Sandy shut off the prod, and hooked it back on her belt. Then she wrapped her arm around Selma and held her for a moment. �There, there, it�s all right. You�re doing well.�

�You were a good girl to take it like that. Now, I�m going to give you an option. You need to be gagged. You can be gagged now, or you can be gagged in a few minutes, as the last step of prepping you. This is a bit of a luxury. After I gag you, you won�t be allowed to speak ever again. Some of the next things I do to you will hurt. If you promise not to make a fuss, we can talk while I finish. If you do make a fuss, I will zap you on level two before I gag you. Your choice.�

Selma looked shocked. �Honey, livestock doesn�t wear clothes. You know that.�

She picked up a device, and showed it to Selma. �This is a dressmaker�s power sheer. Hold still so I don�t knick you.�

For some reason, this struck Selma as excruciatingly funny. She howled with laughter. Sandy settled her down with a quick hug, and a pat on the shoulder. Selma took a long, shuddering breath and let it out. �I needed that.�

She tugged the top of her skirt and pantyhose from under the leather belt. Then she turned on the sheers. She started at the bottom, and cut the pantyhose around the ankle cuffs. The bottom came off of the foot, soon to be a hoof, just fine. Then she ran the sheers up Selma�s leg, taking her skirt and panties when she came to them. She did the same on the other foot, and Selma was now completely nude below the waist.

She took the blouse out from under the belt, and removed it, and her bra, in four neat cuts. Two up the sides, and two across the shoulders.

�Jewelry next, dear.� She held up a pair of metal clippers. Shortly, her necklace and charm bracelet were no more.

�Hold still while I take out your earrings, please.� Selma tried to hold still while Sandy removed two pairs of earrings from her ears. Sandy tossed them in the trash, with the rest of the clothing.

�Now, this next thing is going to hurt. I�m going to put your ID disks in your ears.�

�Well, yes. All well dressed livestock wear ID tags. These have numbers issued by the consortium. Ponygirls have theirs in their ears. They look cute.�

�Well, of course we are. We�ve been doing this for years. Now, this stuff is antiseptic. I smear some on your ears, so.�

�This next is going to hurt like hell. I�m going to punch a hole in each ear, up by the cartilage. This is a bit higher than regular earrings, but then, these aren�t fashion items.�

She took the next item off the table, and showed it to the new pony. �This is the punch.�

She held the punch up to the left ear, positioned it, and squeezed the handle. Selma drew a deep breath through clenched teeth. The punch drove a starter hole, and then followed it with a larger diameter rod that left a hole a full sixteenth of an inch in diameter.

Sandy held up a little disk and a hollow rod. �Now, this is one of your ID disks. We put the shaft in it, like so, and we put it in your ear, like so. Then we take this back plate and put it on the other side of the shaft, like so. Finally, we use this tool to crimp it in place.�

�Now, that wasn�t so bad, was it? You took that really well. I�m proud of you. Now for the other ear.�

Sandy did the other ear. Selma drew another ragged breath as the punch clamped down.

�All done with the tags. Those posts are hollow for a reason. We can put earrings in them. Or bells. I�m going to put a pair of little pearl earrings in the disks to make you look nice.� She held up a pair of earrings, and then put them in the center of the ID disks.

�Almost done. Just a couple more things. I�m going to pierce your breasts, and put rings in them. This will hurt less than you think; I�m going to use a topical anesthetic.�

Selma looked down as Sandy spread a blue paste over her nipples, and then rubbed it in with a swab. The area went numb. Sandy took out another tool. �This is a pattern, and a piercing needle. We put the pattern over your breast, like so, and then push the needle in, like so. Now, we follow it with a bar, like so. And now, the rest of the ring fits here, and we do a pressure weld, like so. That looks good, if I do say so.�

�Now, for the other breast.� She worked for a minute, and the other breast was ringed just like the first. �You�ve been such a cooperative little darling; I�m going to let you look at yourself in a mirror. First, let�s just hang a couple of bells on those rings.�

She picked up a couple of little open bells, and clipped them to the rings. Then she wheeled the stand over to a full-length mirror on one wall. �Well, how do you like you?�

Selma: I looked at myself in the mirror. I saw a naked girl on her knees, with a pole showing between her legs. Her arms were pulled behind her. She was wearing a leather belt. I had to say, the rings and bells in her nipples looked cute. There was a flash of silver from her ears.

�There�s something missing. The girls in the pictures had their heads tilted back.�

�You�re an observant little filly. We�ll take care of that right now.� She walked over to the equipment table, and picked up the harness and ball gag. �Your talk time is over. Open wide.�

Selma�s eyes opened wide as she stared at the red ball. Then she opened her mouth. �Good girl. I�m so proud of you.� Sandy popped the ball into her mouth, and then pulled the straps tight. She stepped back to examine her handwork. Her handiwork looked back with big blue eyes. They looked appealing over the red of the ball gag in her mouth. That look would bring her price up substantially, if they could keep it through training.

�One last thing.� She picked up the headrest, and bolted it to the top of the pole in the stand. �Tilt your head back onto the rest.� Selma tilted her head, and Sandra secured the harness to the headrest with another bolt. �All done. You were a pleasure to work on.�

Sandy picked up a blanket, threw it over Selma, and wheeled the stand out the door. The rest of the crew followed.

�Well, ok, but... You�ll have to do an extra exercise session tonight, or else skip desert.�

�Just a half glass. You probably won�t be able to drink any more. It really is rich.�

�Mom, I�ve been wondering. Why did you tell that pony that she would never be able to talk? I know I�ve heard both Rocky and BeLively talk while we were grooming them.�

�Well, Rocky is owned by a community member, and BeLively is a community trainee. The rules are that they have to be kept in shape to talk. For Rocky, it�s in case her owner wants to use her for something else, like a French maid. In BeLively�s case, it�s to make it a bit easier to come out at the end of her two years. But this pony will be auctioned off, and it�s really her owner�s call. Remember that ponies don�t have choices. Never tell one something that might happen. Only tell them something that will definitely happen. Or better yet, don�t tell them at all, until it happens. That will keep them on track with being a pony.�

Down the hall, a lobo-ra rode her ponygirl up to the stand and hitched it up. The ponygirl pulled it away, as Selma listened to the Clip - Clop of horseshoes on the stone corridors.

Chapter 8. Planning Session

�Tom,� Jenny said, �good work on your pony in cell 314. She was sold early, so the cell is available. There should be a new girl coming from orientation shortly. You know the drill; check to make sure everything has been delivered. Good luck on this one.�

�Good luck?� Tom was puzzled. �Why are we getting one now? The regular intake isn�t for a couple more weeks.�

�She�s from the new Internet recruiting program. She knows she�s going to become a pony slave, and agreed to it. I�m not certain how that will affect the program.�

�Shouldn�t make that much difference. Whatever she expected, she won�t have expected this, so she should go through the usual stages. Community trainees know what to expect, and it doesn�t affect things. I�ll just roll with it.�

�I expect you�re right,� Jenny shuddered delicately. Her two years as a community trainee hadn�t been enjoyable.

Training team 31 left the ready room to begin their day�s work training their ponygirls.

Chapter 9. First Lessons

Dana pulled Foggy Morn around the corner into the row of cells, paying particular attention to guiding her wide. This was the first time she had ridden a ponygirl while the �girl was pulling something, and she was still getting used to the maneuvers required. Foggy Morn was still getting used to them as well; being ridden and pulling at the same time was confusing her slightly. All things considered, Dana thought she was adapting quite well.

Tom opened the door to cell 314, and folded it back so that the corridor was clear. Dana studied the approach for a moment, and then expertly guided Foggy Morn along the invisible line she had drawn in her mind�s eye. Foggy hesitated a moment; she knew 314 wasn�t her cell. Then she followed Dana�s expert manipulation of her reins, her knee signals and weight shifts, and pulled the covered platform with the new ponygirl who had been Selma into the cell.

Tom studied the hitch for a moment, and then unhooked it at both ends. �Hey, Dana, where do you want this?�

�Hang it on Foggy�s wall next to the saddle. I may use it again during the intake week.�

CLANG! Tom closed the door to cell 314 as he followed Dana and Foggy to her cell. �Sit,� Dana commanded. Foggy sat on her heels as Dana swung out of the saddle. �Up.� Foggy came back up to a stand, and Tom unbuckled the saddle and saddle pad and hung them on the wall.

�To the stand.� Foggy marched over to her display stand, and positioned herself so that she was precisely in front of the pole. Tom took hold of the rings on the back of her bustier. �Down.� Foggy brought herself down to a squat as Tom guided the rings onto the pole. �Kneel.� Foggy brought her legs back so she was kneeling. Tom clipped her ankles to the back of the stand, and then bolted the headrest to the top. Foggy gratefully let her head slump back onto the rest.

He then took out her bit. �Open wide.� She opened her mouth wide, and he popped the ball gag into it, and fastened it to her bridle.

�I should certainly hope so,� Tom said. �It�s about time she got her new owner.�

The door to cell 314 opened silently on well oiled hinges. Tom walked to the front of the covered object in the center of the cell as Jeff stood off to the side. Lucy pulled the cell door closed with a CLANG, and walked behind the stand with a definite tap, tap of her five-inch heels. While she could walk silently if she chose, noise at this point was a calculated part of the procedure. The new ponygirl should be tracking Lucy, and not have any idea that the two men existed - yet. Lucy grabbed the blanket, and pulled it off with a flourish.

Tom and the girl formerly known as Selma stared at each other in shocked recognition. Or rather, it would have been shocked recognition if either of them had ever seen each other before, which they hadn�t. The instant passed, but Tom remained looking into the new girl�s eyes. �Hey Tom,� Jeff drawled, �You�re supposed to be training her, not memorizing her.�

�Pony, I�m your primary trainer.� He looked at the other two trainers. �Let�s get her boots on first.� Each one grabbed hold of a leg and unclipped the restraints. Although the pony boots were open down the back, it took some work to get her feet into them. Once they were settled, they zipped the boots up to mid-thigh, and then laced them up on top of the zipper.

Lucy unclipped her bridle from the headrest, and then dismounted the rest. Then she and Jeff grabbed the girl, hoisted her free of the pole and set her down on her feet with a definite thump as the horseshoes attached to the soles hit the solid stone floor of the cell.

Tom took his prod off his belt and flipped it in his hand a couple of times. �You remember this from orientation, right, pony?� he asked.

�So, let�s start training you in your first pony behavior. Have you ever seen those circus acts where someone asks a horse questions, and it taps its hoof for yes or no?�

�Did I just hear you try to talk?� he said as he flipped the prod back into his hand.

He kept it up a few more times, and then started asking simple yes - no questions. After a while, it became obvious that she was tapping twice for yes, and three times for no. In the middle of this, she quit nodding and shaking her head.

�Good girl,� he exclaimed happily. �You�ve learned your first pony behavior perfectly!� He reached over and took out her gag. �How do you like that?�

He held out a sugar cube in front of her. She stared at it a moment, and then stuck out her tongue to take it from his fingers. She balanced it momentarily, and then swallowed it.

�Good girl. Open wide.� She looked at the gag. Her mouth stayed stubbornly shut.

�You were a real good girl up until that last little bit of resistance. Turn around. See that chair?�

She walked over and looked at it curiously. Up close, it looked like a wooden toilet, complete with bowl and water. She�d never seen a toilet with arms, however. Or seen one with legs, for that matter. There was a device sticking out of the front. She turned around and sat.

Jeff and Lucy moved up on either side. First, they tied her legs to the chair legs, leaving enough slack to keep the blood flowing, but not enough for her to move her legs. Then they unclipped her hands from behind her, and tied them to the chair arms. They took off the belt and strapped her torso to the back of the chair. When they were done, they left.

While they did this, Tom attached a pair of reins from her bridle to hooks on the back wall, leaving about an inch of slack.

�Next thing is to feed you.� He took a device that looked like a funnel with a horizontal tail from a shelf. �This is called the funnel. It goes in here.� He stuck the tail into a hole in her ball gag, and then strapped the upper part of the funnel to rings on her bridle. Her eyes almost crossed as she looked at it.

