“Shh, Robin! Let her tell us what happened next”, Charra said as Sabel finished her story. The three friends were in the park, enjoying a picnic on that sunny Sunday.

“Miss Cathy led me to my stall and kissed me. I was so tired that I just ate my granola and fell asleep”, the ebony said. “Today, as the sun was rising, she came to the barn with my clothes and told me to catch the first barge to Charissa. And so I did.”

“Wow”, Robin exclaimed. “Wow, wow! Tell us again, Sabel – how long it was?” Her eyes gleamed. Sabel chuckled, imagining how much her friend would have enjoyed Shig’s cock.

“Long enough, Robin – and thick too! And he knows how to use it!”

“I told you she wanted you as her ponygirl”, Charra thoughtfully changed the topic. “All that talk about trust – and she taught you that new position, what is it called?”

“Nadu. It is a greeting to show respect for your owner”, the ebony replied, leaning a bit forward to stress the meaning of her words.

“And the belt? Weren’t you horny with that thing on you?” Robin quivered distinctly as she asked that question.

“Of course I was. Has to do with trust, too, though I cannot imagine what the connection is.”

They spent the afternoon laughing and discussing. There was so much to go over: Sabel’s adventure at the farm, Charra’s experience pulling Miss Cathy the previous Friday, some gossip about the other girls – Jenny was showing a lot of interest in the course after her teasing session, poor Karen was so afraid of being sent to a Breeding Farm that she always did something wrong, Chi Ling seemed interested in Desiree, but the Haitian had apparently turned her down…

The three friends didn’t know it, but that Sunday was going to be their last free day in a long time. Next morning, the class was surprised by the news that they were not to return to their homes and jobs, but would be lodged at the school’s stables for the next two weeks, because the course hours were being extended from two to eight a day, except on Sundays. Each girl was given a stall; collars with badges reading “Ponygirl-in-Training” were fastened to their necks, and they had to stay all the time with their harness on.

Cathy Magnusson had prepared an intensive training program and followed it from A to Z. Mornings were taken with elongating exercises, followed by push-ups and several kinds of abdominals. After that, the girls ran in place to strengthen calves and feet and to enhance breathing capacity. Jogging sessions where a slower girl’s bit was tied to a faster one’s or to a trainer riding a bicycle were followed by time at the cart, trotting, cantering and finally galloping. Those who were in worse shape had to spend extra time in an exercise especially devised by the teacher: in groups of four and attached by chains from their waistbands, their task was to drag a wooden trunk around the yard, of course without any wheels. The cart seemed so light after that!

The third week brought uphill sessions, team outings in twos and threes in wider carts, more elongations, gait drills… Three candidates broke down under the pressure and had to leave the course. The days were so busy, and the girls so exhausted after their exertions, that they barely noticed when the month of Rose ended and Tulip set in.

During those two weeks, Sabel did not return to the farm. Miss Cathy had a lot to do, correcting mistakes, evaluating the students and planning the next phases, so she had not many occasions to work her ebony. Sabel discovered that different drivers had different ways of using reins and the “crop language” to communicate what they wanted. It was much easier to obey the teacher’s precise movements, always the same and with the same intensity, but she fared well with the other trainers, even when once her driver was the fat and rather clumsy Mr. Anderson.

She followed with joy her friends’ progress. Robin won a contest where the carts had been loaded with two hundred pounds of stones. Charra got praises when she brilliantly led a team of four girls to the park and back; Chi Ling, the longhaired Chinese, was very fast, and Desiree surprised everybody when she beat Sabel twice in the short-distance sprints.

The midterm was scheduled for the fourth of Tulip. On that fine Monday morning, Miss Cathy entered the yard at nine o’clock, very pretty in her black outfit, and smiled as she saw the four rows of ponies already harnessed. She had every reason to feel proud of her achievement: in three short weeks, with patience and iron discipline, she had turned that disparate bunch of girls into presentable ponies. All had improved remarkably in the main items of her checklist – speed, stamina, and promptness to obey commands – and seemed ready to face the hard job that awaited them. Licking her lips at the sight of Sabel proudly standing on the first row, so pretty in her red harness, her hands snugly placed behind her back and her flat tummy pushed in, the teacher tapped her crop on her palm and addressed the class:

“Ponygirls! Please listen very carefully. I have told you countless times that you must listen, LISTEN! And so many times I have heard mummers and mutters when I said something surprising. Everything I say in the next hour will surprise you, but if you don’t listen very carefully you are going to fail. If you don’t feel you want to do what you have heard, you will fail. And if you try and cannot do what you have heard, YOU WILL FAIL!”

The class was in complete silence. All knew that the test would determine their future: if they flunked it, those belonging to the Sixth Station would not be allowed to take any other exam for the next three years, and those from upper Stations would be sent to breed somewhere in the hinterland of Auronia. Cathy waited for a moment to gauge the effect of her words and shouted:

“Mr. Anderson! Blindfolds on the animals, please!”

Chico, Matt and Raymond brought black ribbons and began to knot them behind everybody’s head. Sabel shuddered, recalling that sunny Saturday when she had carried Miss Cathy with the silk scarf on her eyes. It seemed so far away! She crossed her fingers behind her back: that was not going to be easy, but she had already done it. Multiplication and the alphabetical order had defeated her in the exam to become a secretary, but this time the test was about things she knew she could do. Miss Cathy’s stern voice brought her back to reality:

“I have babied you as much as I could and attempted my best to make real ponygirls out of you. The people you will be serving expect you to be the motors of their cars, and I hope you will perform your tasks with dedication and feel proud when they lead you back to your stable after a day of hard work. Those who pass this test are going to join the ranks of the Fifth Station, a significant upgrade for most of you.”

She tapped again on her palm, watching as the last ribbons were placed on the girls’ heads. How pretty they were, with their naked breasts, strong legs and nice harnesses! The New State was a blessing to them, she felt. In the first years of the new regime, some voices had been raised against using people as a means of transportation, but the criticisms ceased as the system showed its advantages. It was the obvious solution for two big problems – transportation and unemployment.

Over the years, written and unwritten laws had molded the structure of which Sabel and her companions were about to become a part: male ponies for the farms, female ones for the cities, service for life, rules for transferring ponies between citizens, the all-important norm that a “foal” or a “filly” belonged to their mother’s owner and was to be trained as a pony, the tattoos to identify them as human equines, and so on. By being given a definite position in society, even if under somewhat particular conditions, thousands of girls had been saved from wasting their lives in prostitution or on welfare queues.

Charissa had often told her granddaughters about the hot debate in the Council over the issue of ownership, much opposed by those who thought that it was a disguised form of slavery. Luckily common sense had prevailed, she used to say: people relying on ponies could not run the risk of being surprised if one fine morning they decided to leave and look for another job. Hence the rule that they should serve for life and the permission for owners to dispose of them if the need arose; as a counterpart, those entrusted with a pony, male or female, had to abide by the regulations. Mistreating a pony or not taking care of his or her health was considered a serious offense, entailing the loss of the animal and the prohibition to have new ones for ten years.

