Her dark skin would look perfect in a pink or green harness. Cathy couldn’t help imagining what it might feel like. Would it be hot or cool? Would it be soft to the touch or more like leather? She had to know, that was all there was to it! And her lips! Oh God! Cathy could see them spread by a pink nylon bit, with the corners pulled back to show the lovely white teeth. Naked and harnessed, that ebony would be the talk of the town.

At first, Sabel wasn’t aware that the teacher was watching her, but when her eyes caught Cathy’s for the first time, the black girl blinked at the intensity of that gaze. It was the first day of the course, and the teacher was sitting on a high stool, with her legs crossed.

Like the majority of the girls in that classroom, Sabel came from the lower layers of Auronian society. Since the foundation of the New State fifty-seven years ago, that Central America country had gone through profound changes. The Old Order, based as everywhere on greed and on the fight for money, had produced misery and suffering for the people, while a few enjoyed the privileges and pleasures brought by richness. At the turn of the century, however, the situation had become intolerable because of the natural catastrophes that shook the planet. Famine and illnesses ensued and, as in many other countries, in Auronia the Old Order was brought to an end by a series of popular upheavals. A more enlightened regime took over, under the wise supervision of intelligent and socially minded women, and in a few decades the country progressed more than in three hundred years of male rule.

The system was an original combination of rigid hierarchy and efficient mechanisms of social mobility, based on merit and hard work. Everyone was expected to take pride in his or her “Station In Life”, as the various levels were called, and perform the tasks associated with it to the best of their capabilities. From the First Station Ladies, who owned the farms and were responsible for growing food – this being the reason for the consideration everybody paid to them - to the last Breeder in the Seventh Station, every citizen was respected and his or her work honored as essential to the well-being of the entire nation.

Sabel was nineteen years old. Her mother, a former member of the Fourth Station – which included moderately skilled people working in all sorts of small companies – had lost her position because of sloppy work that had caused damage to the clients of the firm. In spite of repeated admonishments, she had not amended her ways and had been sent to a Breeding Farm, where Sabel was born. These Farms had been instituted in the first days of the New State to give a useful function to female members of the former élite, not used to work and who of course hated the New State and all it stood for. The Council had decided that even so they deserved a place in society: they would procreate, and in this way help to increase the number of workers, sorely depleted after the enormous devastation that had marked the end of the Old Order.

The children to which these women gave birth, however, were citizens of Auronia, and had the same rights as everybody else. According to the new laws, they had to begin their productive life either in the Sixth or in the Fifth Station. Those in the Sixth were charged with cleaning - sanitation, street sweeping, garbage collecting and processing, and similar tasks. The Fifth Station – about half of the country’s population – comprised activities not requiring special skills, such as farm labor, house building, road conservation and so on. Although employed in manual services, these men and women were as respected as those holding positions in the upper Stations: every job, however humble, was seen as essential to the prosperity of the nation.

The destiny of children born from Breeders was decided according to the needs in each type of work. After three years of basic schooling, Sabel had been designated for the sanitation services. A steel circlet was welded on her left ankle, showing her identification number – 6 SL 4.760.442 – and the date – 25 G (for Geranium) 50 (meaning the fiftieth year of the New Era). The law required her to spend seven years in the Sixth Station before being allowed to take exams leading into other Stations. If she succeeded, she would receive a position in the Station she had been tested for. Otherwise she would stay in the Sixth, but could apply for more interesting jobs anytime she wanted to, as examinations were regularly offered.

For six years, Sabel scrubbed diligently the floors of a hospital in a provincial town. As she excelled in her tasks, she received a “Very Worthy” mention and was transferred to a post in Charissa, the beautiful capital of Auronia. Five months ago, she had completed her mandatory seven years and got a license to present herself for upgrading examinations. Her dream was to jump into the Fourth Station, which housed moderately skilled workers of all sorts, and become a salesgirl - or even a secretary, like her mother had been.

She tried very hard, going to the public library after her shift and burying herself in the books. But she had stopped studying seven years ago, and didn’t pass the test. She wept bitter tears, but raised her head and decided that she would prepare for an easier test. After all, jobs in the Fifth Station didn’t require any special skills.

Among the functions in the Fifth Station, one had captured Sabel’s imagination since she had discovered its existence: ponygirls. In her childhood she had known ponyboys, as all the transport of produce from the fields was done by human equines, but until she began working in a town she had never imagined that girls could pull carts. Sabel weighed her options and realized that it was almost impossible for her to reach the Fourth Station. But becoming a ponygirl was perfectly possible. She read carefully the old posters on the public ad boards and discovered that candidates had to pass a preliminary interview to evaluate their physical fitness; if approved, they were offered a free six-week course to prepare for the examinations. So she took to jogging to improve her stamina, and day after day she screened the ads, looking out for those offering ponygirl courses.