He took a bottle of white goop from the shelf. �This is called mash. It�s a carefully compounded mixture of everything a ponygirl needs to stay healthy for years. It�s kind of bland, but the staff changes the taste regularly. We use it for snacks when we�re too busy to eat.�

He put it back, and picked up another bottle of brown goop. �Now, this is the same stuff, except that it tastes truly awful. In fact, it tastes as bad as we can make it. It�s the punishment for talking. You talk; you get fed this stuff. We call it slop.

�I didn�t really ignore your little break earlier. You were warned in orientation about talking, so you get to find out what slop tastes like.� He poured an ounce or so into the funnel, and then pushed the piston at the bottom, forcing it into her mouth. She went rigid as the evil taste overwhelmed her senses for a moment, eyes wide and staring.

�Well, you�re not supposed to.� She swallowed frantically. He pushed the piston again. �Let�s get all of it out and into you. She swallowed again, tears in her eyes.

�The taste doesn�t wash out with saliva. The only thing that will cut it is mash.� He filled the funnel with mash, and then pushed the piston again a couple of times. She relaxed. �Wash it around, and then swallow. Tastes good, doesn�t it?�

�You�ve got fifteen minutes to finish your mash. There�s a trick to sucking it down without my having to push it into your mouth. You�ll get the hang of it eventually.� He pushed the door switch as he walked out without a backward glance. The door rose gracefully from the floor, allowing Selma to see herself sitting naked and bound in a chair, with a funnel stuck on her face.

The door sank into the floor, disclosing a nude, bound girl with an empty funnel attached to her face. �You finished it all. Good girl.� Tom poured a couple of ounces of water into the funnel. �Just wash it down, now. That�s a good pony.�

She finished sucking down the water, and looked at him expectantly. He removed the funnel and put it aside.

�You�re not going to like what happens next. This isn�t really a punishment, even though you rebelled a bit back there. This first treatment is to soften you up a bit, give you some motivation for going with the program. After this first treatment, we use this as the punishment for rebellion. You�ll be here for eighty hours. If you try to sleep, you�ll get a shock. Like this.�

He turned a switch on the wall, and a display lit showing 80:00 in big, red letters. He shoved her head forward. OUCH! She flinched. He swung a small stop behind her head and checked the slack on the reins. Good, there was just about an inch before the shock triggered.

�You may not be here for eighty hours. I�ll let you out when I think you�re ready to cooperate fully. Goodbye until then.�

He walked out, and the door rose out of the floor, leaving a ponygirl staring at her image in the mirror on the back of the door. She could see the readout in the corner of her eye. It said 79:59. Then after a while, it changed to 79:58. It was going to be a long time.

Chapter 10. Discussion

Tom stood back from the trotting booth, admiring his favorite novice ponygirl. She was shaping up nicely. She stood placidly in the booth, waiting for it to signal her to begin her exercise regime.

She held her head tilted back, looking at the mirror and indicators set in the wall in front of her, above the level of her head. The top straps of her black leather bridle crossed just above and between her eyes; one strap going vertically over the top of her head, the other strap going all the way around and meeting the first strap in the back. From the juncture, a pair of straps came down, one on each side of her nose, to rings on each side of her mouth. Straps led from each ring under her chin and around the back of her head, where they attached to the strap coming down from her crown.

The two rings also held a bit fixed between her teeth, and a pair of reins that ran behind her to fastenings in the back wall of the trotting booth. Straps ran up from the rings, beside her eyes, over the horizontal strap and crossed at the crown of her head. These straps held a pair of leather blinders in place, effectively insuring that she couldn�t see out of the side of the trotting booth.

He frowned slightly as he looked at her cropped blond hair. It had grown out a bit in the last two weeks, and was threatening to become a tangled mess. None of the training team had been able to do anything with it during grooming. Something was going to have to be done, since long hair was definitely a sales point. Even if she was the best racer in the world, not having thick, waist length hair would lose her enough conformation points to make her non-competitive.

Her black leather collar fit her neck snugly, but not tightly. It was much higher in front than in back, which was the entire reason she held her head back at that angle. He really didn�t think it did much for her in this posture, but it certainly added to her attractiveness when she was on her stand.

Her black leather bustier pulled her waist in to a classic hourglass shape. The bustier rode just above her hips and below her breasts, defining the area in bold relief. Straps from the sides of the booth buckled to the sides of the garment, and held her stationary in the device. She was beginning to adapt to having to breathe with her chest rather than her abdomen.

Her arms were encased in shoulder length black leather gloves. The wrists were attached to the shoulders, and her elbows were clipped to rings on the bustier. The gloves, with their encased hands, came out at right angles to the wrist. They were called puppy paws, and they were the essence of cute when she was on her stand.

Although he couldn�t see it from his angle, he knew her lower legs were encased in high-heeled pony boots that ended in horseshoes on the front part, and had five-inch stiletto heels on the back. He had occasionally wondered if the heels were really necessary; she certainly didn�t seem to depend on them at all when she was running.

Her tail came out from behind her at a jaunty angle. He wished, not for the first time, that it was a real tail.

Well, he thought. Enough woolgathering. Time to start the session. He pressed �start� on his remote, and watched the booth twitch her reins as the speakers said, �Giddap, pony.�

She whinnied and moved smoothly into a march step, forelegs coming up precisely horizontal, lower legs held precisely vertical through the entire maneuver. The position indicators showed a clear green; she was exactly on step. After a minute, the machine shook the reins again and said: �trot.� She whinnied and moved into the new gait without missing a beat.

�You�re doing quite well with her, Tom,� said a voice behind him. He jumped slightly and spun around.

�Tom,� she asked as they settled at a table in the ready room, �what do you think of her sale potential?�

�After just two weeks? It�s simply too early. She�s showing more drive than usual, but that hair could be a real problem. I�ve got no idea what to do about it, or even how it happens.�

�How is easy. She�s got some African ancestry somewhere in her family tree. Kinky hair is common in many of those genetic groups. That doesn�t matter to us; our ponies aren�t exactly pedigreed stock. We�re going to add a genetic check to the recruiting requirements. What to do about her is harder.�

�Maybe. The Thunderbolt says it�s an interesting problem. Pretty Lemon asked me if I was going to take the heat for unauthorized and untested changes. Leo thinks that if we could improve hair overall it would be a competitive advantage, but he wants to see a plan. Marketing is thinking Hollywood, and Leo is intrigued by the idea.�

�I�ve got one other question,� Alice continued. �You�re in love with her, aren�t you?�

Tom twitched again. �Well, yes. I know I shouldn�t be, but I don�t know what to do about that, either,� he said defensively.

�I checked the surveillance record of the first meeting, and then did some more checking. As far as I can tell, you two belong together. Unfortunately, my opinion in the matter means exactly nothing.�

Tom relaxed. He knew that having the Sorceress on his side was a lot better than otherwise. �I could buy her for myself,� he said, a bit doubtfully.

�With what? Except for that hair, she�s in the 200,000 to 400,000 thousand dollar range. You not only don�t have that kind of money, you don�t have the income to maintain a ponygirl even if you do win a Pick of the Herd Lottery choice.�

�Well, there are some options. First, the Board is about to authorize a Senior Trainer job category. They want me to clone my training abilities. You�re one of my best students, so you�d get the title right away. That�s enough of a salary jump so you could afford to maintain her.�

�That�s the best news I�ve heard in a while!� he said excitedly. Then he shrugged. �It still doesn�t let me buy her, though.�

�Probably not, if we fix her hair. If we don�t, she�s probably not only not salable, but nobody inside would want her, either. We may have to destroy her.�

�I wish I wasn�t. If we�d caught the problem earlier, we�d never have recruited her. Next year, we may be able to fix the hair so she would be salable. Right now, it�s either find an owner that wants her, hair and all, or do something else. Her background shows her as a clerical worker with a bit more facility with computers than normal. We�ve got enough clerical workers, and she�s not good enough with the computers to join Cloudburst and that crew. The work pool is a possibility, but that�s still being organized. There�s no guarantee we could get it set up in time, and the hair would still be a problem with the conservatives. The Thunderbolt has a suggestion, but the board is balking.�

�Oh? What could make our Board of Directors balk? They can�t have suddenly developed a conscience, can they?�

�Exactly. The Thunderbolt suggested using her for testing genetic changes. It�s a real problem. With the best research, modeling and whatnot, eventually someone has got to have the change applied so she can see what happens. Hair is easy compared with some of the things on the wish list.�

�Oh, my God. You want to turn her into a lab rat?� Tom looked profoundly shocked by the idea.

�Now, that would be an idea,� Alice mused aloud. �Lab rat should be easier than toad.�

She chuckled. �You should see the look on your face, Tom. You really are taken with her, aren�t you?�

We got up and walked back past the empty cells, waiting for the new intake that would be coming in the next week.

By the time they got back, Lucy had moved her from the trotting booth back to her stand, and had left her happily sucking down her mash ration. As usual, Tom stopped to admire her a moment. She looked so absolutely darling. The picture would have been perfect if there had been a hand holding the funnel.

We waited for her to finish, and then he unhooked the funnel. Alice stepped up to the stand and looked down at her. �Hi, pony. Do you know who I am?�

�I guess we haven�t been introduced, at that. I�m Alice, occasionally known as the Sorceress. I�m the only person who can let you speak.�

�She�s right, kid. If she tells you to talk, you talk. No slop. When she tells you to stop, you stop.�

�We�ve got a problem, and I�ve got a proposition. You can turn it down if you want. The problem is your hair.�

The pony looked like she wanted to cry. �I know. It�s just awful; I have to wear it short, and it�s ugly.�

�Well, it also makes you not very salable. That puts us in a bit of a quandary. I suppose you�ve noticed that you�re conditioning exercises are going better than you could possibly expect?�

�No, it�s completely genetic changes. We can do things like that. What we don�t have is a program for hair changes. What we need is someone to experiment on.�

Alice smiled. �No, not like that. Our geneticist would make changes, and then observe the results. Then make more changes, and so forth. She�s still working on the program; it will take a while. The upside is that it should be reasonably safe for you; very few things can go wrong with hair. I can�t say that about some of the other programs we�ve got on the books. Sooner or later, she�s going to slip up, or Murphy is going to take a hand, and she�ll do something to you that she can�t recover from.�

�Good question. If we can�t sell you, the conservatives want you destroyed.�

�I don�t like it either, but I can�t give you any guarantees. Or any explanations, for that matter.�

She took a deep breath and let it out. �And I thought the Mafiosi were only in my mother�s family. How long do I have to think about this?�

�Not at all. When we quit talking, your gag goes back in, and you�re back to being a ponygirl. Ponygirls don�t think about the future. They don�t think about anything, actually, they just do what they�re trained to do. You need to make up your mind now.�

�The hair program? You probably won�t notice a thing until your hair grows out. Then you�ll have the oddest looking hair imaginable as they test variations. Other programs? It depends on the program.�

�We�ll see. If I can swing it, you can. He wants you as much as you want him.�

�Don�t expect changes right away, the ThunderBolt doesn�t need an experimental subject yet.

Chapter 11. Sex Slave

The blanket covered form they�d wheeled into the cell across the way twitched slightly from time to time. I lay back on my stand and wondered idly what she would look like when they took the blanket off. She�d probably have luxurious hair. The pony in the cell to her right had a beautiful fall of platinum blond hair, and the one that had been in the cell on her left was a stunning brunette. The lady with the red hair had promised me I�d have beautiful hair too, or had she? I couldn�t really remember what she�d said, and it didn�t really matter. Tom was happy with me, and that was all I cared about. I wanted to be his pony, now and forever.

Steps sounded from the corridor to my left. Was that Tom and Lucy? They came into sight. One of the men was Tom. I whinnied to him. He waved at me, and then they opened the door and trooped in.

�Hi, pony,� Tom said. �It�s time for some sex training. How�d you like that?�

Sex? Tap, tap. I whinnied to him as I felt myself heat up. The dildo in my sex suddenly felt huge.

�You�re ready, aren�t you?� he asked. I could see the bulge in his pants. He was ready too. I whinnied at him. I wanted him NOW!