No, it was a gross injustice to read in the foreign press that countries adhering to the pony system treated a sizable part of their citizenry as “wretched slaves”. At least in Auronia, they were prized as a necessary part of economy and won respect through dedication and hard work, as any other inhabitant of the country. Cathy could hardly imagine life without them. She sighed and went on:

“There are around 150,000 ponygirls in our country – yes, 150,000, and in Charissa alone some 12,000. It will be your privilege to be one of them, and in the future bear strong fillies, which will grow to take your place when you die. When you are seen out working, everyone will notice your pride in serving your owners and know how you feel inside – for this is what being a ponygirl is about: obeying the reins, being proud of your collar and of your bit, and helping your countrymen to prosper in peace.”

The teacher stopped again and glanced at her list. During the previous weeks, she had taken notes on the ponies’ performance and evaluated carefully their abilities, for it was part of her responsibility to recommend each girl for the type of work she was best suited to. She had informed Clara Gaines of her decisions, and letters had been sent to the appropriate number of people on the Ponygirl Department waiting lists. Later that same day, they would come to the school, have a first look at their choices and drive them through the last part of the midterm test. But there was no need to tell the candidates what that would be – at least yet.

“Ponygirls! March in place!”

The sound of thirty-four pairs of boots clanking on the cement pavement echoed on the yard. Kneels were raised, breasts were stuck out – the girls had trained that countless times, and Cathy was pleased to see that even blindfolded they could do it with ease. She waited for some minutes and said very softly, almost whispering:

“Still!”

Only the girls on the front row could hear her, but as they stopped marching the ones on the second line noticed that and stopped too, soon followed by all the others.

“Remember this: if you don’t stop when someone in front of you does, you will be seriously injured. Now, turn right!”

All the girls made a right turn, trying to guess how much they had to move to do it correctly. Cathy went along the rows, patting the heads of those who had done well and shaking her head at those who had not. Pffft! A loud clap of the crop on a bare rump, a muffled scream – she lifted Kelly’s ribbon so she could see how bad her guess had been, and slipped it down again. Sabel and the other girls were burning to know what had happened, but their blindfolds were well attached and their curiosity remained unquenched. The teacher slid her palm over Sabel’s round bottom and adjusted the position of some other girls, who had come near but not quite right.

“You have to see in the dark, ponies! How else will you carry people at night? Now – take exactly twenty steps ahead and stop. Everywhere you go, you have to count your steps. You will not have time to watch trees or passers-by – you will be BUSY, do you understand? One, two – BEGIN!”

She watched as the four rows moved ahead. Sabel counted carefully her steps and felt relieved as the smell of Robin and Desiree reached her nostrils – they had done it right too. But she jerked when she heard a scream from behind – several girls had taken longer steps, the lines had got messed up and someone had bumped into the girl in front of her. Cathy frowned: longer steps were still acceptable, as the girls had never trained that routine before, but BUMPING?!

“Mr. Anderson! Please remove Kelly from the herd.”

The bronze-skinned Indian cried loudly as the fat man pulled her by her arm.

“Please, Miss Cathy! I don’t want to become a Breeder! Please!”

“You should have paid more attention, Kelly. There can be no clumsy or inattentive ponygirls pulling upper station people. You have flunked this test.”

The other girls froze under their blindfolds. Poor Kelly! She had been a Fourth Station salesgirl until a few weeks ago, as everybody knew – in the long evenings in their stalls, they had had ample occasion to hear each other’s stories. And now she was going to spend the next ten or twelve years in a Breeding Farm!

“Karen and Jenny have to be careful”, Sabel thought as Kelly’s steps echoed on the pavement and disappeared into the building. “And Diana and Toni too…”

“Turn around and go back twenty steps!”

The girls counted mentally and arrived at the point they had departed from. Nobody wanted to share Kelly’s fate.

“Blinds off!”

As the workers hurried to remove the ribbons, Cathy spoke again:

“I want you to realize that if you were blind you would never become ponygirls. You must be careful not to run into trees or bushes and injure your eyes - you are responsible for your own care! The path corners have lights, at least here in Charissa, so that you may know where you are going, even if they don’t illuminate the street itself. I am sure you have seen them many times, but perhaps you didn’t know what they were for. Now you do.”

The girls looked at each other, stunned. They had never imagined that they would pull carts in the dark; luckily, the wise people in charge of the capital’s transportation system had foreseen that and placed the corner lights where they should be.

“Very good. Your last test will be after dark. Soon before sunset, your drivers will come to have a look at you. They are the people you are going to serve – if they are satisfied with you, that is – so PAY ATTENTION and remember what we have covered here about listening and measuring things in your heads. You will pull them to the stadium, and if you succeed you will receive your passage into the second half of this course. If you don’t…”

Cathy left her sentence unfinished: everybody knew what she was alluding to.

“Enough for now. Mr. Anderson, please call your helpers and take the ponies to the stables. Feed them and see that every one has soap and a hairbrush to prepare herself for the last test.”

Heavy clouds formed over the capital that afternoon, and Sabel feared that it would be raining during the final part of the midterm. But after an hour the storm ceased, and when the sun approached the tops of the hills to the west of Charissa the town was enveloped in a balmy air.

The thirty-three remaining students were already fastened to their carts. They had showered, washed their manes and arranged them into nice hairdos. Following Cathy’s instructions, the workers had disposed them in three groups: those facing the yard gate were destined for First and Second Station families, the ones to their right for taxi service, and the remaining ones would be assigned to delivery companies. Of course they had not been informed of that.

Sabel was waiting in front of Caroline Magnusson’s sulky. At her side, Desiree had been fastened to a beautiful cart painted in deep green. Toni, a Third Station brunette who had got involved in an obscure association with smugglers, a flashy redhead with green eyes named Liza, a mulatto with upright tits and three other ebonies, plus Jenny and Chi Ling, completed the group of the very best ponies. Sabel winked at Charra, who was in the group to her right, and looked for Robin – ah, there she was, facing the Mexican.

Robin seemed agitated: locked in her stall for two entire weeks and deprived of any sexual contact, the mulatto had had to rely on her own fingers to cope with her urges. She had sent inviting looks to Chico, the good-looking half-Indian that worked at the school, but the lad knew the rules – it was strictly forbidden to play with the trainees – and turned down Robin’s advances. Sabel frowned, worried: was her friend going to make some awful mistake and flunk that last test?

There was electricity in the air. The ponies stamped and pranced as the men and women they were going to serve approached each group, but stayed perfectly still while being examined. It was a very serious moment, as the applicants wanted to feel sure before settling on a given mare.

An elegant lady walked to Desiree and eyed her from head to toe, squatted down to pinch her calves and brushed aside the crotch strap to have a good look at her pussy. The Haitian looked straight ahead as the lady ran her hands over her wide hips and cupped her breasts, muttering something that neither she nor Sabel could understand. As she was opening her mouth to check gums and teeth, Sabel noticed Charmagne touching the lady’s shoulder:

“Hello, Rita! May I have a word with you?”