A few months later, one was announced. Sabel’s persistence was rewarded: she was approved in the interview, and waited eagerly for the first class, which was scheduled for next Monday. Sabel’s heart had beaten quicker as she took her place in the front row of the classroom. She breathed deeply and opened the notebook she had bought especially for that class.

The blonde lady waited until five minutes after starting time and wrote her name on the board: “Miss Cathy”. There were gasps in the room because of her clothing. She was wearing a shiny black leather bikini bottom and a matching leather vest, with a silver clip holding it closed just below her bust line. Her skin was such a contrast to Sabel’s, revealed so strikingly against the black of the costume. Her ponytail spread out and waved over her back as she wrote.

Cathy’s bottom was firm and round, with strong white thighs going down into tall black boots. A crop hung from the side of her bikini and waved as she wrote the name of the class: PONYGIRL INSTRUCTION. She turned to the students and noticed that a very attractive black girl was looking intently at her. Sabel suddenly looked up, embarrassed to be caught staring. The blonde woman just smiled and looked around the room at the other students. She unhooked the riding crop, tapped into her hand and began to call names.

“Jenny?”

A small pale-looking girl said something in a barely audible voice. Cathy clapped the riding crop loudly on her desk.

“JENNY!??”

Jenny squirmed, raised her hand and said, “Here!” The teacher clapped louder on the desk - “It is Here, Miss Cathy!” - and stared at Jenny.

“Here, Miss Cathy!” the pale girl repeated. Cathy smiled and went on down the list. She guessed that the lovely dark-skinned girl must be Sabel. She looked into her eyes very directly and almost whispered her name, waiting for the right answer.

“Yes, Miss Cathy!” Sabel said softly, making the way they looked into each other’s eyes even more sensual while the rest of the class leaned to hear.

“Thank you, Sabel!”

Something had passed between them, a kind of electric current. Cathy finished calling the names, took a small stack of papers in her hands and motioned for Sabel to come forward. The ebony was wearing the regulation shorts that curved out more than usual over her high full booty and tapered halfway down her muscular thighs. Her sandals were white like her shorts, and her white halter-top was cropped very prettily below her breasts. It was clear she had no bra and didn’t need one. Cathy felt her heart beating quicker as she saw how long and curly Sabel’s hair was, pulled back in a bushy ponytail that left bare a pair of lovely tiny ears.

“Sabel, would you please hand these out for me?”

“Yes, Miss Cathy.”

She watched as the girl moved down the narrow rows of seats. Her ponytail swished with her motions, and her legs flashed and gleamed where they showed out of her shorts like two strong black vees. The work Sabel had been doing for so many years had made her legs and rear very attractive. Cathy’s eyes went down to Sabel’s left ankle: the circlet on it had good chances of being replaced by a locked collar on her neck. The girl looked perfect to become a ponygirl.

A few years after the beginning of the New State in Auronia, terrorists had exploded the Middle East oil fields and put an end to the era of motorized transportation. All over the world, ships had had to reconvert into sailing boats, and land transportation had had to rely on manpower. In Auronia the system had been implanted several decades ago and by that time was well established: on the farms run by First Station Ladies, thousands of ponyboys harnessed to small wagons transported everything, and in the cities healthy girls pulled either sulkies for members of the upper Stations or the lightweight carts that crisscrossed the streets of every Auronian city.

Taxi companies constantly needed fresh ponygirls; others served in hospitals, schools and private companies, delivering all sorts of goods or transporting their staff. For girls like Sabel, who toiled day after day scrubbing and washing and mopping, becoming a pony meant a substantial step upward: work was heavy and hours long, but it was widely known that ponies were well taken care of, and those belonging to Ladies in the upper Stations took great pride in pulling their carts.

That class was composed of forty girls. Most of them came from the Sixth Station, but a few were there because they had not shown enough dedication in their former jobs. They were being offered pony positions as a last chance; if they failed the midterm examination, they would be sent to a Breeding Farm, and probably never recuperate their former Station. It was easy to tell which girls were in each category: those being “downstationed” wore no anklets.

The teacher felt that both groups would be strongly motivated to take the harsh course that awaited them, one by the hope of ascending one Station, the other for fear of spending the best years of their lives as Breeders. Even if the females in this Station were well treated and respected as a necessary part of the System, it was understandable that any girl would prefer not to become a Breeder if she could avoid it.

Cathy’s professional eye glanced at the girls, evaluating them for strength and fitness. She had run many classes of that kind and her experience told her that some would not pass the demanding proofs. Not all candidates had the psychological profile needed to become an obedient ponygirl, who would take pride in being owned (and sometimes punished) by someone holding a superior Station. But she had a warm feeling that Sabel would be one of them. The degree of her submissiveness had of course to be ascertained, but it was evident that she had all the physical qualities required from a pony. Looking intently at her shapely bum, Cathy imagined it exposed and wiggling between the shafts of her cart, while that lovely ebony pulled her around the lakes that encircled Charissa.

As the instructor of the class, she had the right to pick one of the girls for her personal service - and she had decided already which. Cathy’s smile illuminated her pretty face. A smile that Sabel was starting to enjoy.

