This work is copyright 2002 by Xaltatun of Acheron (A Pseudonym). It may be posted on the Internet to any free forum, provided it is not modified in any way, and provided that this notice is included in its entirety. 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.
Story codes: (MF, FF, ponygirl, SF)
Adult Content Warning - this story contains adult themes, including non-consensual bondage/slavery. It could also prove highly disturbing if you think our current socio/political worldview is the only one that exists. 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.
The name New Babylon has no relationship to any other use of the term by any other author. No connection should be assumed, either derivative or as a base for parody.
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.
OK - now on to the story -------
In our last exciting episode, Yvonne, down and out after being ejected from her college with amazing, even breathtaking suddenness, is offered a contract with New Babylon. She grabs it like a starving barracuda attacks a hapless swimmer. Once she arrives 24 thousand years in the past, she discovers what she’s signed up for: she’s going to be a ponygirl! People who might set a standard for abnormality have hurried her through a bizarre examination; then she just finds out what her stall looks like when she is hitched to a mowing machine! The mowing man introduces her to one of the pleasures of being a ponygirl (well, it’s not so much different from being a girl, actually…) Then she’s just getting acquainted with her stable mates when she discovers that her trainer is a fully functional hermaphrodite. And here she thought Rinda was female. At least, the discovery was quite pleasurable.
In the last episode, she’s discovered that ponygirls are herd animals. She’s also found out that she can be a quite useful adjunct to a game of golf. Oddly enough, the golf game gets her into the final set of twists and turns in the story, which
Concludes in Part IV:
Chapter 12. Riding Training
A few days later, a rider rode into the meadow on a perfectly stunning yellow blonde, and dropped a rope around Yvonne. Then she laughed, cinched the lead from the startled ponygirl’s halter to her saddle, and led her off to the clubhouse. She dismounted, tethering her ponygirl to one of the taxi hitching posts, and led Yvonne back to the tack shed.
“Bend over,” Dora 8 commanded.
Yvonne, startled, obeyed. The trainer guided her to the right angle with hands on her belly and shoulders. In a moment, Yvonne was standing with her torso at a 45 degree angle. Her head had come back on her shoulders so she was still looking forward.
The trainer probed her lower back muscles with a finger, checking for any sign of weakness. After a moment, she was satisfied.
“Hold that position while I saddle you,” she said.
Yvonne whinnied in mild alarm. She hadn’t noticed that a saddle had appeared on the section of wall where her tack was kept. She didn’t think she wanted to be ridden! However, she didn’t have any choice in the matter, so she just stood there, knees flexed to keep her balance.
The trainer started with the corset, draping it over her waist and then tightening it with the lacing machine. Then she shackled the ponygirl’s arms, and stripped of the halter, replacing it with her bridle. She slid the bit into the ’girl’s receptive mouth, draping the reins over a convenient ring.
Finally, the trainer took a saddle off the wall, trailing leather straps. She dropped it over Yvonne’s back, where it nestled firmly over her waist, extending backwards to cover her hips. The trainer buckled one of the two straps that held it over her waist, drawing it tight enough to elicit a gasp from the ponygirl. Then she buckled the other one, and shook the leather seat, making certain it was immovable.
Once she had checked it, she drew another strap around the back, lifting Yvonne’s still growing tail so it was out of the way before she tightened it. That strap pulled the saddle firmly down around the ponygirl’s hips. She tried to twist the saddle again, and nodded, satisfied.
“That’s good,” the trainer praised. Then she took the reins, fist just under the ponygirl’s chin, and led her out away from the girl herd.
“I hope you’ve been ground trained,” the trainer said, conversationally. Yvonne grunted in puzzlement at the new term. “Ground training means that if I drop the reins like this, you act like it’s tethered to a hitching post.” The trainer’s tone left no doubt about what would happen if she wandered off! Yvonne whinnied, like she was going to go anywhere anyway, except maybe back to her herd.
The trainer dropped the reins, and then walked around her pony, nodding as she inspected the hooves and the mane.
“Next,” the trainer said unexpectedly, “I’m going to mount you. Spread your legs and shift your weight to the right to compensate while I swing aboard.”
She lifted her foot into the stirrup, and swung onto the ’girl with practiced ease. Yvonne swayed under the sudden strain, but remembered to shift right and then back as the trainer climbed aboard. In a moment, the trainer found her seat. She put her communicator on the ’girl’s arms, and then bent forward and picked up the reins.