He came over holding a ring with a short strap on each side. �Open up, now, pony,� he said. I relaxed my mouth as he took the ball gag out. �Wider.� I opened wider, and he popped the ring in, just behind my teeth. I felt him attach the straps to my bridle.

Lucy loomed up behind me as she pulled the bolt out of the headrest and released my ass plug from its holder. �Up.� I rose up on the stand.

�March over here,� Tom said. Over here was a pair of parallel bars that I hadn�t used before. I knew what they were for, of course. I�d seen them used in the cells across the way. In a way, I wish I hadn�t. Watching one of the other ponies get it got me horny and frustrated. He marched me over to stand just beyond one end of the bars. �Bend over, steady there, girl.� I bent over as he held me by one of the rings on my bustier so I didn�t fall. Lucy snapped leather straps from the sides of the bars to rings on my bustier, and then Tom let go. I was suspended in the air, back horizontal, hooves planted on the ground. Tom swatted the insides of my thighs lightly. I moved my hooves farther apart.

I felt him press on my dildo. There was a stirring in my loins as he collapsed the thing, and then slid it out. He did the same for my ass plug. It was the first time I�d felt empty since grooming that morning. My sex and my ass wanted something in them, and they wanted it now. I whinnied and stomped my hoof.

The other guy, Leo, was it, came around in front. He�d taken off his pants. Wow, was he ready to go! He moved directly in front of me. It didn�t look like he needed any coaxing, but whatever the boss wanted, the boss gets. I stuck out my tongue to get a taste of his tool, and then began caressing it, up and down. In a moment, he moved closer to me, and I took it into my mouth. Ummmm. Tasted like every other cock I�d ever sucked, but that didn�t make much difference. The guys liked it, so I did it. It warmed them up, and gave me time to warm up. Sex was sex.

He pulled out suddenly, and walked around back. I felt him touch my lips, and then WHAM! He rammed it in all the way. I gasped, but it came out as a whinny. He pulled back and rammed again, I whinnied again. Then he steadied down to long, smooth strokes. Each one felt like it was going to come all the way up and out the ring gag before he stopped. Tom stepped up in front of me. He wasn�t raging quite as much as Leo had been, but I knew what to do about that. I started teasing him with my tongue while Leo kept pistoning me behind. Lover boy responded nicely.

Leo kept at it as I built up and up. Eventually, I felt that special place that comes just before coming over the top, and I reached my head out and sucked in lover boy�s cock, and then came. I vaguely felt myself pull at the straps as my entire body tried to twist in ecstasy.

Leo pulled out and then switched to my asshole. Being taken up the ass was never one of my favorites, but just after that beautiful starburst, it felt intense. A moment later, he came and then pulled out. Tom pulled out of my mouth at the same time. Was that all? I whinnied plaintively.

No, it wasn�t all. Tom plunged into me in back, raring to go, as Lucy came up and lifted her skirt. Do a girl? My tongue seemed to have a mind of its own. It flicked out to sample her lips and find her clit. Mmmm. Different from a guy. Tom brought me up a second time. I exploded just as both he and Lucy came.

�Man, is she hot!� I dimly heard someone say. Leo? �Pity about that hair.�

�Enjoy,� Leo responded. I heard the cell door open and close. Then Tom came up behind me and stuck the dildo and ass plugs back in and tightened them down.

�Ok, girl. Up you go,� Tom said as he unbuckled the straps and I came back to my hooves kind of unsteadily. �Back to the stand, now. That�s a good pony.�

They settled me back on the stand. I kind of wish he�d left the ring gag. I could just see myself with my tongue hanging out of my mouth.

Chapter 12. Time Passes

I�d been carrying a backpack in the trotting booth for a while. One day, Tom came in with Dana. At 2�6�, Dana was a perfect doll. I�d seen her in the corridor and riding some of the other girls, but she�d never worked with me before. �Time for some riding lessons, girl.� I whinnied at him. I wasn�t exactly bored, but I did want to learn more about being a pony.

He swapped my ball gag for a bit, attached reins, pulled the headrest and unclipped the ass plug. �Up.� I came up like a well-oiled elevator. He guided me over to the wall. �Down.� I knelt on the floor. �Sit.� I started a moment, and then whinnied. I�d never done that before! �On your heels, pony,� he said, kind of crossly. On my heels? Oh, a memory returned. That�s what he meant. I sat. �Bend over.� I whinnied again, distressed. He pushed my back, and I bent over. Oh.

I heard Dana pull something from the wall. Then I felt a cool, hard thing on my back. She buckled it to rings in my bustier. Then she pulled something else from the wall, and buckled it in back of my shoulders. She stroked my left arm, and unhooked it from where it was latched to my shoulder. She brought it back behind me, and hooked it in back. Then she did the same to my right arm. My arms were now crossed behind my back. She took another something from the wall, and attached it on my back.

She came up on my left, and then I felt a pull. I almost fell over as she swung herself into the saddle on my back. �Up slowly, pony.� I tried to stand; then I felt Tom�s hands on my body, guiding me in the movements he wanted me to make. I came up slowly until I was sitting, then he brought me up to a kneeling position. From a kneel, I stood the same way I did coming off my stand. I could feel Dana on my back, kind of like the backpack I�d been wearing in the trotting booth. If I looked up, I could see her above me.

She started putting me through my paces. We went around the cell as I got used to having her on my back. Eventually, she stopped me by the wall. �Sit.� I sat, and then bent down again. She swung off. Then she swung back on again, and I came up. We practiced that for a while. Then she took the saddle off and put me back on my stand.

Chapter 13. Interlude

�Yah, one of these days he�s going to short circuit the worry box, and go up in smoke. What about this time?� I hoped he hadn�t heard about my latest fiasco.

�She disappeared. Just plain vanished. Police don�t know anything. I got her stuff in storage before the landlady tried to sell it.�

Shouldn�t be much of a problem, I thought to myself as I opened her PC and extracted the hard drive. Selma was only half smart about the things. I popped the drive into the analyzer and watched the automated cracker look for stuff. It came right up; cracking her passwords was a piece of cake. She had lots of deleted e-mail that hadn�t been overwritten.

�So am I. I still haven�t heard anything from her.� We talked about this and that for a while.

�Yeah, I found a film clip with this totally bizarre dance. This cute chick was dancing with wolves and what looked like real leprechauns. The chick was rigged out like a pony and the leprechauns were riding the wolves.�

You can�t be too careful, I always say. The rest of the family claims I�m paranoid, but it�s quite true. It�s always the one thing you never expect that gets you. Mike had set me up with someone named Pretty Lemon who might know something about the clips I�d found on Little Fuzzy�s computer. You know that itch between the shoulder blades when someone is looking at you? I was feeling it real bad as I headed down this deserted street toward my appointment, making certain I wasn�t too close to anything anyone could hide behind.

I came to lying on my back, looking up at this rather unusual chick. That had to be Pretty Lemon. She had this amazing mane of lemon yellow hair that emphasized she had nothing else worth looking at. The two guys she had with her I dismissed immediately. Enforcers, but at least, they were being polite.

I scrambled to my feet and took in the sight. As I said, she was nothing to look at, although she was dressed to show off whatever assets she had. Low cut white blouse, black miniskirt with a phone and some wand hanging from the belt, mesh stockings and knee length black boots with five-inch heels. Whoever dressed her had to be nuts. The plain ones look better with more clothes, not less. The other thing that was obvious was that she was a butch lesbian. Making a pass was totally out of the question, which was just as well. I didn�t want to hurt her feelings by not making one.

�Pretty Lemon, I presume?� Not the world�s greatest opening, but you have to say something.

�Guilty as charged.� She had a kind of throaty, unforced laugh. Something was tickling the back of my mind. Where had I heard of that head of hair before? �You must be Steve.�

�Was the last time I looked. Did you really have to put me out to bring me here?�

That brought me up short. �Didn�t I hear something about that a couple of years ago?�

She laughed again. �We�re being much more careful these days. Anyway, I�m supposed to put you into the picture while we go see if we�ve got your missing relative.�

We turned a corner, and I saw the next piece of the picture standing there, rigged out as a pony and hitched to a cart. She looked just like the pictures, except that her harness was white leather. This one was worth staring at. She had her head tilted back, allowing her waist length chestnut hair to fall free. Her foundation garment framed her perfectly, from where it hugged the curve of her hips to where it gave her perfect breasts just a hint of support. Her white leather boots forced her feet into a full pointed toe extension. They looked like they might be set on horseshoes. She had blinders on her bridle, a cute chestnut tail coming out the back, and bells on her ears and breast rings.

�Climb in,� Pretty Lemon said. All of us got in. �Do you want to drive her?� She handed me the reins.

�Huh?� I pulled my jaw back up. I hadn�t seen any flies, but I didn�t want to take chances. Besides, it makes me look as stupid as I was feeling at the moment. �How?�

I shook the reins, and clucked at her. She strained a bit getting the cart moving, and then we were off. She did have horseshoes on those boots; I could hear the clip, clop of hard rubber on concrete distinctly. �Which way, ma�am?� Pretty Lemon gave me directions. We went into a tunnel, and then stopped at a security booth. One of the guards gave me a pass. �Don�t lose it.� I promised him I wouldn�t; it didn�t look like a real good idea to find out what would happen.

We came out into a large cavern with what looked like a small town built into it. �Just head up the street to the Arena. We should be in time for the third race.� I grunted; it was taking most of my attention just handling a ponygirl and cart in traffic, and not get distracted by that hair and tail swaying in front of me as she trotted along.

I got a good look at her head when we left her tied to a hitching rack. I scratched her behind the ears, and she whinnied at me.

The arena was like every horse track I had ever seen, except the oval was about half the size I was used to. The stands held a scattering of people. The grooms were wheeling out platforms to set up the third race as we settled into our seats. Each platform contained a kneeling girl stuck to a pole like a butterfly on a board. The grooms got them off the stands and harnessed them to what looked like miniature sulkies. This looked like leprechaun day; all of the drivers looked like little dolls. I could just imagine the fuss if they ever got jockeys that small for real horse races.

They walked up to the starting line, doing some kind of fancy step, every bit as good as several dancers I had known. They knelt precisely on the chalk, and came up like a chorus line. They charged around that track like the devil himself was after them, not that I could see any of the drivers using a whip. They were going so fast, I expected them to turn out to the finish line and collapse. Instead, they turned for another go around the track. Then they took third circuit, and a fourth. When they finally turned out to the finish line they knelt on it like they�d measured it with a ruler. It looked like five girls had just done a mile at a pace that would have been good for a 200-yard dash, while pulling a sulky, and in a uniform that couldn�t have helped their breathing.

�Best steroids I�ve ever heard of. Does the IAU know about this?� I asked.

�Now that�s interesting,� I grinned. �Let me know which ones to bet on.�

She looked confused for a moment. �Oh, right. This is for ponygirls only. It�s not available outside, under any conditions.�

�Too true. I don�t think you know which rule this is an exception to, though. You can talk to the managing director about it, but the answer will be no, as in �not even if all hell freezes over�.�

Negotiating isn�t my job, so I shut up. Besides, what had been tickling my mind had just surfaced. �You ever heard of someone called Sally Bananas? She vanished a couple of years ago, with the Feds in hot pursuit. They claim she had hair just like yours.�

She laughed again. �That�s me, boyo. I came here about two hours before the Feds raided my apartment. They�re pretty sure I�m still around, but they don�t have a clue as to where.�

�I didn�t. They kidnapped me for the ponygirl program here. It was total coincidence that the Feds knocked down my door two hours later. The Sorceress needed a hacker, so here I am.�

�So you�re the one that covered the back trail from Selma�s machine? I couldn�t figure out how you did it.�

�There was no back trail to cover. Or rather, it ended at the next router upstream from her ISP�s mail server.�

�Huh?� Now I was royally confused. �You penetrated her ISP just to get her?�

�Nope, didn�t have to penetrate anyone. We can read anything, anywhere, and write anything, anywhere. In one way, I�m not real happy about it; it�s too much like cheating. I don�t have to crack passwords or anything any more. There�s no challenge left in hacking.�

�That�s why she�s called the Sorceress� Apprentice,� one of the enforcers said.