“Sure, Charmagne! How are you?”

They stepped aside and Sabel stretched her head, winking at Desiree. This time there was no baby crying on his mother’s lap like on the barge, but the noise of people talking and commenting on the ponies made it difficult to understand what they were saying. Once more, Sabel got only fragments of the conversation.

“………. was detained, otherwise……………am sorry to ask you…. ……. that one, Cathy had…………..”

Even in the half darkness, Sabel's keen eyes discerned a frown on Rita’s forehead.

“………………..so much wants a black pony, Charmagne.”

“I can fully understand her…………………. other fine ones. If you don’t mind………………. a team with Cathy’s filly.”

The lady turned her head and took a good glance at Sabel, who looked straight ahead as if she had not noticed that they were talking about her.

“……… . chosen well, it seems…………….African princess…………..”

Rita sighed and moved up to the standing ponies.

“O.K., Charmagne, I don’t see any reason not to please you. Which would you advise me to pick?”

Charmagne eyed quickly the three other ebonies and pointed to the one at the far right.

“All are good specimens, but if I were you I would choose that one - so elegant, with those pert tits and slim waist!”

Rita approached the girl and repeated the close inspection Desiree had gone through. Zula bit her lip when she moved aside the strap on her pussy, but as she knew that it was the Lady’s right to examine her at her ease she stayed motionless. Sabel swallowed: so, Charmagne was interested in Desiree – and Robin, where would she go? A young man was examining her – who was he? And Charra? Suddenly she realized that she could never meet her friends again – what if they were taken to distant cities?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Miss Cathy’s voice:

“Hi, Char! Hi, Rita! Have you already chosen your ponies?"

“Yes, dear”, Charmagne replied, with a broad smile. “Rita here was interested in the one you had spoken to me about, but has been very understanding and picked another animal.”

“Both are quite good”, Cathy said, winking at her sister. She grabbed Rita’s arm and pulled her aside:

“Keep Zula on a tight rein, dear. She is as showy as one could desire, but needs a firm pulse. Nothing serious, or I would not have put her in the best group. Just a bit too spirited, if you see what I mean.”

“Leave it on me, Cathy. She will soon learn who is in charge.”

The teacher nodded and smiled at Sabel. She kissed the ebony’s forehead and tweaked gently her nipple, then sat on her place behind her, watching while Rita and Charmagne climbed on their carts. Finally everybody was ready; the teacher lifted her hand for silence and said:

“Good evening to all! I am very happy to announce the last test of this class. As you already know, each of you will drive his or her future pony all the way down to the stadium. I strongly advise you to pay attention and evaluate if she seems able to meet your requirements, whatever they may be. Anyway, your choice will stay with you for the next three weeks. I suppose several of you already own ponies and know what the procedure with the Ponygirl Department is. Those who are doing this for the first time can ask the others after the test.”

Cathy ran her crop along Sabel’s back: she had made her choice, and unless something quite unexpected happened in the next half hour, the ebony was going to serve her for many years, win medals in races and bear nice fillies to grace the carts of another generation of Magnussons.

“Now, ponies, listen! The last of you to arrive to the stadium will bring half these carts back to the school, and the first will help her with the other half.”

Cathy made a pause, wondering how many of the girls had understood what she was implying. Intelligence, at least to interpret commands, was as necessary for a pony as speed, strength and obedience. If they got her meaning, all would keep closely together and arrive at their destination in a tight pack.

“One the count of three ... one, two, three!”

Sabel felt a flick on her rump and started walking, listening to the noise of so many carts around her. She crossed the gate into the street and turned left: during the afternoon, she had made a mental map of the route to the stadium and knew exactly how to reach it.

A snap of the whip made her accelerate. At her sides were Desiree and Zula; they trotted at the same speed, smoothly pulling their drivers into the wide avenue at the end of that block. Cathy smiled at Char: the Haitian had impressed her as one of the best in the class – strong as an ox, surprisingly fast, and teeming with juvenile energy - and she had recommended her to her sister. The fiery ebony would make a fine team with Sabel at the double cart they loved to ride in. Char gave her a lip pucker kiss across the distance: she was not a pro like her younger sister, but knew enough about ponygirls to see that the one pulling her was outstanding.

The avenue was empty at that hour, and the pack of carts occupied all of its width. Sabel counted the blocks and turned left at the corner of Marie Curie Boulevard, an important artery named after the first woman scientist to win a Nobel Prize. She passed Camille Claudel Road and marched into Agatha Christie Drive – the main streets of Charissa were named after great ladies to remind the citizens that the fair sex governed Auronia. She trotted gracefully, taking care not to make the cart jostle. Cathy reclined on the seat and felt the cool breeze on her face, watching how elegantly the ebony’s bottom wiggled under her restrained wrists.

Sabel trotted past the Council Building and felt her body warming up. Caroline’s cart was heavier than the surrey she had pulled at the farm, but she had got used to it and learned how to make it run smoothly. She saw Miss Rita pulling the reins to slow down Zula, who in her enthusiasm had opened some distance and was running isolated at the head of the pack.

The crotch strap was exciting Sabel’s labia; her natural tendency would be to accelerate in an attempt to brush off that sensation, but she had understood Miss Cathy’s instructions and made an effort to keep an even pace. Drops of sweat formed on her forehead, her naked tits heaved up and down - she wanted to know whether Charra and Robin were doing well, but it was out of question to turn her head back to check - she could stumble and flunk the test!

After eight blocks she turned into Serena Williams’ Avenue, one of the nicest of all Charissa, and saw the stadium at its end. There were confused noises behind her – someone had made a blunder and she heard drivers complaining – provided it was not one of her friends! Sabel kept trotting: she would soon know.

The road widened near the stadium and more ponies came to the front row, first eight, then twelve, and then twenty. Cathy chuckled: her class had understood what she had just insinuated, that no one should be first or last. The lights became stronger and she licked her lips at the sight of Sabel’s ponytail swishing over her shoulders. The ebony’s heart was thumping because of the two-mile ride, but she kept her head up and her pace even.

The stadium gates had been opened wide to let the ponies in. Sabel winked: over a thousand people were on the seats, cheering joyously as they entered the arena in close ranks. Its huge dimensions amplified the applause, and a wave of happiness surged through her body: she had done it! She had passed the midterm! Robin and Charra were already on sight under the bright lights; she recognized Chi Ling’s slim silhouette and long, black hair – Jenny was at her side – but where was Karen?

The teacher pulled on the reins, making Sabel stop in front of a podium. She climbed down and took her list out of her pocket to see if all the ponies were there. At that moment, a limping Karen entered the stadium, her face covered with tears: she had sprained an ankle and fallen, causing the confusion a little while ago. Her driver, a bearded man who ran a delivery company, was not happy at all and kept flicking his crop on the cart handle, a dangerous few inches from Karen’s rump.