“Good girl,” she praised as she combed her right hand through the ponygirl’s short mane. “Now when I squeeze you like this,” she squeezed her thighs together, “start at a walk.”
Yvonne tried to step forward with the unfamiliar weight on her back. To her surprise, she found that her body automatically compensated by shifting her weight to the other foot.”
“Good girl! Just keep walking, you’re doing very well Yvonne!”
The ponygirl’s hesitant steps gained confidence with each stride. As they approached the edge of the field, the trainer shifted her wrist, putting more pressure on the left rein. Yvonne turned left, apparently without thinking.
“Good girl!” The trainer flicked her eyes downward to look at her readouts. Apparently she was satisfied with what she saw, because she squeezed again, causing her mount to stride forward across the field. They went back and forth over the field for a while, practicing turns. Eventually, the trainer frowned slightly as she looked at the monitor, and then turned her ponygirl back toward the stable.
She’d had enough. She walked the sweating ’girl up to one of the grooming stalls and pulled back on the reins to stop. “Now girl, I’m going to get off. Remember your weight is going to shift to compensate.” She slid her right foot out of the stirrup, and swung off, as Yvonne shifted back and forth. Then she tossed the reins to a waiting groom.
“Groom her and send her back to the herd. She’s been very good, so leave the cuffs off.”
As the groom busied himself with removing the saddle, the trainer walked around and removed Yvonne’s bit. Then she held up a sweet. Yvonne licked the candy off of the trainer’s hand, and then gently kissed it before she took it back. The trainer chuckled, and Yvonne whinnied back at her. The trainer scratched under her chin, behind the ears, and then ruffled her mane before walking away. Yvonne looked after her, aware of a sudden feeling of loss.
The groom had finished taking off the saddle. He shackled one ankle to the equipment post, and then used the unlacing machine to take off the corset. Then he took off her bridle and unshackled her arms. As Yvonne stood, feet apart, and rubbed her shoulders to work out the kinks, he took the water nozzle and drenched her. Then he soaped her, rinsed her down, and dried and brushed her mane. Finally, he put a halter on the ’girl, draping the lead around her neck. Then he swatted her lightly, and watched her trot down the incline to her part of the herd.
The next couple of weeks went quickly. As Yvonne 8 gained strength, Dora rode her for longer and longer periods. She taught the ponygirl how to trot with a rider, and then added a full gallop. Some days, she also did a round of golf as a bag girl, and occasionally pulling a golf cart.
One day, they did something different. As usual, Dora had one of the grooms saddle her steed and leave her in the reserved section of the clubhouse parking lot until she was ready. She thought this taught the ponygirl her place quite well; besides, some of them would be going onto taxi service anyway.
However, after picking her up today, she had the ’girl trot to one of the many paths leading from the clubhouse. Dora, as usual, held the reins in one hand, and kept up sufficient pressure so that her mount couldn’t turn her head. Yvonne trotted along the path, perfectly under control. They went through various forest and meadow paths until Yvonne had totally lost track of where they were. It didn’t bother her overmuch; she had fallen under the same spell that all of the saddle ponygirls were under, and thought the sun rose and set on her rider. Whatever Dora wanted her to do was not only perfectly all right, it was her most heartfelt desire: at least, until the next thing she wanted her to do.
Eventually, they came out on a cliff overlooking a beautiful valley with a hidden lake. Dora looked at the communicator she had clipped to Yvonne’s arms and smiled secretly to herself. She deftly guided her mount into a secluded hollow and waited patiently.
A few minutes later, a girl wearing a grass skirt showed briefly at the edge of the forest. She looked around carefully, and then walked down a game trail. Dora took three balls tied together with one knot, swung them over her head and threw them in the girl’s direction. The dusky brunette stopped, startled, as the balls wrapped her legs in leather straps. She fell to the ground, a resigned look on her face.
Donna squeezed her legs, telling the startled ponygirl to advance. Yvonne walked out, and stood beside the waiting captive while her rider dismounted. Dora reached down, touched the girl, and said: “Tag. You’re it!” Then she laughed.
“Dammit! I didn’t know I was being hunted,” she complained.