I was very curious about that new course, because I wanted so much to improve my Station in Life. I was born at a Breeding Farm, received the basic instruction and at twelve got my anklet and was sent to work as a sanitation agent. Our country is blessed with a very wise system. I don’t know how it is abroad, but here we like it because it gives everybody an opportunity to have a Station in Life and work for the happiness of the entire country.

The seven silver stars on our Flag represent the seven Stations. If your parents are in a Station, you can learn the skills pertaining to it and remain in it for the duration of your life, but this depends on performing all the tasks that go with that Station with care and pride. If you are sloppy or lazy, and don’t amend your ways, you are “downstationed” and someone coming from a lower Station can occupy your place. Also, people from other ones can fill new vacancies in any Station. This is done through public examinations where the best are selected. I think it is a wise system, much better than the old ways, although I don’t have a very clear idea of what those were. I have heard stories of men and women coming from very low Stations who progressed to be honored and respected in the upper ones because of their abilities.

Being born from a Breeder, I could start life either as a Sixth or as a Fifth Station worker. That year they needed fresh girls in the Sixth, and I was sent to learn how to clean, scrub, wash, disinfect and take care of cleanliness in public buildings. Anybody in this Station must give seven years of work, from twelve to nineteen, before being allowed to take any test. I knew that with my poor schooling it would be almost impossible for me to become a Secretary, but I wanted to try and take the exam. However, I failed and had to stay in the cleaning branch.

But still I can receive further instruction and become a member of the Fifth Station. I am not condemned to scrub floors for the rest of my life, and this I owe to our wise system! It depends only on my personal dedication and effort. Of course, if I am lazy and willfully don’t meet the standards expected from a Sixth Station girl, I can be sent to a Breeding Farm, be fucked by stallions to get pregnant and bear children one after another until my breasts reach down to my waist, like it happened to my mother. Brrrrrr! I don’t want that!

Although I know that any work is noble when well done, that sanitation is as essential to Auronia as any other kind of work, and that I can be respected and honored as a member of the Sixth Station, I want more from life. In my squad there are women who have spent all their lives on their knees, with a bucket at their side and a brush in their hands. The prospect of having this anklet attached to my foot for the next forty years is simply bleak, oh my good Lord!

So I was very happy when because of my “Very Worthy” mention I was transferred to Charissa for my last mandatory year as a floor scrubber. What a fine town it is! Wide avenues lined with trees, beautiful houses and public buildings, elegant people on the streets, shops with glowing windows, restaurants who cater to the finest clients, schools where the brightest Auronians learn useful things that they employ to make our life better, and the lakes – ah, the lakes, so blue and calm, with paths all around where people in the upper Stations enjoy a ride in their sulkies!

Our capital is named after Charissa Magnusson, the first woman to have successfully run her farm and fed an entire city after the turmoil that marked the end of the Unfair Order, many years ago. I have heard that she is still alive, at 97, and we all pray that she will hold her place in the Council for many more years.

Sanitation can be an exhausting job. I don’t think I am despising my colleagues when I say that I want more from life. I know that I can do more interesting things and still be useful to my compatriots. So any skills that can take me out of scrubbing and washing and polishing are welcome! Many times, looking from the windows of the government building, I have wondered what the life of a ponygirl is like. They seem so proud, with their colorful outfits, naked breasts and swishing tails! I want to become one, or at least to try for some years that way of life.

My mother is still in the farm I was born on – she no longer delivers, of course, but works there all the same. It would be so nice to have someone to take care of me, to give me affection, to show me the good ways – and if I am lucky, I will find a good Lady in the upper Stations whom I will pull wherever she must go, and she will caress my head and say “Very well, Sabel!”

An incident that happened last week made my wish to quit sanitation even stronger. My boss complained that one of the water closets had not been properly cleaned. He was very angry and said that if I continued to be lazy he would report on me and have me sent to a Breeding Farm. It was so very UNJUST. I had spent an hour polishing those tiles and some careless creature had left muddy footprints on them. I decided that I would apply for the next Ponygirl Instruction Course and try my luck.

As I left his office I was feeling miserable and went into a pharmacy to buy some aspirin. On the wall there was a poster: PONYGIRL INSTRUCTION. It said that a new course was being offered and gave other directions. I applied, passed a preliminary interview and waited eagerly for the first class, which was scheduled for next Monday. My boss looked surprised when I showed him the authorization to leave in order to take the course: “Want to be whipped and walk with a bit in your mouth, eh, Sabel?” he said contemptuously. I thought he was simply envious – he cannot have a private pony, as it does not befit his Station. What is wrong with wanting to become a ponygirl? It is not he who has to scrub miles of floors and feel his whole body aching after ten hours of that!

So today I put on my best shorts and top, grabbed my bag and headed for the classroom. I like to dress in white because it makes my skin glow so nicely. The teacher is a beautiful blonde named Miss Cathy, a Third Station person no doubt. I was somewhat surprised to find a woman teaching this course; I don’t know why, but I expected a man. Anyway, I tried not to show that and took a seat on the front row.