Cathy bit her lip and crossed off two names: Kelly and Karen. She remembered how she had to punish that girl in one of the first classes, when she had pulled her thong up instead of taking it off. “Not able to listen”, she thought. “Not good even to become a delivery animal.”

The blonde was weeping from shame – and from fear: she knew she had failed. What would her life be like in a Breeding Farm? She dragged the cart to where the teacher was and sighed deeply as the bearded man stepped out.

“This girl is no good”, he said curtly. “I am sorry.”

“Did you rush her, or something?” Cathy’s voice was stern.

“No, madam. She lagged behind, and as she tried to catch up with the others she stumbled on something and bumped into the cart in front of her. The driver stopped suddenly, and if her pony was not quick-witted, her mouth could have been injured.”

“And who was that?”

The man shook his head.

“Difficult to tell. A mulatto with wide haunches, and in a black harness, I think.”

Sabel couldn’t help listening. The description matched Robin, and she felt glad for her friend, who had begun her ponygirl life with the right foot.

“O.K. Then you will have no pony from this class. I am sorry for both of you”, the teacher said, a little upset because the man night think that it had not been Karen’s fault, but simply lack of enough preparation. She shrugged – all the other ponies had done well – let the bearded man think whatever he pleased!

She climbed the podium and stood behind the megaphones as the audience made silence.

“Please, can you applaud the new class of ponygirls that have passed their midterms tonight!”

The spectators stood up and a roaring noise of hands clapping was heard. Sabel felt proud for herself and for her friends: it was so good to know that all those people had come out of their homes just to compliment them! Her mind raced to the parking lot at the end of the big square in front of the stadium: she had not been able to see how many ponygirls were parked there, but her heart warmed at the thought that soon she would be among them, waiting for Miss Cathy as she watched some competition.

The blonde Lady was addressing the audience:

“We all know how important it is to have well-trained ponygirls in our city. In three weeks, these girls will graduate and become working ponies somewhere in Charissa. I will now read their names, and after I finish they will take an Olympic turn around the stadium. Annie... Barbara... Charra…”

There was thundering applause after each name. Sabel could hardly wait to hear hers, and when Miss Cathy read it felt came to her eyes. Three names more – the list ended with Zula – and she felt the spokes going down as Miss Cathy sat behind her. As she marched with high steps on the lane surrounding the arena, she didn’t mind being nude in front of all those people; even the drool on her chin and the rubbing of the strap on her petals had ceased to be a nuisance. Sabel had never felt happier in her life: she was going to be Miss Cathy’s ponygirl!

Tuesday morning, the girls who had passed the midterm were already waiting in the yard. Following Miss Cathy’s instructions, Mr. Anderson had left them without their bridles, and they were enjoying that opportunity to exchange impressions on the test.

“At first I got confused”, Chi Ling was saying. “About the last and first of us having to bring back all the carts.”

“So did I”, Robin confessed. “But then I heard Diana whispering, we must keep together, and knew what I had to do.”

Sabel winked at her friend.

“You were driven by that man – you will work for him, it seems.”

Robin’s eyes flashed:

“He seems used to drive ponies. It was not difficult to follow his commands. I wonder who he is and what I will have to do.”

“I am sorry for Kelly and Karen”, Charra said. “It must be awful to be a Breeder.”

A shadow passed over Sabel’s eyes. She knew very well what it meant to be a Breeder, since her mother had been one. But why? What had she done to be punished like that? From what Shaka and Miss Cathy had told her, she had gathered that her mother had “turned against them” - what could that mean? She had always believed that Obe had been a secretary and made some bad mistakes that brought damage to the clients of the company she worked for. Now she had doubts: the Magnusson farm was not a company – where had she got that idea? Now she was pretty sure that it was not her mother who had told her that – was it possible that she had forged that explanation herself?

“When Karen bumped on the back of my cart, the man pulled the reins so hard that the bit almost cut into my mouth”, Robin said with a grimace. “Luckily I stepped back at once – isn’t it curious how one reacts quickly to these things?”

“Miss Cathy can be severe, but she taught us well”, Charra said.

“She sure did. I have never worked out so much as in these three weeks”, Desiree agreed, glancing at Sabel. The teacher’s favorite had told her who the Lady conducting was, and she felt very proud because a First Station lady had selected her. She turned to Zula:

“And how is Miss Rita?”

“Firm with the reins. One understands at once what she wants.”

“Miss Charmagne is firm too”, Desiree said. “I don’t know who was conducting Liza. She was on my side and I had the impression that the lady behind her was a bit clumsy – she gave Liza free rein, then pulled her back, then loosened the reins, and tugged again – she must have felt confused!”

Liza, a redhead with pert tits and flashing green eyes, was going to reply when Miss Cathy appeared under the gate and all talking stopped. As usual, the teacher was wearing her shiny boots and black leather costume; she leaned against the wall to finish her peach and looked at the girls as they formed the four rows, waiting for her commands. But no exercises were planned for that day. Dr. Brigitta, the veterinarian, had been called to implant the pills in the ponies. Cathy fixed her eyes on Sabel, knowing that by nighttime she would be raging in her stall, her sex urges pent up as if she was a Siamese kitty in heat.

“Good morning, ponies! Today you are going to receive your pill. It will make you feel quite strong sensations when you are touched, and will prevent pregnancy for the next three years. I'm sure you've had time to consider for the very last time if you want to receive it or if you would rather quit this course. Those who want to go back to their old ways, raise their hands.”

No hands were raised. The ponies were quite proud of what they had achieved, and the thundering applause that had greeted them as they entered the stadium was still echoing in their ears.

“Very good, then. Mr. Anderson, please lead them to the vet’s shop.”

The girls marched behind the fat man into a part of the building they had never been to. It was a huge room with white tiles on the walls and on the floor; cupboards containing flasks of medicine and instruments were lined on a side, and in the middle ten wooden blocks were disposed in two groups of five, facing each other. The blocks were provided with straps and buckles, and Sabel wondered what they were for. She was soon to learn.

Mr. Anderson motioned for the first ten mares to come to the stations and bend over them. His aides materialized from a side door and fastened ankles and wrists to the sides of the blocks, which had a higher part on them so that bottoms were raised and pussies showed plainly between the girl’s legs. The rest of the class stood by the wall, watching in awe.

“Listen, please”, the teacher said. “This procedure is not painful; the pill is implanted in the right spot of your labium.” She was thought of adding, “like in acupuncture”, but stopped short of it – chances were that lowly schooled ponies would never have heard of that, and would be more confused than soothed by the comparison. “It will take three years to dissolve completely in your organism, and this is why you cannot conceive during this period.”

The veterinarian, a blonde lady wearing a white medical uniform, entered the room, greeted Miss Cathy and spoke briefly to Mr. Anderson, who got out and came back with a rolling cart with metal boxes lined on its top.

“How are you, Brigitta?”, the teacher smiled. “I was telling my class some basics about the pill.”