�That�s also why you want to forget what you just heard,� the other one said.

I looked back at the track. They were setting up for the fourth race. This time, it looked like the leprechauns were riding the ponygirls. Maybe I�d wake up and discover they�d slipped me a new designer drug. Please?

The training arenas were in this long room, stacked end to end. Each arena was maybe 30 yards square, sunk about six feet down from the walkway that ran down one side, and separated from each other by a wall. By now, I�d found out that the leprechauns were called lobo-ra, which means wolf-rider in some language or other. They sure didn�t look like the comic books I�d read as a child.

It was definitely Selma in the fourth arena; there was no way I could mistake her, even though her hair had grown out a bit, and was so mixed it would have made a clown cry.

Little Fuzzy was being worked with a cart. Her trainer was in the cart, and one of the little people was on the ground, showing her how various movements went. My appreciation of the ponygirl I had driven here went up; that looked like a very thorough training regimen. After watching a while, the reason finally got through my thick skull. Real ponies acted like ponies; the training we gave them was a relatively light veneer on their normal behavior. Selma had to be trained from the ground up to act like a pony. It looked like she was doing well at it.

Today�s lessons looked like show stuff. She was being trained to bring her leg up folded, with the heel pointed straight back, and then kick it out at the top of the arc before bring it back down to complete the step. As they went through the drill, I could see her getting better, with her movements becoming more fluid and at the same time, more precise. Whatever they were doing for training, it beat anything I had ever heard of. Of course, I�d never heard of the lobo-ra before today, or seen a race with five women in bondage harnesses and high heels absolutely trashing world running records without breathing hard, either.

I never did get to talk to her. They wouldn�t let me break her training discipline.

Chapter 14. Decisions

Leo was sitting with Alice; Pretty Lemon; Black ThunderBolt; Lenore, who was the head of the training academy; Thomas, who was the head of marketing; and Dave, his security chief.

�Her family is getting awfully insistent, and they�re one of the major Mafia families on the East Coast.�

�We could just blow them away,� Dave said. �The police would probably thank us if they knew.�

�It would undoubtedly be an improvement,� Alice said dryly, �But think of what would happen next.�

�And when they didn�t get any answers, they�d invent them. You�d have an absolute zoo if a major Mafia family just fell over dead with no answers,� Black ThunderBolt added. �Make me glad I�ve got a mountain over my head.�

The head of marketing added, �And some of our contacts know enough to point the finger right at us.�

�Didn�t think of that,� Dave said. �We�ve got too many clients out there to protect them all if it blew up in our face.�

�She�s the one that doesn�t want to deal with her family.� Alice said. �She wouldn�t have been in the fix she was in if she would have accepted their help.�

�Tom would raise hell,� Lenore said. �He�s head over heels in love with her.�

�Besides, that would establish a precedent,� Marketing added. �I don�t think I want to go there.�

�I�d rather not,� Lenore added. �If she gets it, I�d rather see Cloudburst and the ThunderBolt first. At least, they�re contributing.�

�I agree,� Marketing said. �She�s done nothing to deserve it. In all fairness, we�d have to open it up to all the community owned ponygirls, and then we�d have all hell out for noon.�

�That�s going to have to happen anyway,� Alice said, �but I agree, it�s too soon. We need a lot more spadework first.�

�It�s also beside the point,� Leo said. �The basic issue is that we�ve got a Mafia family breathing down our neck on this. Either we fight them, or we do something that lets them see she�s doing what she wants to do.�

�That would mean she�s got to work outside,� Pretty Lemon said. �How do we keep a leash on her?�

�Sounds like a commitment issue,� said Lenore. �I know why Alice and the Lemon are with us. That�s why I�ve objected to your getting a membership,� she added, turning to Black ThunderBolt.

�Mine should be pretty obvious,� Black ThunderBolt said, �I get to play goddess of the gene pool. I couldn�t do that outside, and I�d have to deal with academic politics. Sometimes you frustrate the hell out of me, but it�s still better than academia. Cloudburst?� She thought a moment. �She�s the head sysadmin of one of the larger computer complexes in the world; we�re certainly in the top 100 if not the top 50. She doesn�t do a huge amount of bitching, either. I�d guess she�d want to stay, but I wouldn�t care to bet on it.�

Lenore nodded thoughtfully. �So it looks like we�ve only got two options,� Lenore said. �Either we find a club to hold over their heads so they keep their noses out of our business, or Selma comes up with some reason for us to trust her outside.�

�So, how about this,� Leo said. �We tell her family we�re not going to break her training schedule. That gives us two months. Security comes up with a club; maybe put together a dossier on their drug dealings, or something. When we would normally start letting her talk, we ask her to think about it.�

�And the Mafia. I�d hate for this place to come down around my ears,� said Pretty Lemon. �The last thing I want to do is deal with the Feds again.�

The unnamed ponygirl knelt on her stand and placidly let her last feeding digest. Two of the ponies opposite her had not been in their cells for several days. She watched the trainers walk back and forth, and watched the new chestnut in the cell opposite fidget a bit. A redhead walked up to her cell and let herself in. She seemed somehow familiar.

The memory came back. This was the one that had gotten her the lovely blond mane she sported. She tapped twice and whinnied.

�Of course you do. You�re just about done training, and we need to talk a bit.� Alice took the gag out of the pony�s mouth. �Talk time.�

�What we�re going to do with you next. Your uncle Frank has been asking about you.�

�That ... bastard,� pony exclaimed. �He�s the last one I want to talk to. How did he find me?�

�Poor security on both our parts. That�s irrelevant,� Alice said, waving her hand to dismiss it. �What we need to know is whether you want to stay a ponygirl until you fall over dead of old age, or whether you want to join us. If you want to join us, we also need to know why we should trust you.�

�You�d let me go back to being a people again?� She sounded quite surprised.

�Yes, on condition that you maintain some kind of relationship with your family. And, of course, the commitment thing I just mentioned.�

�No, not at all. I�d like to see them again. I loathe the family business, and staying away is the best I can do to keep them from getting me trapped in their web.�

�You�d have to drive him off with a club,� Alice laughed. �He�s in love with you. We still have to deal with the trust issue, however.�

�Why should I? I didn�t have any objection to my becoming a ponygirl, why should I have any objection to training other girls?�

�OK, we�ll do it that way. As of now, you�re a community trainee. The thing you need to know about them is that they are our own people. Most of our young women spend two years as ponygirls and then one year in class before starting to train. Community trainees wear white tack, so you�ll get your new tack in a couple of days. Since they grow up here, they�ve got a general idea of what�s going to happen to them. It�s impossible to keep them from having it, so I�ll fill you in. You�ll be going into the next community trainee auction, where you�ll find out who your owner is going to be for the next year and a half. Then you�ll come out, and go to trainer�s school. That�s a year. Then you�ll spend a few years training ponygirls before you go on other things, unless you want to make a career as a ponygirl trainer.�

�That�s all I�m going to tell you. You get you new tack when it comes, you�ll be transferred to the new stable when it happens, and you�ll know what your owner wants you to do as a ponygirl when it happens. Our trainees don�t know any more about that than any of the other ponygirls.�

�Well, that�s all we need to talk about. Talk time is over.� Alice held up the ball, and pony obediently opened her mouth. Alice installed it, and then scratched her behind the ears. Pony whinnied at her as she left the cell.

Chapter 15. Community Trainee.

Days passed. The team kept training me. I learned how to pull carts, and two different ways of racing; one with Dana riding me, and one pulling a sulky. They also started training me on show routines, where I was expected to hold a position, and then move into another position on command. The days passed.

Then one morning they brought another ponygirl into my cell, and hitched some kind of shafts to the front of my stand. Tom slid a hood over my head, and then I heard the clop, clop of the ponygirl�s hard rubber horseshoes in front of me as my stand jerked back and forth, punctuated by her rider�s voice giving her commands and keeping her calm.

After a while, my stand rumbled into what sounded like a large hall, and someone removed my hood. It looked like there were several ponygirls across the way from me, and I thought I could see one on each side out of the corner of my eyes. Then people poured into the hall. At least, I assume they did; all I could see was various people walk up and look at me, and pick up some kind of folder that hung from my headrest and discuss it with their companions.

This ponygirl was getting puzzled, until I finally remembered the redhead who told me that I�d be auctioned off. What was her name? Alice, I thought, although it didn�t seem to matter. This seemed to be the auction, and I seemed to be lot 38. I had purchasers looking at me, and most of them seemed to like what they were seeing. My mane attracted a lot of comments; apparently it was quite unusual. I preened under the attention.

Then the people left and they wheeled most of the stands from the rows behind me out of the room. Attendants came around and gave each of us a mash ration. I sucked mine down greedily. Then they took me off my stand and marched me to a bathroom. I let go, and then they marched me back. Then the people came back, and looked us over again. Several wrote bids on my bid sheet. It was nice to be popular. Several people wanted me as a racer, but just as many seemed to want me as a show pony.

Finally the crowd left, and attendants wheeled us across the room and up a ramp to where we were lined up at the back of a large stage.

The auctioneer started with a lot 8, and then lot 14. I was mildly puzzled until he announced lot 17 next, and then kept going up by ones. That was more what I expected. Then I was puzzled again since some of the ponies seemed to be going for points, and some for real dollars. Lots of real dollars; I had no idea we were that expensive! Then I figured out that it was the community trainees that were going for points, and the community owned ponygirls that were going for real money. Then lot 38 came up, it was my turn! The bidding was rather spirited. I thought I heard Tom�s voice, but I couldn�t be sure. Finally the bidding stopped, and I heard the auctioneer bellow: �Lot 38, sold to Tom Fredland!�

An attendant wheeled my stand to the back of the stage, and slid a hood over my head. Then I just knelt there until I heard another �girl come up and stop in front of my display stand. After a few thumps and bumps, she started off, and I heard the clop, clop in front of me as I was taken somewhere else.

Somewhere else turned out to be another ponygirl cell. Not much of a surprise, that. What did surprise me was that I had a completely new training team. I suppose it should have been obvious, but I wasn�t thinking. I was just letting myself drift, not that there was anything else I could do.

The next morning, Tom came in, got me out of my night bondage and groomed me. He had this big grin on his face. �Well, Raindance, you�re mine now.� I whinnied excitedly at him.

�I need to explain the new rules to you,� he said as I crawled over to the shower and sat on my heels under it. �Now that you�re out of the training block, you�re required to talk during your morning grooming.�

That startled me so much that the bar of soap I was using squirted out of my hand, and I had to crawl after it to get it back. �I can talk?� I asked. Not the most intelligent comment, but then I wasn�t laying any great claim to intelligence at that point.

I paused a moment while I soaped myself thoroughly. �She said I wouldn�t ever talk again.�

�If you�d have been sold outside, that would probably be true, however, we�ve got a rule that all of our ponygirls have to talk once a day to keep their voices in working order.�

�Well, you wouldn�t. Alice told you that you were a community trainee, right?�

�That�s all right. Community trainees are ours, and the reason we require them to talk is that if they didn�t talk for two years, they�d have some trouble starting talking again when they come out. You�ve got another year and a half to enjoy being a ponygirl. At least, from the way you�re acting, I assume you�re enjoying yourself.�

�Oh, I am,� I told him. �There�s nothing to worry about; it just floats along.� I finished drying myself off and crawled back to him, presenting my bottom so he could stick the dildo and butt plug into their waiting sockets.

�That�s great,� he answered. �Well, talk time is over for today.� He buckled my bridle around my head and held the ball gag in front of me. I opened my mouth and let him install it. By now, the reaction was completely automatic; I not only didn�t have to think about it, I doubt if I could have thought about it.

One thing I discovered fairly quickly; just because Tom was my owner didn�t mean he spent that much time with me. It was pretty much like training: I found out who was going to groom me in the morning when he or she woke me up and sent me into the grooming room. My day always started out with a grooming, and then stand time to suck down my mash and digest. Then I got two hours on the running machine and another rest period to drink some mash and digest. From there on, it varied, and I do mean it varied.