“You weren’t being hunted,” Dora said cryptically. “Following you wasn’t all that hard. You left a trail a mile wide. You need to improve your woodcraft if you want to live out here.”
“What do you mean?” the girl asked, sitting up and beginning to unwrap the balls from her legs.
“Let’s cover the basics. You thought you’d escaped a while ago. Then a hunting party caught you and raped you. They brought you in for the zoo, and then you escaped. Pretty clever, the way you did that, by the way. Then another one caught you, and you escaped. Then another one. See the pattern?”
The girl stared at her a moment, and then sighed. “I haven’t really escaped, have I? You’re just toying with me.”
“Well, it might be closer to say we’re playing tag with you. You’re it, and you can stay out here doing whatever you want as long as you make it hard to catch you.”
“You’d let me go?” she exclaimed, obviously surprised.
“Who said anything about letting you go? One of the services we offer is for our guests to play great white hunter, hunting the most dangerous game. We need game to hunt, and the powers that be think it’s just peachy keen that the game selects itself by attempting to escape.”
“What if I start hunting them?” she said, apparently trying to be obnoxious.
“Go right ahead,” Dora replied to the surprised girl. “It’s a war game. If you can count coup and escape, the person will be taken out of the hunt. Of course, you have to be in the vicinity of the hunting party to do that, which increases your chances of being caught.”
The girl rocked back on her heels. “Now that could be interesting. Any other rules?”
“They’re not supposed to damage you. You’re not supposed to damage them. You can pick a safe area that they can’t come to, but you’re not allowed to stay there during a hunt. And you don’t get any points taking out the livestock.”
“Livestock? Oh.” She looked at Yvonne.
“Exactly.”
“Then what happens?”
“Whatever you want, within limits, of course. If you want to stay out here until you fall over, feel free. If you want to come in and be a good little slave girl, come on in. We won’t hold the escape attempt against you.”
“And if I don’t play your silly game?”
“You’re an escaped slave. When we run out of patience, we’ll either condition you so you can’t even think of escaping, or put you in the zoo. Consider this your first and last warning.”
The girl made a face. “Yuck. I’d rather pick bananas. At least they get the telly.”
“If you work out and pick a home base, we’ll install one for you.”
“The comforts of home,” she sighed. “It’s a deal. I think.”
“In that case,” Dora said, reaching out and stroking her face, “I might just consider a reward.” She chuckled as she tweaked one of the girl’s nipples. “Look what we have here! You really do want it, don’t you?”
“Yes, dammit!” the girl moaned.
“Well, warm me up,” Dora commanded, lifting her skirt to display a partially erect penis. The girl sat on her heels, and Dora took a step forward to allow her to bend her head to her task. After a few moments, she became absorbed in her task, teasing and sucking the organ to full, throbbing erection. As Dora warmed up, they both began to pant in unison. Finally, Dora gently pushed back on the wild girl’s shoulders. She obediently fell backwards, cushioning herself with her arms, and Dora slid into the waiting channel. A minute later, they came together.
Dora picked herself up and smoothed the skirt of her tunic. “Just remember,” she said, wagging a finger, “that was an advance on performance.”
“That got you all hot and bothered, didn’t it?” she asked her ponygirl as she ruffled her mane. “Well, let’s head on back. If you behave, I just might let you have some.” Yvonne whinned excitedly as Dora put her foot in the stirrup and swung back into the saddle.
“Hiyo, Yvonne,” she called as she waved goodbye to Gillian 3.
Chapter 13. Should Old Acquaintance be Forgot?
Illustration by the Marquis de Panasewicz.
For the next few days, Dora took her mount through various parts of the island. They didn’t do anything quite as interesting as capturing a wild girl, but Yvonne got lots of experience in being out in the wilderness with a rider, learning different kinds of uneven ground. Then one day she learned that her trainer was satisfied with her performance as a saddle ponygirl.
Like all days, she mixed with her part of the herd until her name was called. Then she trotted up to the tack shed for the groom to put her tack on. The groom saddled her and led her toward the clubhouse, but rather than leaving her in the parking lot, he brought her to a twosome, adding her to the other three ponygirls they were looking at.
She recognized Mrs. Syndler immediately, and looked at her with a bit of puzzlement. Then she recognized the younger woman, indeed, almost a girl, standing next to her. It was her old roommate, Sally! She almost stopped dead, and only discipline kept her walking toward the group. She hoped that Sally wouldn’t recognize her. She would just die!