Brigitta glanced at the fastened girls. She knew of the dangers that could occur if the implant was poorly done – if the needle touched the wrong blood vase, for instance, or if the pill was blown into it too harshly. But she had performed it on hundreds of ponies and knew exactly where the fatty deposits were hidden near the labia. She walked to the first block, took a good glance at Desiree, put her rubber gloves on and opened the ebony’s pussy to look into it.

“Hmmm... red labia, good health... She has had no kids, but isn’t a virgin anymore.”

As she spoke, Brigitta made a tiny incision on the girl’s labium and waited to be certain that there would be no rush of blood. Desiree felt an almost imperceptible pinch, as if a flea had bit her, and closed her eyes. A minuscule drop came out, and the vet reached for a tube about one half of a finger wide, on which she inserted a pill. She blew into the tube and the pill went into Desiree’s labium. The acrid smell of Desiree’s juices hit her nose and she closed her eyes, massaging gently the patch of back skin to ensure that the pill went all the way down where it had to go.

“Virginity was never a requirement for ponygirl, Brigitta”, Cathy said thoughtfully. “To say the truth, I actually prefer sexy ones. Are you liking what you're seeing?”, she asked playfully.

Brigitta ran her palm down Desiree’s calf, feeling the satin-like skin that covered the hard muscles.

“Yes, dear, her pussy is lovely. And she has strong muscles here - ebonies are usually very flexible and fast.” Her tone became dreamy:

“An ebony like this on the pill... hmmm...”

She didn’t conclude her phrase, but her meaning was obvious. Cathy grinned and addressed the girls on the wall:

“In a few hours, Desiree will be very needy, and will stay so for the first week. All of you will. The first week is the harshest, but after that you get used to the sensations – it becomes like second nature for you.”

She smiled at the scared faces and turned to the veterinarian, smiling at her blue eyes and lustful grin as she motioned for Matt to bring a chastity belt for the Nubian. Each girl had had one custom-made from her measurements, but of course didn’t know about that. The belt was like the one Sabel already knew, with a metal triangle covering the pussy and a hole on the back for easy evacuation. The straps were adjusted and everybody heard the padlock clicking. The metal felt cold on the ebony’s naked twat and she shivered. She had seen belted ponies on the streets, and now she was going to know first-hand what it was like...

“No food for this one today. Just water, you know.”

“Of course, and nothing in her pussy for a week”, Cathy said. “Oh my God, she will moan at the slightest touch...”

“Well, this is expected”, the veterinarian snapped. “Cannot be otherwise.”

Desiree was freed from the station, rubbed her hands on the belt and tried to insert a finger under it, but discovered that she could not. The cover adhered quite snugly to her snatch, and even the tiny rod at its entrance was too small to give her any sensations inside it. At this phase, its function was just to keep the shield on place and prevent contact from anything with the labia or clit.

Chico came to walk Char’s pony to her stall and the vet sent a greedy gaze to her shiny back, now graced with a steel band around the waist and another down the rear crack. Brigitta followed her with dreaming eyes: the owner of that black gem would have many moments of pleasure – and not just sitting behind her on the cart! She turned to Cathy:

“Tell me, please - does that animal already have an owner? I am asking because my Jane has been with me for three whole years and the time for breeding her is approaching. But a pregnancy would be inconvenient for me at this moment.”

Cathy frowned.

“And?”

Brigitta went on:

“I was thinking of transferring her and getting a freshly implanted mare.”

“Brigitta, listen please.” The teacher’s voice was icy. “I don’t make the rules but I do know them. A ponygirl should be bred after her first three years, and you have to keep her for at least one year after the she foals. And if you transfer her, the child must go to the same owner, so you lose any rights on her.”

The veterinarian’s face got red: she hadn’t expected to be reminded of the facts that every Auronian in the upper Stations knew perfectly well. Cathy spoke again, and her tone left no room for doubts:

“You better follow the rules, or you may have to give Jane up.”

Brigitta eyed her a bit crossly. She was not accustomed to be reprimanded, and much less so in the presence of ponygirls. But she knew she had deserved it.

“Ok. I was just asking.”

“I'm sure you'll find a way to do what is best for you and your present ponygirl”, Cathy said dryly to close the issue.

Sabel was following that dialogue with all her attention. She knew very little about regulations for ponies and wanted to learn as much as she could, since they would apply to her too.

Trying to conceal her uneasiness, Brigitta moved quickly to the second station, where a trembling Chi Ling was attached. Her labia were surprisingly large for such a petite girl, looking almost like a flower. The vet tugged at them to find the exact spot for the implant, and made the incision for the straw tube. Chi Ling squirmed and made a movement like she wanted to close her legs, but felt a slap on her bottom – “Quiet, you!” – and stopped resisting.

“I don't know how she can find the point so perfectly”, Cathy thought, watching the vet’s deft fingers wetting the long flowery lips. She checked that just a tiny drop of blood was there, inserted the tube with the pill in the labia and blew into it. All her gestures were cold and professional; she was clearly not interested in fair-skinned ponies, or perhaps the teacher’s admonishment had made her realize that in Auronia someone owning a pony had also duties towards her – one of them being to take good care of her during and after pregnancy.

The problem of how to deal with the ponies’ offspring had been solved long ago. Stables, both in firms and in houses, were required to have space for kids; often a Fourth Station woman was hired to take care of a group of them while their mothers were busy. From nine to twelve years, they attended school like other low Station kids. Once their basic instruction was completed, girls and boys were separated, and the New State offered the owners of the latter appropriate compensation.

Most male ponies were given the anti-testosterone pill to make them docile and hard-working, and after getting their identification tattoo were sent to the farms to begin their lifelong career as cart pullers - first with appropriately light loads and then progressing step by step until they became adults. Those with promising attributes were chosen as stallions, but until their eighteenth year worked side by side with the ordinary ones.

After being tattooed, the future ponygirls were installed in public stables, where well planned exercises made them obedient, strong and fast. At fifteen, they were sent back to their mothers’ owners and began pulling light loads in teams of two or three: as with ponyboys, until a female pony attained eighteen years, was it unlawful to use her alone in a cart. Living in exclusively feminine stables, they ran no risk of getting pregnant; at eighteen, they received the pill and were considered full-fledged ponies.

Brigitta, who had specialized in “hippoginecology”, as she used to jest, was fully aware of all these facts, and was furious with herself – how could she have imagined that someone like Cathy would agree to breaking the time-honored rules? She concentrated on what she had to do – implanting pills in more than thirty girls was no mean task – and after two hours all had been belted and sent to their stalls, except Sabel. The ebony had waited patiently, first standing against the wall and then lying on a working station, with her butt lifted and her long legs folded. When the girl at her side was freed and led to the stables, she sighed loudly - she was finally going to know what “to be on the pill” meant!

“Such a lovely black specimen of what all women would die to be like”, Cathy thought as she checked the buckles on her pony’s ankles and wrists. “Excuse me for a moment, please, Brigitta!”