Tom was training me as a racer, and also on dressage. You might think that meant I�d be spending all my time at the racetrack being trained. Well, I did spend a lot of time at the race track, but most of it wasn�t being trained. Most of it was spent pulling other ponygirls around on their stands!

The way it worked was that one of the lobo-ra would come up and have me saddled right after I�d finished with my second mash, and ride me to another ponygirl cell, where she�d have me sit while she attached a pair of shafts to the stand. Then she�d have me pull the stand out of the cell and down the corridor to the track. I�d drop her off in the ready circle, and then pick up another one and haul her back. On many of those days, they�d break the back and forth to ride me out to the track proper for training.

Race training wasn�t all that different from what they�d done in the training block. Some days they�d concentrate on starts, some days they�d concentrate on the end of the race, the turn out to the judge�s stand and the final lineup. Still other days we�d do racing signals, which meant learning the various rein signals.

It wasn�t all practice. I did race every few days, and I suppose all that training was paying off. My finishes steadily improved from dead last to the middle of the pack, and eventually toward the top. I remember coming in first a few times, but it was hardly a regular occurance.

Other days I wasn�t in the arena at all. The first time one of the lobo-ra rode me out of the arena through the archway onto the street I almost balked! She rode me to various places, and left me tied to a hitching rack until she came back and got me. That wasn�t the strangest part of it, though. The strangest part was the way I was serviced.

Several times a day, a cart came by, pulled of course by a pair of ponygirls. The trainer in the cart very efficiently worked down the line of �girls at that particular hitching rack and fed us our mash. Then she emptied our bladders, and moved off to the next hitching rack to repeat the process.

I suppose that last part needs a bit of explanation. Part of the daily routine was, of course, answering the call of nature. Being a ponygirl didn�t make me immune to my bladder filling up. While I was in my cell, the trainers simply led me into the grooming room and had me squat slightly while they held a rubber funnel against my anatomy. It took a few tries initially before the pattern settled in, but after that it was pretty automatic.

The trainer that fed us did it the same way. She installed the mash funnel, and then reached from behind and pressed in the other funnel. The first time she did it, I almost choked at feeling both ends going at the same time. After that, it became routine.

After a few days of this, one day a lobo-ra rode up and hitched my reins to the back of her ponygirl. Then she led me to another cell, where she picked up another ponygirl. Then she picked up a third, and took us all out to a hitching rack where she left us. All that day, different lobo-ra would walk up, unhitch me and ride me somewhere, leaving me at a different hitching rack. Later that afternoon, another lobo-ra came up and led me back to my cell, together with a string of other ponygirls.

The morning after that happened, I asked Elspeth what was going on. I asked her because she happened to be the trainer that groomed me that morning, and she was one of the few trainers that would actually answer questions. Most of the trainers I either babbled at, or we talked about sex.

�I suppose,� she said a bit slowly, �I can explain a bit. Tom�s doing something unusual with you. Most of our �girls are specialists, and since you�re a racer you�d probably be here in your cell except when you were in the arena being trained or actually running a race. What he�s planning on doing is moving you through all of the jobs that ponygirls do in the Community. Right now, you�re doing the lobo-ra taxi.�

�I can see they need it,� I said. �They�re too small to get around someplace this big. So what else is he going to have me doing?�

�You know better than to ask that,� she swatted me playfully. �I suppose I can tell you why, though. It�s because you�re an outsider that�s going to be joining us.� She stopped; I suppose to see if I would put it together.

�So all of you natives already know all of this, just from living here,� I said.

�Good girl! That�s exactly right.� She held up the ball gag in front of my face; my mouth opened to receive it.

Lobo-ra taxi wasn�t the end of it, though. The next thing I got trained on was chariots. Chariots were like sulkies, except that they were big enough to hold two adults and some packages. They weren�t carts; carts were basically boxes on four wheels while the chariots only had one axle; they put more weight on the ponygirl�s harness. Then I got trained to work with another �girl on bigger chariots. I spent more time on taxi, but this time it was with the chariots, not with the lobo-ra saddle.

Then they put me on commuter service for a few days. Commuter was this big wagon that people simply jumped on and off as it moved; kind of like a streetcar you�d only see in a historical flick. That needed an eight pony team; the driver sat in front and most of the time we just kept going from the residential dome to the training block and back, passing the arena on the way.

For some reason, commuter broke my day in the middle. They only had us on it for five or six back and forth trips, and then they unharnessed us and put us to doing something else.

Commuter seemed to be a major shift in what they had me doing. The next thing was in the Executive Block. I got hitched to a lawn mower! That was steady work; the mowers took two ponygirls and a driver, and we went back and forth for most of the day, with breaks for sucking down our mash rations.

The executive block was a separate cavern that had lawns between the apartments. It didn�t run to streets at all; there were nice little paths, but I suspected that the residents mostly used their ponygirls to get around. As it turned out, I was right, but I didn�t find that out until later.

I�d been a working pony for about a year at this point. I only figured that out later, when I looked at Tom�s diary, of course. The next thing they did was shift my schedule twelve hours. By then, I�d forgotten what had puzzled me about the commuter service. I found out quickly. My new day started the same way as usual: grooming, some mash and digestion time, a period in the trotting booth, and then some more mash and digestion time. After that, I went right to the commuter service for a couple of hours, and then I got hitched to various carts that held cleaning supplies and other stuff for the cleaning crews. A cleaning crew usually only had one ponygirl; they�d fill the cart with supplies and drive me to wherever they were working, unload the supplies and fill the cart with stuff that needed to be disposed of, and then drive me back to dump the garbage and pick up more supplies.

Then I�d get put back on the commuter service, which ended my working day. I had another session of stand time for mash and digest, then a short trotting booth session, and then I got put down for the �night.�

That lasted for maybe a month. I got to see parts of the complex I hadn�t been in before. In particular, the hydroponics and fish cultures were where a lot of the garbage wound up.

During that month, I didn�t do any racing. When they put me back on a regular schedule, I�d lost a good deal of form; I went from just behind the regular winners to the middle of the pack with an almost audible thud. It was back to training, but this time they started me on steeplechase. Steeplechase takes an exquisite sense of balance. All they worked on for a month was jumping over progressively higher barriers while I was carrying varying loads. Lots of the jumps weren�t barriers at all; some of them were over ditches, and some of them were from one level to another, or over a low barrier where the other side wasn�t at the same level. Once I found my balance, they started over with a lobo-ra riding me. Then they started putting it together so that we�d go from one obstacle to another.

This was where they started giving me my head. Even the lobo-ra weren�t insane enough to try to control a ponygirl on a jump. It was like a regular race in a way; the start and finish were my business, the rider was just along for the ride. They taught me a set of signals so my rider could tell me what the next obstacle was all about, and of course she was in control in between obstacles, not that mattered very much. There usually wasn�t enough distance between them to get up to speed and then adjust to get the right speed for the obstacle.

As you might guess, steeplechase wasn�t the most popular way of showing a pony. As I found out later, you�d probably burn her out in three to five years; a racer was good for fifteen to twenty years.

Chapter 16. Community Member

I came awake like I did every morning. The muffled sounds of people and ponygirls moving outside my cell said everything was exactly what it was supposed to be. A pair of feet walked across the concrete and stopped by my pallet. The pace sounded like Tom. I felt the tug and release as he unsnapped the four bands that kept me on the pallet at night, then the tug and release as the snap that kept my feet attached to my hands unclipped. I brought my feet back, and whoever it was unzipped the leg binder. Then he did the same for the arm binder. As a final touch, he removed my hood. I stole a quick look, oh, goodie; it really was Tom. I�d thought so from the touch. �Grooming time, Raindance,� he said with a light swat to my bottom. I brought myself up on arms and legs and crawled into the grooming room to wait in front of the toilet.

He came up behind me and took out the ball gag. �Talk time, Selma.� Then he went behind to take out the dildo and ass plug. I went rigid with shock.

�So I did, but your time as a community trainee is up. This morning is when you come out. This is your last grooming. Enjoy it.�

�Not that; I just like being called Raindance better than Selma. Especially when you say it.�

�Well, shower next, then.� I crawled over to the shower, lathered myself and washed myself down carefully. He was talking to someone on his cell phone. When I came out of the shower, I crawled over to him, and he toweled me down.

�Right! I�d forgotten that you weren�t a real community trainee. You go from here to the community trainee auction. We do one every two months; it�s a combined coming out ceremony for the community trainees that have finished their two years and an auction for the ones that have just finished training. It�s also where community owned ponygirls get auctioned when their owners don�t want them any longer.�

I thought a moment while he worked on drying my legs. �So I�ve got a coming out ceremony? With who?�

�You know, I didn�t really think about that either.� He hesitated, obviously considering what he wanted to say. �Damn! This isn�t going to get any easier. Will you marry me?�

I let out a real startled whinny, and I could feel my leg muscles trying to bunch up to tap on the ground. �That�s the last thing I expected, big boy!� I answered as soon as I got myself back together. �Yes!�

He had the most stunned look on his face as soon as I accepted, but he recovered quickly. �So you�ll come home with me, and then sign up for the reorientation class that all the community trainees go through. That�s run by one of the counselors. There�s a one on one class just for you scheduled with Alice and Lenore.�

�Alice is the redhead you�ve met a few times; Lenore is the head of training. They want to get you oriented to the Community before you start trainer�s class.�

This time I thought I knew what to expect, more or less. As it turned out, I was almost right. Right after my first mash and digest a lobo-ra rode up on her work ponygirl and hitched up my stand, and then the stand rolled after them to the hall where I�d been displayed a year and a half before. This time I wasn�t hooded so I got to see them bringing in the ponygirls and setting up. Today, I was lot 11. I got a lot of attention; I guess just about everyone was interested in someone new!

The coming out ceremony was fairly simple. They wheeled us into the same auditorium where I�d been auctioned off, and then they brought each of us to the front. The same auctioneer read off our accomplishments, and then asked if we wanted to stay ponygirls!

I almost choked on the first one, but she gave a very definite triple thump of her hoof, meaning no. The attendant got her off the stand and took her behind a screen. A couple of minutes later, she came out, dressed in a short skirt, blouse, mesh stockings and heels, and walked down the stairs to exchange hugs with several people that were waiting. I presumed they were her family; at least I could see a resemblance.

A few lots later I found out why he asked that silly question. Lot 8 gave a double thump! He asked if she meant it, and she gave another double thump, and whinnied behind her ball gag. The attendants wheeled her off the stage in the other direction.

Eventually my turn came, and he did me up proud. I almost didn�t recognize myself! According to the spiel, I could have outrun a horse! Of course I said I wanted to come out, so they popped me off the stand, and then I walked behind the screen. The handlers were efficient; they may have set a record for a quick change! I came out, and there was Tom standing below the stage, together with Alice and another man and woman that I didn�t recognize. Well, I didn�t recognize the woman; I thought the man might have been the one that had given me that magnificent screwing on my initiation to the bucking rack.

So I jumped off the stage to meet them. Jumping off the stage in 5� heels wasn�t quite as insane as it sounds; the jump was actually easier than many of the obstacles I�d been riding over in the steeplechase course. I got a round of applause for the maneuver!

Of course, Tom and I clinched right away, to the sound of amused laughter, and one guy who tried to whistle �Pomp and Circumstance.� Then we moved out of the way to let the auctioneer get on with lot 12.

It turned out the other people were indeed Leo, Alice and Leo�s sister in law by his first wife, Lenore. Leo was the Managing Director, Alice was his wife and another one of the Powers That Be, and Lenore ran the educational establishment, such as it was. We moved to the back and watched the rest of the show, while I snuggled up against my new husband, and he massaged my neck.

I found out the reason for all the brass. I was scheduled for two classes immediately. One was the standard coming out discussion group that all of the graduating community trainees attended; it was to let everyone ventilate their feelings and sort the experience into some kind of order before the formal trainer�s training class. The other was a one on one seminar with Lenore and several of the counselors that they�d set up just for me so I could get oriented to how the community operated, and how I was supposed to behave.