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t with her. The young woman turned from talking to her mother and looked at the approaching ponygirls, a frown on her face.
“That can’t possibly be Yvonne?”
“It just might be,” her mother said. “I thought I recognized her when I was here last, and she certainly is a good caddy, just like your roommate.”
“But…” Sally almost stuttered before she regained her aplomb. Then she walked over to the flustered ponygirl and touched her on the breast. “I recognize this mark. You are my old roommate, aren’t you?” she asked Yvonne directly. Yvonne wanted the ground to open up under her, but she whinnied anyway.
Sally backed up a bit. “They certainly did a good job on you.” She ran her hand through the blushing ’girl’s mane. “The number of times I’ve wanted to do that! At least, when you still had a full head of hair.”
“Mama, which way should I use her?”
“She’s supposed to be trained to the saddle, but if you want to talk, take her as your bag girl. You can always take her out on the bridle paths tomorrow.”
“I think so,” Sally said. “We can get another saddle pony for right now.” The grooms led Yvonne and one of the other two ponygirls away, and stripped of her saddle and other tack, leaving just the halter and harness of a bag girl. In a moment, they brought her back with another saddle ponygirl. The two golfers mounted their saddle ponies and joined the waiting line, keeping a firm hand on their respective bag girl’s leads.
On the first hole, the two golfers dismounted by the side of the women’s tee, leaving their mounts ground tethered. Sarah went first, driving her ball to the left, just about where she had put it every other time Yvonne had seen her play the hole. Mrs. Syndler was one of the most consistent golfers the ponygirl had ever seen.
“How should I play this?” Sally asked her bag girl.
“Well, if you’re feeling accurate today, go for the dogleg. That should give you a good three wood to the green. Otherwise, you mother put it just right. You can go around the bend and then shoot the green in three.”
Sally grinned. “I’m feeling competitive today.” She slid the driver out of the bag, and hit a perfect shot to the middle of the bend. She slid it back in, swung onto her ponygirl, and followed her mother down the fairway, keeping a firm grip on her bag girl’s lead.
They played three more holes before she wound up on the other side of the fairway from her mother, who was in the rough with a difficult shot.
“So, Yvonne, what happened? All I knew was I came back from classes, and you were moved out. Nobody would talk about it.”
“Daddy’s company flamed out. I guess it was a heck of a mess, once the auditors got done. He came home, shot my mother, tried to shoot my little brother, and then killed himself. The proctors just threw me out without giving me a chance to talk to anyone. They changed your number and blocked the phone exchange so I couldn’t get to you, either.”
Sally frowned a moment trying to remember. “What was going on then? Oh! So that was your father’s company. I suppose I can see them getting rid of you; that would have been an ugly scandal. But I don’t understand them doing it that quickly. If it was just a matter of keeping up appearances, they could have negotiated first.”
Mrs. Syndler had gotten herself out of trouble with a beautiful shot, and had ridden up leading her bag girl. Sally picked a club, and chipped onto the green, about five feet from the hole.
They played several more holes, just talking about the course and planning shots. Eventually, they wound up away from Sarah again.
“So. Do you want to stay a ponygirl, or do you want me to rescue you?”
Yvonne almost fell over. “I want to be rescued, of course. Being a ponygirl is more fun than I thought at the beginning, but it’s no way to spend my life unless I absolutely have to.”
“I can’t promise anything. Mother will go ballistic. She’s already read me the riot act about rescuing strays. Several times.” Sally smiled reminiscently.
“So you need to strategize,” Yvonne said. “There might be a trust fund or two sitting around that they couldn’t get to.”
“Now, that’s a thought. I’m not sure whether she’s more mercenary on or off the course. Meanwhile?”
“You’re a guest of New Babylon, and I’m your ponygirl. Whatever you want to do, as long as it’s within the contract, of course. Enjoy yourself, girl. You were always too serious.”
Sally giggled. Then her mother came up again, and Sally selected a club and put her next shot on the green. “I’m up three,” she giggled again. “You always were good for my game. Can you keep score for me?”
“Sure. Just unclip my hands. I also wash balls, and clean clubs.”