The veterinarian turned her back and went to the basin to wash some tubes, burning to know what her friend was going to do with that fastened beauty. Cathy reached out and stretched Sabel’s labia, showing the reds and pinks inside them. She wetted two fingers and began to tease the exposed clitty with slow motions, making Sabel squirm and moan. The teacher wetted a fingertip of her other hand and slid it slowly into the inviting crease: the sensitive pink ring contracted and expanded, promptly responding to the caress.

“Do you feel this, my Sabel?

“Ye... .yes... Miss ... Cathy...”

“Remember it! It will be the low of your new feelings.”

She pulled away and watched as Sabel quivered: Brigitta had come near them, ready to go on with her task.

“You may implant now, Brigitta.”

Cathy leaned forward to watch Sabel’s reaction as Brigitta grabbed her labium between her fingers and inserted the tube in the tiny incision. The vet had decided to try on this last pony a new closing technique, a stitch to close the minuscule wound. Sabel squirmed at the touch of the needle; it had all been so quick! She remembered in a flash how horny she had been under the belt at the farm, and her agony that evening in her stall, while Miss Cathy talked to her and she had to wait for release with her hands over her head.

Cathy let Brigitta caress the girl’s buttock, right on the spot where the tattoo would go. She had not told the vet that this was her personal pony, but suspected that she had no doubts about that.

“Let me buckle her belt”, the teacher said, and meticulously fitted the straps. Sabel heard the “click” and closed her eyes: she could not know that at the moment, but that click had was the beginning of something she would never forget – the hell of her own lust of rushing feelings.

Brigitta looked at the band on Sabel’s ankle and read the date engraved on it.

“Nineteen, eh? She has time...” she snapped.

“Oh yes, Brigitta, she is young, but already so strong, smart and submissive! The perfect animal we all wish for”, Cathy said as she unbuckled her pony’s limbs and told her to stand up. Sabel did so lowered her eyes to conceal how uneasy she still felt at being called an “animal”. Her eyes stopped between her thighs: how long would the belt stay there this time?

Cathy went on her tiptoes to reach the ebony’s lips with hers. Their eyes met before the kiss; the pointy nipples under the vest touched just above her navel and Sabel shuddered – not because of the implant, as the pill hadn’t started to dissolve, but because of the tenderness the Lady was showing towards her.

The blonde Lady’s pubis touched the belt and she began to move her body in circles, feeling the cold metal through the light leather of her bikini bottom and the ebony’s hot skin under her nipples. A thought crossed Sabel’s mind: her pussy was locked, but Miss Cathy’s was not! Perhaps this was also about trust? She had to ask Miss Cathy later.

Finally Cathy broke away, feeling her face red at the thought of how delicious her wonderful animal would be that night, when the pill started to have its full effect. She clipped a leash to Sabel’s collar, walked swiftly to the stables and hitched it to a loop on the wall of her pen. The ebony shuddered as she bolted the lower door and disappeared: what was going to happen next?

A few hours later, the two ladies were having a cup of coffee in the teachers’ room, which was next to the stables. Loud moans could be heard through the thick walls – and they knew why.

“Oh my, they have already begun!” Cathy said, with her mind on Sabel’s swollen clit pulsating inside the belt as the substances made their way in her organism. Brigitta put her cup down:

“I get so aroused every time I hear the sounds they make, Cathy.”

“It was a wonderful idea of Charissa’s - having them so full of desire that any touch will make them very grateful and yearn to please even more”, the teacher replied, biting into an almond biscuit. The veterinarian went on:

“Yes, their petals will soon feel on fire with tingles of emotion, like tiny orgasms. The faintest touch on their nipples will go straight to their clits as if they were being touched there, but with hands behind their back, what can they do?”

Cathy’s mind was more on Sabel than on the veterinarian small talk. She had taught enough pony courses to know what was going on in the stables. A long, loud moan was heard -

“Oh – was that Sabel? She must be desperate!”

Brigitta pierced the teacher with her eyes.

“She is your personal pony, isn’t she?”

“Yes, I have set my eyes on her from the first day of the course. She is very special, Brigitta.”

Cathy was in no mood to explain why Sabel was special: she wanted to go and see her pony in heat.

“Excuse me, dear. I have to go now.”

She rose up and waved good bye to the veterinarian. A lustful look glinted on her eyes: she knew how responsive Sabel was before the pill, and the pill was known to have particularly strong effects on ponies of African descent. Two and two made four: that was going to be quite a spectacle... and she wanted to be part of it.

By the end of the week, sheer lust would have made the ebony fall deeply in love with her. It was like what psychologists call “stamping”: little geese get attached to the first creature they see when they open their eyes – a dog, a hen, the person taking care of them, it does not matter. Its shape is stamped in their brains and they follow it as if it was their mother. With a pony on the pill the same phenomenon occurred; only, it was about desire – she began to yearn for the person touching her during the first week.

Cathy entered the stable and put her hands to her ears, so deafening was the noise coming from the stalls. As she walked along the pens, the squirming sounds mingled in her ears with the those of chains clanking, and from the open upper doors she saw the newly implanted mares grinding their bodies on the walls, on the floor, on their blankets – on any surface within their reach – in a desperate attempt to attain some relief. She ignored the cries of “Please, Miss Cathy! Please!” and went straight to Sabel’s stall.

When Miss Cathy bolted the door behind her, I lay down and tried to get some sleep. I was tired after two hours standing against the wall, and of course anxious because of the pill inside me. My sleep was agitated and I dreamed a very strange dream: I was on Robin’s cot, but she was not in the room - Miss Cathy was. She had her crop in her hand and touched my nipples like in that first day at the course; she told me to go “Friday” and brushed it at the entrance of my pussy. Her sister entered the room and said something about Desiree attempting to break her belt with her bare hands and having to be restrained. They went out to take care of her, I took the crop that Miss Cathy had forgotten and masturbated furiously on it...

I woke up with what seemed a choir of cats around me. Where were they? Why had one brought cats inside the stable? I rubbed my eyes and suddenly understood – the noises were coming from my companions!

And then I felt my skin burning. I looked down at my nipples: they had grown to double their size and were popping out of their areolas like two ripe blackberries. I tweaked them and jumped on my blanket: something had happened between my thighs! I could not see what it was, my clit was covered with the shield – its touch was cold on my labia, and I felt them swollen and turgid as if someone had massaged them for hours but stopped short at the brink of every orgasm.

I wondered how Robin was faring with that thing on her, but soon returned to my own sensations, which I can only describe as an intolerable itching on every inch of my skin. Looking for some relief, I lay on my belly and rubbed my breasts on the blanket, dragging behind me the long chain that went from my collar, but this only worsened the itching. My tushie burned as if someone had slapped it; I squatted against the wall and rubbed myself on it, feeling so humiliated to have to scratch myself like that – I never had any skin disease, thank God!