Tom had a nice apartment in the residential block. A senior trainer didn�t rate the executive block. That was another step up. Meanwhile, at three rooms, bath and kitchen, it was great for a couple starting out. I was pleasantly surprised; he seemed to have similar housekeeping standards to mine. I could remember too many arguments with boyfriends about housekeeping for comfort. I settled in quickly and spent time getting to know my new husband. The neighbors came in a distant second.

Chapter 17. Trainers Training

My training class had ten young women and twelve young men, all of them just over twenty except for me. I felt like an old hag at 26! As the room filled up before starting, I found out exactly how small a town it was; I knew most of the young women from the coming out group, but I didn�t know any of the guys. However, they all knew each other. The one girl I didn�t know, Lucy, had skipped her chance to be a ponygirl. The guys all seemed to have spent the last two years studying how the community operated. Somehow, it didn�t seem fair, but then, I already knew that the community was totally male dominated. Also, I had this suspicion that part of it was a male/female learning split. The guys needed to have it downloaded into their heads formally, the women picked up most of it in the continual chatter, as long as they didn�t stay hidden away with husband and children.

Finally, the teachers trooped in. Alice was a thirtyish redhead that I�d already met. Nobody had ever told me what official position she held; I had finally figured out that she didn�t have one. I�d only been out two or three days before I put together that the �Sorceress� I kept hearing about and Alice were the same person. It wasn�t much longer before I found out why she was called that.

I could understand why people wanted to keep on her good side, not that she seemed to have a bad side. It was just that when she wanted something, things seemed to happen. She was one of the troubleshooters as well so keeping on her good side was almost equivalent to keeping your nose clean and out of trouble. That she was the Managing Director�s wife was almost an incidental afterthought, although it made sense that the alpha male and the alpha female should be married to each other.

I�d not only met Lenore, I�d been having tutoring sessions with her for the last couple of months. Lenore was the head of their education establishment. I�d already found out she was the Managing Director�s sister-in-law by his late wife. Anyway, she�d been one of my two tutors in my orientation to the Community, and she was the one that was keeping careful notes on what I needed to know, and what I was having trouble with. It wasn�t until later that I found out that it wasn�t simply compulsive note-taking, she had a reason she wasn�t talking about.

Alice started out with a speech. Most of it was the usual rah, rah at the beginning of any program, but one part stood out.

�This class will be a bit different from previous classes. The minor reason is that you have Raindance with you, who is one of the four outside ponygirls that has been given community membership. The reason doesn�t concern you, although it�s not a secret. In any case, I think all the girls know by now.� She got a light laugh on that one.

�The major reason is that the Congress has just passed something called the �Consensual Slave Act�. What we do falls squarely under that act, and actually puts us within shouting distance of being legal. You may know that we�ve been moving from kidnapping our intake to recruiting over the Internet. That�s been causing some interesting changes in the training procedures, since we can�t count on having a hundred new trainees every two months. They�ve begun dribbling in, a few a day. We�re pretty much on target for replacing the kidnapping process with volunteers, so we�re going to shut down the wild ponygirl capture teams. That�s actually going to simplify things; we don�t have to keep the captures separate from the volunteers. The fact that they know that that they�re here to be trained as ponygirls and then sold doesn�t affect things nearly as much. There are undoubtedly going to be a lot of other changes coming down the pike so that we can get into alignment with the Act. The main issue is that the Act mandates that slaves get days off and annual vacations, and how we�re going to do that is a mystery. What isn�t a mystery is that any notes you�ve inherited and have been studying are likely to be out of date.� She grinned conspiratorially, as if she knew exactly what students got up to.

Finally, they got to the meat. Our head instructor was a dynamic little blonde named Connie. She explained the class structure very concisely.

�I�m going to be your lead instructor for the next year. You�ll have other instructors for specific parts of the class. We do as much hands on as possible, which brings up the question of where you get the ponygirls to get your hands on. Some of the instructors and trainers will be playing ponygirl for demonstrations, and sometimes we will bring in community owned �girls to let you practice. Most of the time, however, you�ll be practicing on each other. That means both sexes. Remember that the girls and trainers have already been trained; you get to teach the guys from the ground up.� The guys groaned. I had the feeling they knew which experience they were going to be the subjects for, and weren�t looking forward to it. Lucy just looked scared.

�We�re going to start with prod practice. You�re going to practice with that thing until you can use it in your sleep. Becoming really expert is not only the difference between quashing rebellion and getting hurt, but being faster than a bush rattler can make the difference in training a �girl. Correct a fault fast, and she doesn�t have time to get her head in the way. Delay, and her mind wanders off in the wrong direction, and you�ve got a mess to clean up. They�re over there on the table together with your new belts. Get one of each and bring it back to your desk.�

I picked one up and looked at it. It was a two foot long solid tube with a shaped handle, kind of like a long knife or a short sword, except that there was no edge. Instead, it had several buttons where my fingers and thumb rested, and a hook to hang it on my belt. The belt was a standard wide leather belt that was dyed a bright green, with narrow black stripes running at a 45 degree diagonal all the way around. I�d already learned the color code: green was for ordinary trainers, red was for senior trainers like my husband, blue was for sulky drivers and gold was for supervisors.

We spent the entire rest of the morning practicing snatching it off our belts, turning it on to level one, and placing it where Connie said, and then turning it off and putting it back on our belts. By lunch, everybody had two maneuvers down - not hitting herself with it after turning it on, and getting it turned off before putting it back. The yelps of pain from forgetting to turn it off, and the howls of anguish for getting level two by accident would have had a sadist in seventh heaven. We�d even had two people hit themselves on level three. I was beginning to develop a healthy respect for the amount of work Tom had put into his expertise with the thing.

After lunch, Connie broke us up into two person teams. One person was to feign an attack; the other person was to hit them in a specified place on level one. That started sharpening up my form quickly. My partner, Carl, wasn�t quite so fortunate. I�d progressed quite far in my Tai Chi classes before all this happened, and while the forms were different, the basic methods came back. He was having trouble making hits at all, and I was always hitting him. Connie noticed the mismatch, and swapped Carl for Greg. Greg had lots of martial arts experience; we had a wonderful time for a couple of hours dancing with each other.

The next day she started us on more of the basic martial arts stuff: falling and rolling. In the afternoon, we got our tour of the training facility.

Our facility was set up somewhat like the facility I�d been trained in. The main corridor had two columns of ponygirl cells off one side, and a column of practice arenas and another of classrooms off the other. There was also an orientation room, and several break rooms. Each corridor of ponygirl cells had ten on a side, for twenty. Connie mentioned that the real training area had five on a side, for ten in each corridor. The reason we had more would become obvious later in the course. Our introduction to how a ponygirl cell was put together was kind of obvious to us girls; after all, we�d lived in one for two years. For most of the guys, it was either new, or it explained things that they had never wondered about.

Then we did the prod sequence from orientation. For this, we were set up into four person teams, although we were short two girls. The guys got to play ponygirl. We put them on a stand, complete with belt and cuffs, and then went through the spiel, reading it from the script. They howled when we did them at level two, but they howled even more when we blew the script. We ran through it, swapping who was on the stand, until the script sunk in to where we could do it like we meant it. The guys spent more time on the stand, but I got practiced on some. Connie had Lucy�s team leave her on the stand during breaks. She looked like she was going to cry, but managed to hold up.

We skipped from orientation right into the foot tapping thing. I looked at the script Connie gave us.

�Good point. You probably weren�t. You must have had a senior trainer, and they do this section subliminally. You won�t learn how to do that until you go to senior trainer class, and that�s invitation only for career trainers.�

We got to practice in the training area cells. With only six teams, we got staggered down one side, so there was no possibility of the subject seeing any of the other teams at work. We also had a working trainer as a coach.

The standard sequence is pretty hard on a girl; it�s deliberately designed to continue driving in the point of who is in control, and that she isn�t the one. We wound up practicing on Lucy and the guys. I got Terry as my practice pony. The third time I�d hit him at level two because he moved his head while responding, he decided that he didn�t want to be a ponygirl trainer after all, and bolted. ZZZZZZZ YYYYIIIIIII! I stood back to give him lots of room to writhe on the floor. He settled down after a couple of minutes. Fred and Steph hauled him back onto his feet, and I continued with the lesson. This time, he tried keeping his neck frozen while I finished drilling him.

The next day, I found out what the guys were afraid of. We started on the chair. We practiced on one of the trainers. I vaguely remembered being hustled into the chair and tied down quickly; it took us all day to get the ties and knots to our coach�s satisfaction.

The day after, it looked like we were going to repeat the lesson, this time on Fred. Once we got him tied down and fed, the trainer shooed us out of there and left him sitting, staring at his image in the mirror while we went back to the classroom. We spent the rest of the day on the support organization behind the trainers. When we came back from lunch, we got to feed our teammates, but they stayed in the chair. We fed them again at the end of class, and then came back after dinner and let them out. Ten hours in the chair wasn�t the same terror inducer as eighty, but Fred was already cramping, and the readouts showed he had quite a bit of trouble staying awake.

Lucy wasn�t in class next morning. I found out that their team had started on her, rather than one of the guys. She�d been terrified of the chair, and when she found out that ten hours hadn�t killed her, she�d decided to go the full route as a community trainee. They�d put her through orientation that night, and she was settled in her chair, watching the countdown. They were going to give her the full eighty to show her that, miserable as it was, it wouldn�t kill her.

Most of the rest of the class was fun. I�d enjoyed my time as a ponygirl, so role-playing while my teammates learned how to do all the support tasks came easy. The hardest part was to simulate disobedience or hesitation so that the guys had a chance to find out how to deal with it. That was a part I never really liked. Fortunately, Steph was a real brat, and something of a masochist, so we practiced on her. I�ve never understood the attitude myself; either I did what I was told, or I found a way to get out from under. Tom gave me a couple of pointers on dealing with it. Once I found her buttons, I could turn the brat on and off when I wanted. Terry and Fred never figured it out; Connie spotted exactly what I was doing, of course. It took Steph most of the year to catch on.

That had me puzzled for a while until I asked Tom why she hadn�t figured it out. He shrugged and said that she was probably like most people and never noticed what they were reacting to. If she�d wanted to deal with it, she could always talk to the counselors in Community Services.

�I thought you went over that. They�re pretty good at subliminal behavior mod.� He grinned; he wasn�t any slouch at that himself. �The basic thing is that they�re not going to interfere if someone�s personality quirks aren�t causing significant problems. You have to go to them; they won�t come to you unless you�re causing a real mess.�

Then I put the clues together. �I suppose it�s Alice that comes after you.�

�Mostly. Let�s just say that she�s insidious. If she decides you need your personality revised, it�s likely to happen without your being aware of it. The good thing is that she doesn�t dictate the change, she just facilitates your finding your own way.�

As a ponygirl, I�d mostly been aware of the training aspect. Much of the class was on the day-to-day routine. I learned stuff I never suspected I�d need. We covered massage and nursing, grooming, conditioning, and how to keep her perky and focused. The psychology of ponygirls was interesting in its own right; building the right mindset and then cementing it in so they wouldn�t try to revert to being a girl was fascinating, if disturbing. Then we had the variations for different personality types, and how to handle different kinds of resistance and rebellion. Finally, we studied the differences for community trainees so that they would come out at the end.

We were about halfway through, and we�d gotten to final shipping. My number had come up first today, so they got me into harness, and then practiced tying me into the box. By now, we�d all gotten the part about how to gentle a skittish pony down pat, so I just lay there and let it happen. As it turned out, I�d never done this part as a ponygirl. I�d been in the box on the original kidnap, but not when I was shipped from the training block to the main dome. The coach checked the setup, and then they locked the box. The sleepy gas kept me so far out of it that I almost didn�t notice. It bounced around a bit, and then space got weird for a moment. I giggled into my gag. Then it bounced around some more, and they opened the box, took me out and dropped me on a stand. When they whipped the blindfold off, I was in a ponygirl cell, with people I�d never seen before standing around.

Panic time! I whinnied into my gag. Then my teammates came around to where I could see them, and I relaxed. They�d almost given me a heart attack. For a moment there, I thought that they�d decided I was better as a ponygirl, and I�d been sold.