Miss Cathy’s outfit caught my attention. She was clad all in black, with a bikini bottom from which a crop pointed out. I shivered as I imagined it hitting my shoulder if I did something wrong. I could not take my eyes from her – she was so beautiful, and her skin contrasted so strikingly with her black vest and boots!

When she called my name, I said softly “Here, Miss Cathy!” and she smiled at me. I felt a shiver going down my spine: from her blue eyes emanated that sort of assertiveness one finds only in people accustomed to command. I had to lower my eyes and to conceal my embarrassment I hastily opened my notebook and copied her name and the title of the course.

She asked me to hand out the students some printed material and I obeyed. As I walked between the rows, I could feel her eyes on my back; I didn’t dare to turn, but I could swear that she was evaluating my buttocks. I felt a sort of halo coming from those steel-blue eyes and enveloping me.

As I got to the last row, a kind of scene came into my mind, I don’t know from where.

A cozy room with a fire, a soft carpet on the floor, books on the shelves. A blonde woman is sitting in an armchair, leafing through a magazine, wearing that black bikini. Her vest is open, revealing her flat belly, but the boots are gone: she has nothing on her feet. She is eating candies and absentmindedly dropping the small wraps on the floor. I focus my eyes and to my surprise I recognize our teacher, Miss Cathy.

I am squatting at her feet, facing her, and can feel the heat from the fireplace on my skin - I am naked, or almost. Only a thin strap of red leather circles my waist; from a ring on it, another strap comes down my crotch and goes up my ass crack into another ring on the back of my belt. The leather itches against my slit. I look down and see that my mound is shaven; also, I have a red leather collar around my neck.

Why am I wearing that ponygirl outfit? I don't know. I collect the tiny papers she throws down and carefully fold them. My eyes are glued to Miss Cathy’s hand, waiting for the next one to come down. Calmly, she uncrosses her legs and her foot lands on my left breast; she caresses it with her delicate sole and I quiver - what is it that I am feeling? Why is she doing that? She pinches my nipple between her big toe and the next and gently squeezes it. I look up at her: she turns a page of the magazine and goes on with her reading.

I look at her perfect toes. My nipple appears between them - and suddenly I realize that it has a ring on it! How can that be? Since then has it been there? I don’t know!

She pinches my nose with her other foot. She has been walking with those black boots and her toes still have a distant scent of leather on them. The pad of her foot is just over my lips; I open them and run the tip of my tongue on the soft skin. It tastes slightly salty. She drops another tiny paper and I know that I have to collect it, but don’t dare to move.

All that appeared vividly in my mind’s eye. The strangest thing about this vision was that the scene seemed so natural - my being there at Miss Cathy’s feet, the straps on my body, the collar, and the ring - I was stupefied.

“SABEL!”

Miss Cathy's voice woke me up from my daydream. I turned to her, my face burning - if I were white, it would look like Santa Claus’ jacket. Luckily we blacks don’t blush!

“Yes, Miss Cathy?”

She clapped her crop on her palm.

“Are you sleeping, girl? I don’t have the whole day!”

There was nothing I could say. I hastened to hand out those sheets, which seemed to burn my hands. I tiptoed back to my seat and sat down, rummaging in my bag to conceal my embarrassment: how could such an image pop out in my mind?

I looked up at her name written on the board. It glistened against the black surface, and something blurred was written after it. I focused my eyes – “ow... owner.... owner of...” The words disappeared as the teacher’s voice sounded again. The class had begun and I had to pay attention.

After some moments I looked again at again the blackboard: the words were gone. I felt disquieted. I barely knew that woman, and yet was sure that some mysterious bond had been created between us. But what kind of bond?

The following day, Sabel was sitting in a cafeteria with her friends Robin and Charra, who had also enrolled in the course. Robin, a pretty mulatto girl whose parents belonged to the Sixth Station, worked in the street sweeping section; Charra, a daughter of Mexican immigrants also in the Sixth Station, was her best friend and had a position in the garbage-processing plant.

Since the previous day, Sabel had read so many times the paper Miss Cathy had asked her to hand out that she could almost repeat it by heart. It read:

PONYGIRL INSTRUCTION

1. By enrolling in this course you will learn to act and serve in a submissive manner as a ponygirl. If you fail to follow verbal instructions, you may expect to be bound and disciplined to help you learn better.

2. If you belong to the Sixth Station and fail the midterm examination, you will be sent back to your former job and forbidden to take any other course or exams for the next three years. If you are here because you proved sloppy enough in your former position in a upper Station to have it taken from you, be warned that failure in the midterm test means a one-way ticket to a Breeding Farm, from which you may (or may not) come out after giving the New State a number of healthy children from stallions chosen by the farm owner. In both cases, you are strongly advised to take this instruction seriously and not flunk the midterm.