The moans were not ceasing; on the contrary, they were getting louder and higher pitched. I tried to put a finger under my belt – I had not fidgeted with it in Miss Cathy’s farm – and discovered that it was impossible: it adhered perfectly to the curve of my crotch. I remembered that the dildo could be screwed into my cunt, but some locking mechanism prevented me from turning the little knob.

I was feeling increasingly anxious. Usually, when I feel horny I look for company, as I don’t like to touch myself unless there is no other way to get relief. Sometimes I use the little shower to have pleasant sensations on my clit, but there was no little shower in the stall and my sex was “safely protected from lustful fingers, including mine own”, as Miss Cathy had put it when she first fitted the belt on me.

The entire surface of my skin was crying to be touched. My waist is not a sensitive part of me, but with the pill it has become ticklish! I slapped it and grated it with the chain, but all I got was a tiny spasm in my pussy, not remotely like a true climax

Looking around for something to rub myself on, I lay on my back and rolled on the blanket with my shoulders and hips, hoping that this might help – but it didn’t. Nothing could soothe my pangs! I got tired and stopped, wondering whether Miss Cathy would come to my rescue. In my mind’s eye I could see her grinding her nipples above my navel and her tummy on my belt – oh, was she going to rescue me from that hell? I squatted again, pressed my tushie on the cold stones on the wall and scratched my thighs with my nails – I was getting mad with lust!

Suddenly I could not stand it anymore and began to scream and moan. To hell with manners! I had never felt anything like that. I would give anything to have a cock inside me and be able to close my legs around a man’s waist – any man, even the fat Mr. Anderson! Or to wrap my pussy around Miss Cathy’s crop handle, like I had done that day in the classroom! I licked my fingers: having something to suck on was a sort of relief, I discovered. I lay on my butt, threw my feet up and began to make movements like I was cycling, in a vain attempt to ease the tickling on my clit.

I was going to try and sprinkle cold water from the tap on my body when heard cries of “Please, Miss Cathy!” She was coming, she was coming! I looked up and saw her leaning on the sill of the lower door. I went “Nadu” as she had taught me, fearing that she could order me to stay motionless while that fire raged inside me. I was so sensitive that the touch of the blanket on my knees made me jerk; I had to muster all my determination not to scratch myself in front of Miss Cathy. I burned to lift my eyes and tell her that I needed RELIEF, but I didn’t: she could become upset and go away, and she was my only hope in those circumstances. I stayed looking at on my open palms for what seemed an eternity, feeling her steel-blue eyes on me. Finally she exclaimed:

“You can look at me now, honey! My God, you seem almost wild with need!”

I lifted my eyes and saw her smiling at me - a loving smile that could only mean, “I know how you are feeling.” All I could say was: “Miss Cathy please... please!” I was stunned at how plaintive my voice sounded. Later she said that I began to rock myself on the blanket, so aroused I was. I don’t remember having done that, but if she says I did it must be true - what can you remember when your skin feels as if it was being bitten by a million fleas?

My eyes were squinting and fluttering from the strong feelings inside me. My breath was irregular, as if I had run for two hours without stopping to rest. My breasts heaved up and down, waiting for her to tell me to stand up -

“Sabel, you're gorgeous this way!”

Gorgeous? I thought – oh, she could not have been more wrong! I was panting, my face contorted - that was sheer torture! I almost jerked when she unbolted the door and came into my pen. She closed the two halves and to my surprise she took off her vest and her bikini bottom and hung them on a peg on the wall.

“Remove my boots, Sabel.”

I leaned forward and pulled one off, then the other. She was wearing no socks; her feet were hot and pink, and had a faint smell of leather on them.

“Do you like my feet, dear?”

I don’t know from where in my mind the impulsion came, but before I could think I leaned down, put my lips on the top of her foot and started to kiss it. I wiggled my butt, moving my tongue along the slightly salty skin in long, passionate laps. Unaware of what I was doing, I saw her tipping her toes up and spreading them. Each one was like a tiny nipple for my needy mouth. I took her big toe into my lips and sucked it desperately, as if it was my mother’s breast when I was a baby. My tongue went between the toes, wetting the spaces with my saliva and rubbing my lips on them.

Some weeks later, as Desiree and I were standing between the handles of the double cart and Miss Cathy was talking to her sister near us, I was to learn that she had enormously enjoyed my caresses. She told Miss Charmagne how my tongue was wet and wide, and trembling, and how she felt a tingle in her pussy as I got so intimate with her toes. “I cupped my breasts, Char, and looked at her so busy running her tongue along my arch like a dog would”, she actually said. “She was a slave to her own needs!”

That afternoon in the stall I still didn’t know any of those things. I just lapped on the inner side of her foot, running my tongue along it and feeling the arch bone rigid under the soft skin.

Suddenly, as I was licking her ankle, I realized what I was doing and looked up, afraid of what she would say. But she just smiled – her features were in a kind of haze, and later I understood that this was because my eyes were humid.

Miss Cathy looked down at me and said with a commanding voice:

“Kneel up and put your hands behind you.”

I obeyed and she pulled my arms snug across the middle of my back. My eyes were glued to her naked pussy, so rosy and clean just in front of them. She knelt down, straddled my thighs and reached for my palms, scratching them very slowly – I was amazed to feel my clit tingling! I wanted to rub it and bring that intolerable tension to an end, but all I could do was to wait and smell her lemony lotion so near me. Miss Cathy touched my lips with hers, her breasts slightly below mine, and leaned on me, making me fall back on the soft hay.

She plucked my nipple – which was the size of a raspberry – and very gently fondled it. I tried to arch up, but with her weight on my tummy that was not possible. I was seeing stars on the ceiling of the stall; the screams of the other ponies filled the air, and I wondered if other owners had thought of coming and bringing them some relief.

Miss Cathy moved forward, hugging my arms with her thighs. Her labia were just inches from my mouth, her hips working on my sides, her hand brushing on the inner part of my thigh. I stretched out my tongue, but could not reach anything and looked at her in despair. I wanted to lick something – anything, a finger, her pussy, even my bit if she gave it to me – and she must have guessed that: she started to circle the tip of my tongue with her finger, making me jerk under her.

“So eager, aren’t you, my Sabel?” she exclaimed.

I just nodded. She slid her finger into my mouth and I licked it savagely, even more aroused because her juices smelled so strongly and yet were so far from my lips. It is incredible how big an inch can be! She moved further forward, and finally her pussy was within my reach.

“Lick me, honey!”

I didn’t need a second command. I had thought so often of it, and now I was going to discover its flavor! I lapped the thick nectar from her labia and swallowed it. It tasted half-sweet, half-acrid, with a touch of her lemon lotion, very different from the heavier scent I was used to lap from Robin’s twat. I licked up and down, then sucked the labia inside my mouth as Robin taught me, probing on the walls - she squirmed and tugged on my nipple, making me see more stars on the ceiling.