They played out the course without talking about anything except golf. However, that didn’t fool Mrs. Syndler for a minute. As Yvonne was being led back to the meadow, she heard the argument start.
“You are not going to rescue another stray!”
“But Mother! You haven’t even let me explain my plan.”
“Plan? What’s a plan got to do with it? And when did you learn to plan?”
The rest of the argument was lost in the distance.
“What was that about?” Faith 3 asked as soon as they had taken the bit out of her mouth. Faith had been Sally’s mount. “You’ve got a way out?”
“Only the goddess knows, and she’s got a vile sense of humor,” Yvonne said. “Those two are old money. The way that whole crowd talks, I think they sold Noah the timber for his boat – and then sat out the flood high and dry, counting their profits on the deal.”
“And probably claimed they owned the land the Ark landed on, as well,” Faith added. “So your family was new money?”
“Worse than that. I had no idea what daddy did for a living. It’s his karma, though, not mine. I hope.”
Chapter 14. Wilderness Trek
The next morning, a groom came up and called both Faith 3 and Yvonne 8. The puzzled ponygirls were led to the tack shed, saddled and brought out for their riders, who turned out to be Sarah Syndler and her daughter Sally. Sarah mounted Faith with the practiced swing of an expert horsewoman; her daughter mounted with somewhat less grace, but found her seat readily enough. The two women rode their ponygirls down one of the many paths leading through the forest from the golf course.
After a brisk trot, during which time Sally became familiar with the way her mount handled, they arrived in a pleasant glen dotted with cottages set among the immaculately manicured verdant lawns. The two ladies rode their ponygirls up the paths to one of the cottages, where they left them tethered to hitching posts. They walked into the cottage side by side, a strained silence uniting them.
A few minutes later, a groom rode up, hitched the two girls to his saddle, and led them down one of the winding paths to a tack shed and meadow discretely hidden behind a low hill. The two ’girls were groomed and turned loose in the meadow.
Yvonne looked at his retreating back for a moment, reflecting on what had happened. Clearly, Mrs. Syndler was not happy with her daughter. Yvonne chuckled quietly to herself. Her old roommate had complained long and loudly about her mother, but she seemed to get her own way in the end, at least much of the time. Only time would tell.
Yvonne looked around the meadow. Most of the ’girls seemed to be busy, so she decided to settle herself for a few minutes. Then she noticed a sable maned beauty trot down from the grooming station, a petulant look on her face. Her collar proclaimed her to be Gina 5, and Yvonne figured that she might just be unhappy because her hands had been cuffed behind her back.
“Would you bite my head off for saying hi?” Yvonne broke the silence.
Gina sighed. “Not really. It’s my own damn fault that I’m cuffed, and I tend to get cranky when that happens. Which makes them keep me cuffed.”
“That’s a real pain,” Yvonne sympathized. “I’m new here; where is this and what’s going on?”
“This is the real hoity-toity guest area,” Gina said. “The rich bitches and the stuffed shirts. They tell me I don’t have the proper attitude to our lordly masters.”
“You mean fawning adulation?” Yvonne giggled “Although it seems to be hard for a saddle pony to have anything else for her rider.”
“Excuse me!” Gina sneered, “You’re a saddle pony. Let me worship your shadow.”
“So,” Yvonne ignored the invitation for a spat, “What is it you do?”
“Pull a god-damned lawn mower. All day, every day.”
“That’s got to be boring,” Yvonne sympathized again. “The lawns do look real well kept up, though. You must be doing a good job.”
“Boring doesn’t do it half justice,” Gina sighed. “I’d watch the telly except that I’m cuffed.”
“Well,” Yvonne shrugged her shoulders, “I suspect that’s the whole point of leaving you cuffed when you misbehave.”
The next morning, she woke up as the sky brightened, and joined the rest of the herd for her morning feed. The grooms called her out and saddled her, and then one of them rode out, leading three saddled ponygirls. He dropped her off at the hitching posts in front of the cottage Sally had vanished into the previous night. Yvonne sat on her hooves, letting her mind wander watching the birds and the insects lazily perform their mysterious errands in the air.