3. The dress code during the course will be nudity in class and in all field training. You will begin feeling the freedom that the absence of clothing allows for and wish for it, rather for than pretty or restrictive clothes.

4. You may expect, and some may even enjoy, the domination of the teachers. They will help you to learn how to submit to every order, even when barely whispered. You will feel your whole self learning to pay very close attention, or face the consequences of not listening.

5. After the first week there will be no speaking during class or in outside training. This is meant to make listening easier and more enjoyable. You will wear a regulation halter headstall and mouth bit to enforce this aspect of your instruction and will learn to enjoy it, in spite of the drool that will moisten your chin.

6. If you pass your midterm, a pill will be implanted in your body to avoid pregnancy for three years. A side effect of the pill will be strong sexual feelings from the faintest touch, making your desire to please and be touched very intense. As a ponygirl, you are allowed to have sex, and you will find that due to the pill it can be extremely pleasant - when available, which may not always be the case. So you are advised to consider everything before signing this paper.

If you sign below, THE NEW STATE welcomes you to your new life. We are happy to offer you this unique opportunity. If you prefer not to sign, however, you don’t need to. In this case, according to your personal status, either you will return to your former job or report directly to the Breeding Office, where arrangements will be made concerning your future.

I, ______________________ (fill in your name), agree to continue in this class for PONYGIRL INSTRUCTION. I agree to the pill implant and to the dress code. I will make every effort to learn how to submit as a ponygirl and accept the consequences if I fail.

Signed: ______________________

13 Rose, Year 57 of the New Era

“What do you think of this, Sabel?” Robin asked, folding her copy of the instructions. The course would continue that day at nine, and the three girls were finishing their breakfast. They were understandably nervous, as Miss Cathy had said that at the beginning of the second class they would be required to turn in the signed forms or leave the course.

“It is kind of tough, but anything is better than scrubbing those floors day after day.”

“I don’t know”, Charra said. “It says here that we have to be naked most of the time. Not speaking during class is all right with me, but what do they mean by “being bound and disciplined to help you learn better?”

Robin sipped from her cup of coffee.

“I don’t mind going nude. Last summer I was sent to that beach to pick waste from the sand, and the bikini they gave me was practically transparent. I got used to it and after the first days was enjoying it.”

“Yes, but what about being disciplined if that woman decides that you are not learning well?”

The mulatto girl shrugged.

“Don’t tell me that you prefer the stink of the garbage to a few slaps on your ass.”

Charra looked at Sabel.

“What about you?”

“Of course I will sign. I can’t stand any more to be on my knees all day long scrubbing sanitary vases and mopping floors. And when you finish the eleven bathrooms, you go back to the first one and start again. What worries me is that pill implant. I have never heard of this.”

“Neither have I”, Charra said. “There are so many things that we in Sixth Station don’t know about.”

“I actually liked what they say here”, Robin said in a dreamy voice, pointing to the section about increased sexual sensitivity. “It must be fun responding to the slightest touch. I don’t intend to get pregnant in the next few years – not after that abortion I had to make.”

Sabel looked at the clock on the wall of the cafeteria. It was twenty past eight and they had to walk fifteen blocks to the classroom.

“It’s getting late and we had had better decide what to do. I will sign up.”

She took out a pen, wrote her name in the empty space at the bottom of the form and signed it. Robin imitated her; Charra bit her lower lip and looked at the anklet on her left foot. That was her chance to leave the garbage plant for a more interesting life. She borrowed Sabel’s pen and hastily scribbled her signature on the appropriate line.

“I hope we are doing the right thing”, she sighed.

“We are”, Sabel encouraged her. “Who knows, you could end up pulling around a First Station Lady!”

All the girls had already taken their places when Miss Cathy entered the classroom. She was wearing the same black bikini bottom and vest; her blonde ponytail swished behind her neck as she walked to the desk and sat on its edge.

Sabel felt again that mysterious smile pulling her eyes to the teacher. She caught herself looking at her boots. Would she one day have such a flashy footwear? She lifted her eyes as the lady clapped the crop on her hand.

Cathy noticed some empty seats and quickly counted her herd: thirty-seven – three Sixth Station girls had quit. She had expected some of the candidates to leave after being informed of the conditions of the course. So much the worse for them. Ponygirl training was a serious affair. It was preferable to work only with those motivated, or they would give their future owners trouble instead of satisfaction. A broad grin illuminated her face as she saw Sabel sitting on the front row. Her intuition had not failed: a few more weeks and that beautiful descendant of the Africans once brought to Auronia would be harnessed to her sulky...

“Sabel? Bring your paper here and give it to me.”

The girl moved up to the desk and presented the signed form to the teacher. Miss Cathy did not touch it; instead, she looked sternly into Sabel’s eyes. The ebony felt her face becoming hot under those glazing eyes and lowered hers.

“Why are holding it upside down? I can’t read it.”

The tip of the crop brushed gently Sabel’s bare thigh just below her shorts’ hem, making a shiver go down her spine.