After I got bounced off my stand and got dressed, Connie asked me how the experience had been. When I mentioned that the twist in the middle had been kind of fun, she made a note.

We did Steph next. I didn�t bother to turn the brat on; by this time, the pony shouldn�t be resisting at all. I found out what they hadn�t told me about the exercise. Once I locked the box on her drowsing form, they put it on a cart, brought in a ponygirl, and hauled it down to the teleport stages in the warehouse area. Then it got zapped from one stage to another as we watched. Then the ponygirl hauled it back. That sobered me up a bit. If I hadn�t gotten my break, my box would have just vanished, never to reappear in the caverns again.

Then we got the first half exam. We�d been told to show up in clothes we wouldn�t mind losing. The exam ran for a full month. Connie reorganized our working teams into three teams of seven. I got team A. As soon as the assignments were out, we hustled teams B and C out of the room and crated them for shipping. We had lots of help; this part had to go reasonably fast. Once the last of the crates was on its way to the warehouse, we split back up and went to our orientation rooms. Connie had swapped Steph with Tina, a tall, bubbly brunette with a truly amazing figure. I was always somewhat astonished that she didn�t fall over, although in reality, her biggest problem was having the guys fall over her. We also got eight boxes, while the other team got six. I found out why almost at once; Tina was definitely in charge, and also accurate. Steph simply wasn�t that fast a learner; and I expect that Connie didn�t want her team to take too long.

Tina took over at once, and told me to do the setup while she and our two guys got the first package out of the box. Then we swapped on the next one. She ran through the script smoothly, with only occasional stops to check on what to do next. Our first one was a stallion; we had a special set of ear clips for his livestock tags so we wouldn�t have to punch a hole. Several of us girls had gotten together and worked up a substitute for the breast rings. Connie had been amused when we discussed it with her; were the guys in for a surprise the first time we pulled it on them! She shaved his chest and glued on breast forms! Then she expertly pierced the forms, so he had a pair of gold rings dangling from his breasts. That left him in enough of a state of shock that when she held the gag in front of his face, he opened his mouth like a good boy, and she shoved it in, fastened the bridle, placed the headrest, and draped him in a blanket before he came out.

I got a filly for my first one. She was shook. I soothed her down, and then offered her the water. She sucked it down gratefully, and asked if she could go to the bathroom. I had to check my script, it said to tell her to wait, she�d be able to in a couple of hours. Then I did the prod demonstration, gave her the warning about talking, and let her pick whether she wanted to be gagged now or later. Of course, she�d been through it all once, so she said later. I was remembering Sandy�s relentless chatter, and I tried to duplicate it. She started getting scared when I cut her clothes off; well, she�d been told to wear something she wouldn�t mind losing. She already had holes in her ears, so I simply inserted the tags and crimped them together. When I went to work on her breasts, she lost it, so I hit her with a level two to shut her up, and gagged her.

Doing her breasts was tricky. We had a form to use to guide the needle, and we�d practiced on dummy breast forms until we could do it smoothly, but still, the first time you do a breast piercing is kind of intense. It came off nicely; I really do think those rings just below the nipples look cute. I made a note to discuss it with Tom; if he liked them, I wanted to keep mine this time.

We shoved our last one out the door while Steph was still finishing up hers. Connie handed us our assignments. We got one filly and one stallion each, except Tina, who had two stallions.

The next task was to get them off the stands, teach them to do foot tapping, get them on the chair and feed them. The procedure was that there were to be three trainers in the cell at all times until they had been through the chair experience.

I got my filly up first. The whole process went smooth as silk; it looked like she was just plain scared of what could go wrong. We got her boots on, got her off the platform to where she was standing, and taught her the foot stamp code. Of course she knew it, so there wasn�t a problem. I was thinking that she might have forgotten to hold her head steady, but she remembered perfectly. We got her tied down to the chair, fed and the countdown started.

We took a bit under an hour for each of the rest, and then staggered home. Our instructors had brought in some help to feed our classmates; otherwise, it would have been really horrible.

Connie had us spend the next three days going over everything we had done, and I mean, literally everything. We inspected the surveillance tapes and the coach�s notes, and wrote up notes on each of our subjects. That was an intense three days.

We stopped the countdown on most of our charges before the full eighty. Eighty hours is three and a third days. We wanted to give them, and us, a good night�s sleep. The first few went for eighty, but for the rest, it wasn�t possible. I got my two charges out of the chair and asleep on their pallet with reasonable efficiency at the end of the third day.

There�s not a whole lot you do the first week after the chair besides conditioning, simple dressage steps, and rein training. Normally, the initial gangbang comes in the second or third week, when their mouth has expanded to take our 2.6 inch ring gag. We moved the gangbang up early, and otherwise concentrated on the daily routine. I think that was the first time it really sank in to the male members of the crew what the enhancements did. We had the ponygirl�s running machines set to where they would have killed any of the men outright if they had tried it. The girls, of course, thought they were on vacation; we didn�t have any reason to really get them back into racing condition.

Tom reminded me to wear something I wouldn�t mind losing. I�m glad he did, I kept having images of that chair grinning at me. I was really beginning to regret giving it the finger most of a year ago. Superstitious? Tom had let me out after thirty hours or so; we had let our classmates go for over seventy-five. As it turned out, the woman who did orientation and my chief trainer did a cautiously professional job. I now knew the difference between thirty and eighty hours. At thirty, I was still coherent, if lightheaded and hurting. At eighty, I was incapable of any form of thought, let alone a coherent one. The entire world was composed of pain and mental fog. I would have done anything they told me to, not out of fear, but simply because I wasn�t capable of thinking. If a command registered at all, there was nothing between it and the muscles.

It took me several days to recover from the chair. After that, the last few days were enjoyable. It didn�t really dawn on me that this was a training class exercise until they released me at the end of the tenth day. The chair had put me back into the mindset that I was being trained as a ponygirl!

The next day, Team C started in on me. I had essentially the same experience. When they released me at the end of the tenth day, it was a complete surprise.

Then I got the next surprise. I knew the Gymkhana was coming up, but I didn�t think it would affect me. I just hoped they would give us some time to see the races.

Chapter 18. Gymkhana

What it turned out was that they were critically shorthanded. We all got assigned to some variety of support for the duration. The guys all got security, and most of us girls either went to housekeeping or personal service. I got personal service, which meant I got tossed in with the community trainees and got a quick course on how to behave like a slave girl, mixed in with what our guests should and shouldn�t know and be allowed to do. The chaos looked like it was sorting itself into order when the shit hit the fan. The rumor mill overheated its bearings enough that the Managing Director made an official announcement.

It turned out that the Feds had located one of the owners� ponygirl establishments, and we had been exposed. We were going to be stuck with both an FBI agent and a US Senator, so we needed to be on some kind of best behavior. I figured I was too far down the pecking order for it to affect me. Then the Managing Director called.

�Not you,� he chuckled. �All your reports have been exemplary, and the senior trainers are convinced you are fully committed to us. No, it�s your relatives again.�

I grimaced. �Well, I shouldn�t complain about them too much; they�re why I�m out and about.�

�But still, yes, most of us have relatives we would rather not have. In this case, however, a couple of them are also ponygirl owners. I want to keep them away from the FBI person and the Senator as much as possible. Also, they know you, and they�ve been getting rather insistent about when you�re going to come visit. So I want to handle two issues at once.�

�I�m going to put you into the transportation logistics crew for the moment. We�ve got several crime lords on our list of attendees, including one of your relatives.�

�That�s right. By the way, your training notes say you can probably take a teleport awake.�

�I didn�t know that, I�ve never tried. If you need it, I�d be glad to try.�

�OK. Call Security and have them run a test. Then call Fran Donaldson; she�s working the outside contact part of transportation logistics for us.�

Security�s check was simplicity itself. They put me on one of the teleport stages in the warehouse and told me to report while they dropped weights near me. They started about thirty feet away, and then moved them in. It was the most bizarre experience I�d ever had, including several drug trips. It wasn�t scary, however, just bizarre like a funhouse. They dropped the last one into my outstretched hand. Not a problem. Then things whirled around me for a moment, and I found myself on a different teleport stage. I picked myself up, shook to settle my clothing, and walked off. I was cleared to teleport without sleepy gas.

Fran turned out to be a tall honey blond who just exuded dominance. She was one of those people that made the room she was in look like it had been designed just for her. I knew that feeling from several of my relatives, but none of them were this powerful. They dominated by scaring you. She dominated by divine right. I got assigned five crime lords that were owners, beginning with my cousin Mike.

I beat it back to our apartment to start making calls. They�d originally moved us in with another family to free up the apartment, now they moved us back because I needed the spare room for extra equipment. One of the security staff came with me to show me how to use it. It turned out to be simple enough to scare me; I could see what would happen if it ever fell into my relatives� hands. One more reason to stay here, hooves firmly planted.

I could see him stare at the phone in disbelief. This surveillance system was too good to believe. �Is that you, Little Fuzzy?� he said, cautiously.

�Well, he should be. You�re the first person in the family I�ve talked to for what, three years?�

�Down on my luck, and you know me. I�d rather die than accept anything from the family.� He snorted at that. �So I decided to become a ponygirl. My name is Raindance now.� I watched him look at the phone again, and then put it back to his ear, very carefully.

I could see the wheels turning in his head, and finally come up with two horseshoes and a joker. �Since when do they let ponygirls talk on the phone?�

�Oh, I�m not a ponygirl any more. Uncle Frank got kind of insistent, and we made a deal. I�ve settled here. Got a husband and a career as ponygirl trainer.�

I saw him look at the phone again. �Then maybe you know what the arrangements are. All I know is that someone will call and tell me.� I saw the wheels spin again, and come up two horseshoes and a light bulb. �Is that why you called?�

�What, you think I wasn�t just panting to hear your dulcet tones again as soon as they let me near a phone?� I paused, but not long enough to let him answer. �Partly, at least. I�m supposed to tell you and several other attendees how they�re going to get here. You sitting down?�

�We teleport you in.� I could see the wheels turn again. This time they came up with two male nurses and a straitjacket.

�Yes, here�s the drill.� I told him what he needed to know. �I�ll call you when everything�s ready and walk you through it.�

�Sound�s doable. Something�s puzzling me a bit, and you might know. I heard a rumor that Jeff Donaldson�s got raided.�

This time it was my turn to stare at the phone. I hit the �security attention� button. �I thought they had that covered up in concrete.�

�Well, you know how it is, people talk and Dizzy got worried.� Dizzy was another crime lord on my contact list.

�He should be worried. Everything�s on hold for high level politicking. Jeff�s daughter is here on site, working on what needs to be done. Compliance with the CSA will be one of the major topics.�

�Compliance?� This time I didn�t need to hear the wheels turn. They turned up a badge, a gavel and a cell door. Mike was well known for a viciously nasty streak, especially when the victim couldn�t fight back. I�d already checked his three ponygirls, and wasn�t happy with what I�d seen.

�Sorry to hear that, just when I was looking forward to seeing you again,� I lied.

�Yeah, too much work. I�m even cutting back on some of my hobbies. You know of anybody in the market for three preowned ponygirls?�

�In what kind of condition?� As if I didn�t know. �I�ll ask around. Say hi to Uncle Frank for me, guy.� I gave him my contact number and hung up. I felt like heading for the shower, but I knew that soap and a scrub brush couldn�t deal with this kind of slime.

I cancelled him off the attendee list and called Alice. She called back and I told her the problem. She was not pleased, to put it mildly. She called back about an hour later. By then, I�d talked to Dizzy, and he�d cancelled and put his four up for sale.

�I�ve talked to Leo, and we�ve come up with a holding action,� she said. �Get them as cheaply as you can, and we�ll transfer them directly to the time slowdown tank. Then we�ll deal with it when all the outsiders are off the premises.�

�Will do, but it�s going to raise merry hell when the word gets out. A lot of our people are deluding themselves that our girls are treated well by the owners.�

�True, but this needs to be dealt with anyway. I�d rather deal with reality than more delusions that are likely to come back and bite us when we aren�t looking. Leo agrees with me.�

�Quite well. Hey, I�ve got a buyer interested in taking that scrap metal off your hands for recycling.�

�They�ll take care of shipping and handling as long as there�s no new damage.�

�Just get your people out of there, and we�ll handle pickup and delivery.�

He hung up. I waited for him to give the orders, and then switched viewpoints to see what was going to happen. What happened was that they yawned, collapsed against the pole on their stands, and then disappeared. It looked like my briefing on the system hadn�t mentioned a remote stun. Not that I minded; some toys are too dangerous, etc.