A little while later, Sally walked out and looked at her, frowning slightly. Then she relaxed, and walked up to her ponygirl and ruffled the beast’s mane. Yvonne responded by nuzzling her rider, caressing the shiny fabric of her blouse over her breast. Then Sally unhitched Yvonne’s reins and swung into the saddle. In a moment, they were off down another of the paths into the woods. After a brisk walk, she joined a group of riders and their ponygirls. Yvonne immediately recognized it as some kind of a tour: two of the riders had the standard tunic and golden slave collars of high level servants, and were undoubtedly tour guides.
The morning passed pleasantly, as the little party of tourists wandered through some of the more beautiful parts of Maui. Around noon, they came to a meadow where a picnic lunch had been set up. The guests ate, and grooms took care of the ponygirls. They spent the afternoon coming back a different way.
Yvonne quite enjoyed the jaunt. Part of it was the high she got from having a rider, but part of it was the pleasure of learning about the island. They were moving slowly, and Sally did not maintain a tight rein, so Yvonne took advantage of the opportunity to sightsee.
The next few days passed similarly. Sometimes Sally went on sightseeing jaunts, and sometimes she played golf with her mother. While Sally took her as her bag girl on those occasions, she never opened the subject of a rescue again, and Yvonne didn’t broach the subject, either.
After a week, Sally took her on an overnight tour. This was just like the other tours, except that they stayed overnight at a campsite where all the facilities were provided. The ponygirls were released into a meadow, with the leads on their halters staked into the ground. The ’girls talked to each other in low voices, until one of them made up a silly ditty about a ponygirl and a wild stallion. Then they put their heads together and invented a song about the beauties of being ponygirls. By that time, night had fallen, and they fell asleep on the emerald grass.
Then they went on an overnight jaunt to an unsupported campsite. They brought along several pack ponygirls to carry supplies. Yvonne enjoyed this outing just as much as the other ones. She had her rider, and that made everything right.
Several of the guests pitched in to help groom and feed the ponygirls. Sally was one of them; she used the opportunity to groom Yvonne and incidentally inspect every inch of her ’girl’s skin. Yvonne blushed for the first time in months; she was supposed to be beyond embarrassment at being handled, but she knew Sally, and that tapped a reserve of shyness that she thought she had forgone.
One day, Sally rode Yvonne to the ranger station, and picked up a pack ponygirl and started out without anyone else. They stayed on one of the regular trails for part of the day, and then took off into the wild. The pack ponygirl snorted when Sally left the beaten path, but quieted down swiftly and followed her lead.
That night, they camped in a jewel of a grotto, near a small waterfall. Sally fed and groomed both ponygirls, and tethered them to a nearby tree as she rolled up in her sleeping bag. Once the pack girl was fast asleep, Sally woke Yvonne and motioned her to sit on the other side of the fire.
“So, have you made up your mind about whether or not you want to be rescued?” Sally asked.
“I’m afraid it’s still a maybe. I don’t know if they’ll be able to put my feet back together,” Yvonne answered. “And I’m afraid I’m getting addicted to being ridden.”
“Addicted to being ridden?” Sally asked. “I’ve noticed that you seem to like me riding you, but I didn’t think I was addictive. At least, my boyfriends don’t seem to think so.”
“It must be something they do to us. Being ridden is a high like nothing else. When there’s someone in my saddle, and a firm hand on my reins, it’s like the entire world is right. It doesn’t even need a firm hand, really, although that helps. If it weren’t so corny, I’d say it was what I was born to do. Except that I know that it’s something they’ve done to my brain. I’m finding I’m looking forward to my next rider, which I never did for pulling a chariot or carrying someone’s golf bag.”
“I didn’t know about that,” Sally said. “That could be a problem if you don’t want to give up being ridden. The hooves may also be a problem; I haven’t talked to the powers that be about whether that change can be reversed at all, let alone how much they’ll charge.” She shrugged. If money couldn’t buy happiness, it had never occurred to her that it wouldn’t at least buy the way out of problems.
“On the positive side, Mother has given me her very grudging approval to look into rescuing you. Provided, and she made sure I understood that, I got my share out of the deal. No more Ms. nice girl.”
Yvonne laughed quietly. “I’ve been thinking about that. Do you want a personal assistant? I was keeping your schedule when we roomed together.”
Sally thought a moment. “You know, that just might work. We do mesh well. I’ve ridden several ponygirls, and we seem to have more of a rapport than I had with the others. I never minded you keeping my schedule; you may not know that I threw out the last three people mother stuck me with.”