“This lady is really tough”, she thought, and said aloud:

“I am sorry, Miss Cathy.”

The teacher smiled. A pony had to show respect for her owner and learn that he or she had to be addressed properly, while she would be always called by her first name. Sabel seemed to have understood that from the very beginning, and that was a good sign.

“May I sit down?” the student asked, while the blonde lady looked closely at the paper. The signature was written with a somewhat hesitant hand and the final “L” was almost the same size as the “E”. “Not much schooled”, Cathy thought, “and from the way she writes her own name one would guess that she is not very assertive.”

“Are you tired, Sabel?”

“No, Miss Cathy”, was the embarrassed reply.

“Take off your top.”

Sabel remembered the item about the dress code and removed her white top, revealing a pair of finely shaped breasts.

“Who sent you to this class?”

“I saw an announcement and applied, Miss Cathy. I am fed up with my present job.”

“Hmm. This explains so much, doesn’t it? You seem to know very little about submissiveness. Ponygirls never ask questions.” She lifted her eyes to the class. “Can a real ponygirl ask questions? Of course not!”

The class was paying the closest attention to that dialogue. One would hear a fly moving its wings if there were any in the room.

“I am sorry, Miss Cathy. I didn’t know about that.”

“You will be my example when I need. Do you understand, Sabel?”

“Yes, Miss Cathy.”

The teacher took the form and slipped it into a folder with the girl’s name on it.

“You may return to you seat now.”

Cathy felt a quiver at the sight of that nice butt moving in front of her and imagined how those long dark legs would look with a tail swishing between them. She sighed and looked out at the rest of the class.

“Are you sure you have no problems signing for this course? If you have any questions, I can answer them now. You will learn things you have never thought of, so please ask before you pass your signed forms to the front.”

The faces before her showed some nervousness. Of course all the students had seen hundreds of ponygirls trotting around, but knew nothing about the process of becoming one. Only the prospect of leaving their dull jobs had made them sign those forms. To soothe a bit their anxiety was therefore a wise move.

Sabel raised her hand.

“Yes, Sabel?”

“About that pill, Miss Cathy. I have never heard of that.”

“Well, it has been used for years. In the old times it was distributed to women whom the men wanted just for sex. It is mandatory now for whoever wants to become a ponygirl.”

Sabel sighed. “My God”, she thought. “If I already flare up so easily without the pill, what will I feel once it is inside me...” Cathy went on:

“The slightest brush on your skin will make you shiver when it is implanted. A sharp smack on your bottom will bring forward a tiny gush.”

There was some embarrassed laughter from the back rows. Robin looked at Charra and winked. Cathy’s sharp eye caught the wink and she took a mental note to use the pretty brown girl as an example when the time came for demonstrating the effects of touching on someone who had had the pill implanted. She frowned and the laughter ceased.

Jenny raised her hand and asked in her thin voice:

“What is that about drool, Miss Cathy? It was written on the form.”

“I am glad that you DID read it before signing. Come here, Jenny.”

The pale girl moved up to the desk, and Sabel noticed that she wore no anklet.

“Give me your form and remove your blouse.”

While Jenny was pulling out her sleeveless turtleneck, Cathy took a bit out of the drawer. The class watched in silence, wondering what that was for.

“Turn to face the class. Did you know that sexual teasing makes your mouth water?”

Before Jenny could reply, the teacher slipped the bit into her mouth and buckled it behind her head. Jenny was completely astonished, and so were the rest of the girls. Standing behind her, Cathy brushed very slowly the crop on her nipples, like it were the arch of a violin. Jenny’s face turned red as a tomato: her little buttons had hardened with the caress, and she was quite ashamed of showing in public how aroused she was. Cathy laid her crop on the desk, reached around the girl and punched snugly both her nipples. Jenny moaned a bit; a thin drool appeared at the side of her mouth and went down her chin.

Sabel quivered as she tried to figure what would happen if the teacher did the same thing to her. She glanced at her classmates: seven or eight of them looked very frightened. “These must be the upper station girls”, she thought. “I hope that they pass their exam and don’t end up in a Breeding Farm!”

The other students were a good sample of the bottom end of the Auronian social scale. About half were dark-skinned like Sabel. Seven were Asians; the others were clearly daughters of immigrants who had come to Auronia searching relief from the famine that ravaged the neighboring countries, and who carved out their existence in the cleaning services of the capital. How would their nipples react to the leather, Sabel wondered? Surely hers and Robin’s would pop up like mushrooms if Miss Cathy’s crop ever touched them.

She glanced at Miss Cathy, who was showing the class her finger. It was wet with the drool from Jenny’s lower lip.

“Come here, Sabel, and tease Jenny’s nipples. I have to go on with the forms.”

Jenny’s little berries were sticking out nicely from their areolas. Sabel felt her jerking slightly as she fondled them with the tips of her fingers.

“Robin, what a pretty name! Give me your form.”

Robin did so, a bit embarrassed. Was the teacher going to rub her nipples as well?