The rest of the crime lords on my list were easier to deal with. They liked all their possessions to stay in good working order and reflect their power and glory and all that b.s. Their ponygirls didn�t have it easy, but they were in very good shape. We got everything worked out, and then I took a long, hot shower with plenty of soap and a strong brush.

The actual Gymkhana was a madhouse, but then, huge parties are when you�re on the staff, especially when most of the staff is green as grass. We muddled through without too many problems.

That didn�t mean there weren�t any. I was hoping to keep a low profile and just herd the various organized crime figures so they didn�t see the senator, and vice versa. I had to clean up after the Senator�s daughter a couple of times, but that situation resolved itself when Carrie �volunteered� to become a ponygirl. Fran got left holding the bag on that one.

Then I got dumped into a high level political meeting with the Senator and all the honchos. It took me about half of the meeting to figure out what I was doing there; then the light dawned. I was the designated Mafia and other organized crime contact; Leo didn�t want any of his clients wiped out when they cleaned up the Island. So I beat it back to my apartment and called Uncle Frank.

�Busy as all get out. I�m happily married and learning how to train ponygirls.�

�Heard that too. I guess all the paperwork from the new compliance rules simply got to him.�

�Heard something real strange going around. Our medical people are a bit baffled by it.�

�Oh?� I could see Uncle Frank sit up in the monitor as I got to the meat of the call.

�Yeah. They�re trying to get organized to pool their intelligence about why it seems to wipe out some groups, and totally miss other ones.�

�I�ll call around. Wouldn�t want to expose our people to something like that.�

�I wouldn�t either,� I closed the subject since he seemed to have gotten the message. �When�s our next social? I haven�t seen Aunt Susan in ages.�

We nattered on for a few more exchanges, and then hung up. I could see a sudden drop in the population of the Island.

Chapter 19. Your reality check is in the mail.

Cleanup after the Gymkhana took about a week. People got their apartments back, housekeeping had a huge list of minor damage to fix, Fran and Dreammaker finally left, the ponygirls came out of the time warp and took up as if nothing had happened, and our training class reconvened at the same time the news hit the grapevine.

The student�s reaction ranged from shocked disbelief to outright denial. When Connie walked in, she was deluged with questions.

�Unfortunately, it happened. We�ve got seven badly damaged ponygirls on our hands. The damage ranges from beatings and malnutrition to loss of body parts. Lenore is on the committee figuring out what to do about them. The board only found out about it this morning, and they�re out for Leo�s and Alice�s blood for not telling them sooner.�

�Alice didn�t want it to come out with outsiders on premises,� I contributed. �We had to wait for Fran Donaldson to leave.�

That got everyone�s attention. Apparently that tidbit hadn�t hit the grapevine yet.

�I�m the one that found out about it, three weeks ago when we were doing setup. Alice decided to put them in the time warp and deal with it later.�

That was met by demands that I tell them all about it. Connie told them to hold it until she could get all the classes together. I told my story to the two hundred or so students in the academy. Lenore came in at the end.

�That�s a very good summary of what happened, Raindance,� she said. �Here�s what�s going to happen, short term.

�Four of the ponies are missing body parts, mostly arms, tongues and eyes. We�re putting them back into the time warp until Black ThunderBolt can regenerate them. That may be a while. We�re recommending that the board add to the genetics staff. Some of that stuff is unbelievably complicated, and the ThunderBolt doesn�t know nearly enough yet to do major regeneration programs.

�The other three have only suffered beatings, burns, bruises, brands, malnutrition and other general abuse. We�re feeding them up and working out a therapeutic plan for each one. They�ve all suffered speech deterioration. Two of them didn�t come from here, and don�t understand English.

�Long term, Leo is getting the board calmed down so they might be able to deal with it. From what I�ve heard so far, opinion is about evenly divided between getting out of the ponygirl business altogether, and making certain this doesn�t happen again. There are a few people who figure they should be able to do anything with them they want, but they are a very small minority.

�Let me give you another perspective, or rather, I�m going to ask Raindance to give you her perspective. She�s an outsider, and she came in as a ponygirl, so its not one of the standard viewpoints.�

Think fast girl. �Well, what Lenore said is quite true. I came in through the Internet recruiting program. I was down on my luck, and on the outs with my family to the point I would rather die than accept anything from them. That�s not just stubbornness; one of my family members abused three of those ponygirls.

�I�ve got naturally kinky hair, and I always wore it short enough that it didn�t cause problems. The recruiter didn�t catch it. I was already two weeks into training before they found out, and Black ThunderBolt needed a lab rat for her hair research. They asked me to volunteer in return for becoming a community owned ponygirl. I agreed. At least this place speaks English, and I was told I had a very large chance of winding up somewhere I couldn�t understand anyone.

�Then one of my family members managed to track me down by way of a security breach in the recruiting program. That�s been fixed. As I mentioned my family isn�t very nice people, but Leo didn�t want to deal with the fallout from telling one of the major East Coast Mafia Families to go to hell.� That got a bunch of startled looks; I guess most of them really didn�t know about my family. �So I got community trainee status in return for assuring my family I was alive and well, and committed to life here in this community.

�I was quite happy as a ponygirl. Whether I would have stayed happy is anyone�s guess, but I wouldn�t have let myself be recruited if I hadn�t have thought it was a reasonable career choice. I�ve got no qualms about training other young women who want to be ponygirls to be good ones, and placing them where they get a chance to show how good they are as ponies.

�You can put me quite solidly in the second camp. There are girls out there that like the idea of being ponygirls, and I don�t see why they shouldn�t have that choice.�

�That�s very well, but I didn�t ask to be a ponygirl. What kind of choice did I have?�

I had to think about that one for a moment. �I don�t have a good answer. My family is that variety of Catholic that thinks they can violate all of the Lord�s commands daily, then go to confession and memorize a Bible verse, and it will be all right. I currently think that you decide up front what you want out of life before you�re born, and that free will doesn�t extend to changing that decision on the fly. From that viewpoint, since you were born here as a girl, you clearly wanted to spend two years as a ponygirl. I wouldn�t venture to suggest why. That�s just my opinion, yours is probably different.�

She looked like she�d been sandbagged. I suspect she knew exactly why. As it turned out, two days later she was no longer in class. I found out she was back in a ponygirl cell at her request, undergoing touchup training before being sold outside of the community.

Lenore told us we could spend as much time discussing it as we needed, but to stay in the classroom area while we did. The next few weeks were intense. Opinion eventually solidified around the second option: if people wanted it, why shouldn�t we provide it?

Chapter 20. Training Class, Part 2

We slid right into the second half of the training class. The first half was breaking the new ponygirl, and supporting her properly. The second half got down to actually training her to do something. What that meant in practice was how to support the lobo-ra while they trained her.

Working with the lobo-ra was a trip and a half. At first, I thought I�d got a bad batch of acid; it was that kind of a trip. Eventually I adjusted. Most of the rest of the class had it easier; they�d grown up with them. The lobo-ra were really alien, and I had to flex in places I didn�t know I had to handle it.

The thing is, they had character traits I couldn�t begin to describe. Being around them convinced me of one thing for certain. Lots of my, and everyone else�s, character traits I had always been taught were part of Homo Sapiens� vaunted flexibility were hard wired. For example, they had a group coherence that I literally couldn�t understand. Describe, yes, but there was no way I could feel that much coherence in my gut. They found it literally impossible to seriously consider doing something that wasn�t in the best interests of their collective. They found what we did to each other on a regular basis to be equally baffling, if not appalling. They regarded us as dangerously out of control carnivores; they had more respect for their wolves, which at least tended to keep their intra-pack aggressiveness mostly to the level of friendly play. They got on with us because we were in a position where we had to cooperate internally; as a community, we�d painted ourselves into a corner where we had no choice. However, that explained why they were universally trusted. They simply weren�t capable of acting against the interests of the community, as long as it was their community.

I also found out that one of my community duties was to have a lobo-ra daughter. They strongly recommended I have her first, and fairly quickly. I would barely notice the pregnancy until about the eighth month, and it wouldn�t inconvenience me all the way up to term. The genetics staff, several medical technicians in the services area, and something called the council would handle the details. We were told explicitly not to ask questions; if we ever got to a position in the community where we needed to know, we would be told.

Another thing was that although they all looked female, they were sterile mules that had about as much interest in sex as a rock. As far as they were concerned, it was simply another behavior we had, which at least had an understandable object. I almost asked the obvious question, and then reconsidered.

Other than that, they specialized in cute. Most of my classmates were taken in; I�d long ago lost any illusions about any necessary relationship between cute, cuddly and harmless.

Once we got our relationship with the lobo-ra straightened out, the rest of the course was fun. We learned how to support them in training for riding, cart and both types of sulky, and learned how to drive cart and heavy sulky properly. We didn�t use the guys for subjects any more. We girls got used for subjects a bit, mostly to show how to teach several flashy dressage steps.

We got assigned to real training teams for the last couple of months. Most of us were in the training block, Steph and one of the slower boys got an assignment in the main dome. I found out that meant they were only expected to do routine support; they wouldn�t get actual training. When I ran into Steph later, I found out she�d taken it quite well; she actually had a fairly well developed sense of responsibility, and had been worrying herself sick about messing up one of the girls.

We got assigned to different training teams, and got specific ponygirls to work with while they were being trained. That also solidified our mastery of the ponygirl�s daily routine; by the time class ended, I could work smoothly with my assigned team on anything except breaking a new girl.

Eventually, we graduated, and I got a permanent assignment with a team in the training block. I had arrived.

Epilog.

The twin hits of the Consensual Slave Act and the ponygirl abuse caused massive changes in the way we treated community owned ponygirls. The community eventually quit dealing with owners that abused their property. It took a while to integrate the whole concept of days off with the ponygirl mindset, but we eventually managed to get a �girl mode� that was more a ponygirl playing girl than a girl playing hooky from being a ponygirl. Every one of our ponies did girl mode a little differently, which was quite all right with me.

I�m now a senior trainer. I enjoy seeing my girls develop into ponygirls that live in the eternal now, without any care or thought of the future. It�s something we lost as a species when we got intelligence. I think it was a good tradeoff, but I enjoyed my years in the now of the ponygirl, and I think that others want to sample it, if only to make the tradeoff more poignant.

I had my lobo-ra daughter early on, and then let her mature for a few years before I had Tom�s children. Since lobo-ra mature much more slowly, I felt I needed to give her a head start so they were all mature enough to understand when Tom�s and my children raced past her on their way to adulthood.

I spend most of my time as a senior trainer, but I�m quite often on the road, training owner�s staff and doing other jobs for the community. Since I came from outside, I understand it in ways that most of the community doesn�t. Every once in a while, I have to pull a chestnut out of the fire for my family. One of those chestnuts got way out of hand, and started a most profitable sideline, with its own set of moral choices. But that�s another story, and really doesn�t have much to do with ponygirls at all.

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.

Raw Material

By Xaltatun of Acheron

Table of Contents

Chapter 1. Selma

Chapter 2. Prescreening

Chapter 3. First message.

Chapter 4. A real offer, at last.

Chapter 5. Morning at the apartment.

Chapter 6. The capture.

Chapter 7. Orientation.

Chapter 8. Planning Session

Chapter 9. First Lessons

Chapter 10. Discussion

Chapter 11. Sex Slave

Chapter 12. Time Passes

Chapter 13. Interlude

Chapter 14. Decisions

Chapter 15. Community Trainee.

Chapter 16. Community Member

Chapter 17. Trainers Training

Chapter 18. Gymkhana

Chapter 19. Your reality check is in the mail.

Chapter 20. Training Class, Part 2

Epilog.