“I can imagine. You do have a temper when you get irritated. Besides,” Yvonne said, “If I’m your assistant, you might not have to worry about the hooves. There are leather overshoes to avoid damaging floors.”
“And a reputation for being just a little unusual goes a long way,” Sally grinned. “I think it’s a deal. Mother might go for it; servants are servants, and as long as they do their jobs and otherwise stay out of the way and out of trouble, she’s happy. I’ll work on it; no promises though.”
“I heard enough about your mother when I was your roommate. You can’t succeed if you don’t try.” Yvonne reached over to kiss Sally lightly on the lips. The kiss turned a bit deeper than they imagined. Finally, Sally pulled back.
“I think we’d better not tonight.”
Yvonne pouted at her.
“I don’t want to wake my pack animal and cause all kinds of rumors. You’d better go back there. Now.”
Yvonne walked back to the spot where she’d been sleeping, and stretched out as Sally replaced the tether.
Chapter 15. Reflections
Yvonne lay relaxed against the rough ground, head cradled on her arms, looking at the silent stars wheel overhead. She heard her mistress’ breathing quiet and finally fall into the rhythms of sleep that she knew so well from the time they had been roommates. And she wondered what she really wanted to do.
Six months ago, she had been a student at a posh private college that catered to the upper crust; people that her father had desperately wanted to be accepted by. Thinking back, her life had been a rush, from this class to that tutoring seminar, all to attain some goal that may have made sense to him, but never had to his daughter. She’d gone along with it, for lack of anything better to do.
Then, the bottom dropped out, and she found out how unprepared that life of preparation had been. She’d spent two miserable months in one of the worst slums in the country. Then she’d signed her life away without looking at what she was doing.
Was she even human any more? Being able to wiggle her toes was a long ago, fading memory. Today, she had hooves. She had a real mane, where once she had called her chestnut hair a mane. She had a tail, still growing.
Even more subtle, but somehow more final, she had a herd instinct. She could no longer even imagine being alone if there were other ponygirls around. And she had some kind of bonding with her riders. On reflection, she supposed that Sally was no different than Dora in that regard. At least, the other ponygirls didn’t think so – whoever her current rider was, that was who she was bonded to. And that made so little sense from her previous life that it must be instinct.
Sally had offered her the opportunity to go back. Go back to what? The last time she’d looked at the news from uptime on the telly had been … when? Maybe the first and only time. It had seemed stupid then. Now? She grinned quietly to herself. Human foolishness. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to immerse herself back in it. There was an advantage to not being human any more. No more homo sappy. Homo ponygirlus? No, there was a better word. Equus. Homo Equus.
She laughed quietly to herself. She didn’t think that Sally would even notice. Sally’s attitude was very clear. Yvonne was an animal, not human. But then, that had always been her attitude; it was just obscured by all of the conventional lies that kept the common herd in line.
She watched the stars wheel, bringing the brilliant red pinpoint that was Sirius into view. She knew that now, and that was one of the surprising things. The news had never attracted her, games just seemed futile busywork, but she had gotten involved in some of the courses. Without any goals, without anybody standing over her shoulder demanding that she had to do better, without grades, evaluations and sneering classmates, she had found some of them interesting. And chasing down what had happened to Sirius had been, in its way, fun.
Did she want to go back? She watched the cold, distant stars wheel above her, and fell asleep.
Epilog.
“Just a moment, Mrs. Syndler. I’ll see if the managing director is ready for your appointment.” The managing director’s secretary bent slightly to gesture over an otherwise featureless part of her desk, causing her luxurious hair to shift in its apparently artless fall over her shoulders. “Yes, he is.” She rose to open the door to the managing director’s office. Mrs. Syndler didn’t see the secretary’s swiftly erased grimace of distaste as she walked into the inner room.
The managing director was a tall man, dressed in impeccable slacks and turtleneck shirt, whose luxurious brown hair belied his age. He turned from the window overlooking the beach and ocean, and greeted his not quite welcome guest. “See if Mrs. Syndler wants anything, Sherry,” he commanded.
The blonde who had been sitting on her heels in the corner rose to her feet. She was dressed in the ubiquitous short tunic and yellow collar of a personal slave. Mrs. Syndler looked at her strangely for a moment.
“I’ll have coffee. Cream and sugar, please,” she told the girl.