“Why have you changed the date, Robin? You started yesterday, not today.”

Miss Cathy looked sternly at the mulatto girl’s oval face. Robin's hair was done in an elaborate Afro pattern and her round earnings touched the desk as she bent down to write the correct date.

“I am sorry, Miss Cathy.”

“Take out your top and bend down.”

Robin’s face contorted into a grimace as the crop hit her bum. Luckily for her, she had her shorts on. Sabel closed her eyes, wondering if she had really done well to sign that form. There was some drool on Jenny’s breast; Sabel had stopped fondling her nipples to watch her friend’s punishment. She felt the teacher’s steel-blue eyes on her and hastened to resume her task.

Robin went to her seat and Charra was called. To remove her top, she laid her form on the desk.

“Why is your form on the desk, Charra? I told you to give it in my hand.”

Suddenly angry, Cathy took the paper so that the girl was unable to take it back. Charra looked at her, scared: the teacher had grabbed her top and was crumpling it.

“You MUST learn to listen! Bend now, please!”

“Yes, Miss Cathy”, Charra said almost inaudibly and touched her ankles, showing her round rear to the class. The crop smacked each of her bottom cheeks.

“To your seat, Charra, and next time remember to do exactly as you are told.”

Finally all the forms were turned in and the whole class was sitting topless. Miss Cathy’s gaze wandered over the thirty-seven pairs of breasts heaving up and down. Phase One was over.

“Let’s talk about ponygirls now”, she said, slipping onto the desk and sitting on it. Her perfectly polished boots flashed as she crossed her legs. “How many of you have ever talked to a ponygirl, or have friends who have been selected for this job?”

Complete silence.

“Ponygirls exist in many countries. Here in Auronia they belong to the Fifth Station, as you know, and are very important in our social and economic system. As in any other Station, good service is rewarded by consideration from others and by pride in having done well what you have to do. The difference from other types of work in the same Station is that ponies, both male and female, are considered property of the person or company they are entrusted to, and can be transferred to other owners. Also, ponies serve in this capacity for life. If a ponygirl is evil and lazy, and proves unworthy of her bit, she can be downstationed and become a Breeder.”

There was a general hubbub in the class. Miss Cathy waved her crop and the rumor stopped instantly: nobody wanted that leather-covered thing smacking her butt.

“I see that you are concerned about the way I refer to the people you will work for – I used the word “owners”. But this is the standard way to call them. A pony is not employed by someone – he or she is owned by someone. Because they can use only their bodies to be useful for the nation, and need someone using their brains to command them.”

Sabel raised her hand.

“Yes, Sabel?”

“This is true, I know. In the farm I was born, ponyboys had plates on their collars saying, “Property of Ms. Stevenson.”

Cathy nodded.

“Charra, come here and put your left foot on the desk.”

The girl did as she was told. Miss Cathy touched the steel circlet on her ankle with the tip of her crop:

“There is nothing debasing in being owned. Those of you who are in the Sixth Station are in a way owned by the New State, right? You are sent to work wherever you are needed, and nobody asks you if you want to go or not. The only difference if you ascend to pony status is that you will belong to a private person, or to a company. No need to make a big fuss of that. Now go back to your seat.”

The Mexican girl walked back to her place, but turned to the teacher before sitting down and raised her hand.

“Miss Cathy - you said, “ascend to pony status”. But in the Sixth Station we can take tests to improve our condition, and as ponies we cannot. Is this ascending?”

The teacher had expected that question, which never failed to appear in the first days of a pony instruction course.

“Charra, first none of you is being forced to become a ponygirl, and second, you will have someone to care for you for the rest of your life. No more worries, except to please your owner and do your job in a manner that brings pride both for you and for him or her. Company ponies are very valuable property, and no one would be stupid enough to let his ponies suffer unnecessarily. Privately owned ones are often shown how much affection their owners have for them, and share in the prestige of the person they belong to.”

Sabel’s black face illuminated at those words, something that did not escape Miss Cathy’s keen eye. She repressed a smile and pointed to a Chinese girl, whose hand was waving anxiously.

“Yes, Chi Ling?”

“What happens if you want to stop being a ponygirl?”

“ Nothing. You cannot. Unless you are so lazy and disobedient that your owner reports on you. Then you are downstationed and become a Breeder.”

An Indian girl with huge breasts raised her hand.

“How do we know where we will go when the course ends, Miss Cathy?”

“It will depend on my recommendations and on the results of your midterm. In the second half of the course, those who succeed will start working for her new owners. The very best will be offered to people in the First and Second Stations and will live in nice stables in private homes.”

“STABLES?” Sabel almost jumped from her seat. “What do you mean, stables?”

Miss Cathy smiled at the lovely ebony’s startled leap.

“Yes, Sabel. Stables. They are quite nice really, with fresh straw in each stall. And fresh water, too.”

“But... for people, Miss Cathy?”

“I’m afraid not, Sabel. For ponygirls.”

Sabel squirmed and gasped, trying to imagine what it would be like to sleep in a stall. It couldn’t be worse than scrubbing floors and being scolded when somebody dirtied them with muddy shoes. And what the teacher had said about being shown affection hit a sensitive chord in her youthful soul. Miss Cathy smiled: it was obvious that the ebony’s mind was racing. She focused her eyes on Sabel’s neck. What kind of collar would suit that lovely dark skin? Something red, or green, matching her harness. Not too wide, perhaps with studs on...

Cathy sighed. She would do all that was in her power to ensure that the plate on the front of that collar read – Sabel, property of Catherine Magnusson.

“Those who are not selected to serve the most respected members of our society will be distributed to taxi companies and will do a nice job transporting people where they have to go, or will be used as delivery animals, taking merchandise where it has to go.”

Robin was so shocked by that word that she said aloud:

“Wow! Delivery animals?”

Cathy evaluated in a heartbeat the mulatto girl: beaming with health and youthful energy, once she learned to hold her tongue and obey the reins she would make a perfect delivery animal.

“Robin, pay close attention to what I will say now. In the Old Order, horses and oxen did all the pulling, and many poor people never ate meat. The New State uses oxen for what they were made for, namely to give meat for humans, including you, I suppose. Horses are extinct in our lands. Now what is wrong with calling animals those who perform duties formerly reserved for animals? You should feel proud of being useful in any capacity that can help Auronia to prosper.”

A pitch-black girl with a high forehead and wide hips raised her hand.

“And when you grow weak and cannot pull anybody, Miss Cathy?”

The teacher shook her head.

“A ponygirl can work until she is fifty or more, Desiree. When you grow old, you are assigned to lighter duties. Like pulling children to school or in the parks.”

Desiree raised her hand again.

“And when can we have children?”

“After the first three years of service, depending on what your owner decides.”

Cathy licked her lips, wondering what that glowing black skin would taste like, and looked at her watch: the class was almost over. There was no time to speak about collars and other items; that would have to wait until the next day. Her eyes wandered to the African beauty on the front row: she was the sexiest candidate she had met with in all her years as a pony instructor. There was something Cathy needed to know, though: how would she react to a little show of authority?

“Come forward, Sabel.”

The ebony sprang to her feet and moved up to the desk.

“Put your arms behind your back.”

Cathy raised her crop and began to tease those perfect nipples, watching keenly as they grew taller and taller. “Oh my God, and she has not taken the pill yet...” she muttered to herself.

Sabel was amazed to discover that the touch of the hard leather was not disagreeable. It was a new sensation, that was all – and Miss Cathy did it so well, caressing the sensitive tip of the nipple, then brushing it on its sides and going to the other breast. Sabel noticed that her slit was getting moist and looked alarmed at Miss Cathy. At that precise moment, the bell sounded, marking the end of the class. The girls gathered their tops and put them on. Sabel was a bit anxious – Robin and Charra were already at the door, Miss Cathy kept teasing her – for how long? Wouldn’t she be allowed to go with her friends?

Cathy watched the girl’s reactions. Nervousness was natural under the circumstances, and also the sexual response. But she wanted to check: was Sabel going to ask to be released? Or would she stand there and let her black berries be teased until the teacher decided to stop? After all, the class was over and technically she had no right to keep her there.

Sabel was enjoying the unrelenting caress, and in an involuntary movement stuck out her chest, offering her body to the blonde lady. She was getting quite aroused and it was difficult not to moan; soon it would show on her white shorts – the last thing she wanted was a damp spot between her legs. She prayed that Robin and Charra would wait for her. And the teacher kept brushing that devilish thing on her nipples...

“Miss Ca…”

The crop flicked on Sabel’s naked shoulder.

“Don’t speak before you are allowed to!”

The ebony lowered her eyes. Cathy grinned: the girl was visibly anxious to go, yet had complied with her silent command to stay. Not everything had to be said aloud, after all. She put the crop on the desk:

“Very good, Sabel. You have just shown that you can be obedient. I am pleased to say that I saw right when I recommended you for this course.”

Sabel’s eyes grew wide. How did Miss Cathy know her? She had never seen the blonde teacher before. She opened her mouth to ask, but closed it again. No flicks of that crop on her shoulder, if they could be avoided!

“I go often to the park where you jog and recognized your photograph on the application form. And I had seen you once or twice scrubbing the floor of the ladies’ toilet in the government building. You can become a fine ponygirl, Sabel, and be the pride of your owner.”

Cathy paused for a moment, waiting to see if the girl would go to her seat and fetch her top without her saying so. But Sabel stayed still, her almond-shaped eyes fixed on the teacher’s boots. The teacher had to bite her lip not to show her satisfaction:

“You may go now.”

Sabel fetched her bag and slowly walked out of the classroom, stunned by that mysterious woman’s words. Never during the nineteen years of her existence had she been told that she could become anybody’s “pride”. And coming from such a severe person, that praise sounded very sweet.