“She looks like she could be your daughter,” the matron remarked after the girl had left the room.
“She is,” the man replied. “I really didn’t mind when several of my children didn’t want to continue in the business, but working actively against me was something I wouldn’t allow. She didn’t listen, so…”
“Quite.” Mrs. Syndler agreed with him, noting the implied threat in passing.
In a moment, the blonde returned with a coffee service, and knelt while Mrs. Syndler took the cup of steaming brew and seasoned it to her taste. “I see she’s quite well trained.”
“Our trainer’s reputation is well deserved. So,” he steepled his hands, “How do I come into your problems with your daughter? She’s old enough to make her own decisions and mistakes, I would think.”
“First, I’m not certain where she’s gone,” Mrs. Syndler said.
“She’s out on a several day camping trip by herself,” he replied. “That’s part of the problem?”
Mrs. Syndler almost dropped the coffee cup. “By herself? In that wilderness?” She was too well bred to actually screech.
“Calm down, Mrs. Syndler,” he soothed. “She’s perfectly safe. She took a riding ponygirl and a pack ponygirl with her.”
“That does not sound at all safe.”
“As long as she takes reasonable precautions, yes. The islands don’t have large land animals. They’re too far from anything to migrate. Besides, we’ve got several little gadgets keeping track of our guests and keeping them safe from other hazards. I suppose she could trip over her own feet, but outside of that, there’s not much that could get to her to hurt her out there.”
“But she’s out there with that … ponygirl.” Sarah almost spat.
“There’s a problem with,” the director’s eyes flicked to a hidden readout, “either Yvonne 8 or Teri 5? They’ve both got very good efficiency ratings. Including from you,” he said pointedly. “What is the problem?”
“Well,” Sarah sat down, calming herself with an effort. “Yvonne 8 was my daughter’s roommate in college for a while. Until she got thrown out. I’m not certain why; all they told me is that they had to do it to avoid a scandal.”
“We picked her out of a rather nasty slum. That doesn’t fit with her being in the kind of college your social class would gain entry to.” He made some gestures over his information tablet and then gave a wintry smile.
“Well, well. So she’s George’s daughter. That explains a lot.”
“George?”
“Someone we had business dealings with that you would not consider to be a fit associate. I can quite understand their wanting to get rid of her once her father committed suicide. However, that leaves me with a problem, and it’s not something I can make a snap decision about.”
“What kind of business associates?”
“Not your kind of people at all. Nobody that would cause major trouble for New Babylon either, but then it never pays to irritate people unnecessarily. You can’t know all of the connections.”
He steepled his hands again. “One of the problems is that we don’t encourage real intimacy between our guests and our slaves. It’s impossible to prevent some emotional attachments, people being what they are, but maintaining some distance is healthier for all concerned. Since Yvonne 8 was your daughter’s roommate before this situation arose, there may be more of an entanglement than is, strictly speaking, wise.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she sighed.
“Well, I dislike being dictatorial, but I don’t intervene in disputes between guests. The other issue is that George’s old associates may want a say in what happens to Yvonne 8. They tend to put a lot of importance on family ties. They may very well want to consult Yvonne 8 for her desires. So whether your daughter gets what she wants isn’t necessarily under her control, either.”
“I see,” Mrs. Syndler said. “One other thing. Is it even possible to rescue Yvonne 8? That’s what Sally wants, after all. To get her out of here.”
“Now that is an interesting question. Normally, after five years as a ponygirl, a slave is not going to want to go back. So the question of changing her hooves into feet simply hasn’t arisen yet. The tail can be amputated, and changing her mane back to a normal head of hair is relatively easy. The rest of the changes? I don’t really care, and I doubt if she would, either.”
“Well,” Mrs. Syndler said, “It does seem that there are rather too many factors for me to get upset. I do trust that you won’t find an easy way to change hooves into feet?”
“I don’t believe we’ve looked at it, to be quite frank. It would probably take a significant bit of work.”
“I think that’s satisfactory,” Sarah told him. “Thank you for your time.” The blonde got up and held out her silver tray ready to receive Mrs. Syndler’s coffee cup.
Does our hapless ponygirl get bailed out of her predicament? What will the neighbors think about Sally’s social secretary having hooves and a tail? Does Xaltatun even know where this story is going next? You gotta be kidding. He’s the last to know these things!