As she was sitting just beneath my breasts, I could arch up my hips. I started to make circular movements with them as I do when I am being laid. My world had narrowed down to that rosy pussy; all I wanted was to lick it and eat it and wet my chin with its thick liquids. I found Miss Cathy’s clitty and flicked the tip of my tongue on it, then under it – Robin had shown me how good this can be, and I was so grateful that my owner had come to my rescue that I wanted to please her as much as I could.

Her sex washed my mouth and chin; my pussy seemed ablaze inside the belt, as if a million bristles of hair were pecking on it – oh, who had invented that torture? My juices flowed out and trickled on my thigh, and I kept licking and lapping greedily, hoping that she would open the belt and allow me some relief. I wondered if she had brought her crop – in the darkness I could not see it – and mentally implored her to fill my pussy with it...

Miss Cathy squealed and I felt her thighs shivering on my arms. Her orgasm was coming, I knew; her hand traced the edge of my belt and brushed the skin around it, making me tingle and suck her like I had never done to Robin. I concentrated on her clit; my tongue seemed to fly, I could feel it between my lips, a tiny bit of flesh that could bring her so much pleasure if I did my job as it has to be done. She had a first spasm; I heard a scream, her muscles contracted on my tongue, she rocked her light body on mine, riding me as if I was her mare – and I WAS!

From her mouth came sounds that I had never heard; tiny gushes hit my tongue - oh my God, I thought, she is having a climax, and I cannot even touch my own pussy! She had one, two, three orgasms in a row, I could see her head thrown back and her eyes closed as she yelled, “Don’t stop, Sabel!” Finally she slid back and leaned down to wave her marvelous blonde hair over my chest, teasing my nipples with it. I thought I was going to pass out – my whole skin was asking to be caressed, every tiny touch on it made me jerk, and tears came to my eyes.

“Oh Sabel, you are the most wonderful ebony I may ever come to own! Such a lovely animal, and all mine! Why have I waited so long to find you?”

“Miss Cathy”, I stuttered – “Miss Cathy... please, please.... I cannot stand this anymore... Please do something, open this thing, please....”

She is a good woman, my owner. She can be severe and when she gets upset it is better to be five miles away, but at bottom she is a kind person and compassionate. If I had any doubts about how lucky I was to be selected by her, they dissolved that night in the school stables. Hearing my pleas, she stood up and reached for the key to my belt, which was in her vest pocket. I heard the “click” and she pulled the lock out – I arched up for her to remove the metal triangle, and my snatch was free again!

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed. “Your pussy is SO swollen!”

How else could it be after hours and hours of torture, I thought, but didn’t say it aloud. I badly needed something on it, or in it, or against it – anything, her tongue, her toe, her crop, her fingers, provided that the pent-up tension in my body could find a way out! She made me turn facing the blanket and lift my tushie. I felt her fingers parting my labia and she blew slightly inside my pussy, making me shudder as her thumb brushed the stitch where the pill had been implanted:

“Yes, Brigitta is right”, she muttered. “Such a nice contrast between red and black... my pony is in good health! What a lovely, strong body you have, dear – you will serve me well, and Shig will like to have his cock nested here from time to time...”

I was so much in need that I could not say a word. My breath was irregular, my heart thumping inside my chest. I raised my hips, offering myself to her caresses. She inserted a finger and I moaned loud. She patted my buttocks and said:

“Come to the little bench and lean on it, honey. Spread your feet wide.”

I did so and waited – what was Miss Cathy going to do? I was expecting her to use the crop, but she had a surprise for me. It was so dark that I didn’t see it, but now I know that she buckled a strapon on her waist. I could feel her approaching because of the lemon scent, so clearly felt in the darkness. As the rubber mast touched my slit, I knew it was not the crop – the surface was not rough, and it was thicker. I had never seen a strapon, and it was only when she had finished with it and told me to lick it clean that I got an idea of what it was like. At that moment, I didn’t care – all I wanted was something hard to rock on!

“Does my little pony want to be filled now?”

“Yes, Miss Cathy... I do.. I want.. please.. please come...” I shouted as my cheek touched the wooden surface of the bench. She leaned over my back, hugged me and placed the dildo on the entrance of my cunt.

“Don’t move back. Sabel. Just feel it.”

I obeyed. She ran her hands very slowly on my sides, teasing me, and put her thighs were inside mine, pressing them outwards. Suddenly she slipped the tip of thing inside me and I had to grab the edges of the bench not to jump – finally, something rigid was sliding into my tunnel!

“You are my mare, Sabel, and I am going to mount you. You will enjoy this, I am sure... but after I will have to lock you again.”

I didn’t want to know what would come after that. All I wanted was to be fucked - and fuck me she did. Her finger went to my clitty and I squealed. Electric shocks irradiated from it to every part of my body; wave after wave of heat took me over as she gripped my waist and began to move back and forth. I could feel her breath on the nape of my neck; it was absolutely delicious to be penetrated by that thing – but suddenly it went out of me. I sent out a long shriek – OH NOOO!” – and she hurried to insert it again, this time going all the way down to make sure it would not slip out again. Cupping my hips, she pulled me to her – I started to rock myself on the dildo, my tits heaving with every thrust.

Down it went to my cervix. Miss Cathy’s pubic hair rubbed against my bottom as she worked her hips in fast motions – in and out – “I am being fucked by a woman”, I remember having thought, “but I don’t care... I belong to her now, and she can do it...” I began to feel the pangs that precede a climax; my knees buckled, I went on my tiptoes – I was so aroused that it could not take long to come. I heard her voice behind me:

“Oh Sabel, I can feel the muscles on your bottom working so hard – how pretty, dear – Oh my God, this is so exciting!”

As she felt that I was coming near, she told me to stop moving. I could not believe that she wanted me to be quiet, but I obeyed, fearing that she could go away and lock me inside that belt without allowing me any relief. She leaned forward and found my nipples; placing her feet under my soles, she whispered:

“I want you to feel it, every square inch of its surface.”

I closed my eyes – more out of habit as only the moonshine illuminated the pen – and did as she was telling me. I was on the brink of the strongest orgasm in my entire life, my body was tense as a coil – and she wanted me to keep quiet! I contracted my muscles on the dildo – it was thick and a bit rough, making me feel every tiny salience on the rubber – and then she started again, very slowly at first, then increasing the strength of the pumping – I felt her palm on my lips and licked it, grateful to have something to busy my mouth with - !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! – and it CAME, a climax so strong and wonderful and ardently desired that I have no words to tell what I was feeling.

I shouted and moaned, and Miss Cathy kept ramming into my loins until I had had three or four orgasms in a row. I gripped the bench and licked her palm, feeling relaxed: a ton of cement had been lifted from me! Her skin is so soft, even in her hand; I felt the warmth of her breath on the back of my neck and the tip of her tongue circling my earlobe.

When she stepped back, I simply slid down on the ground, smelling the straw on it. It had lasted only some minutes, but in my memory it is like we stayed for hours glued to each other and all that existed were she, me and that rubber thing. I was covered in sweat from head to toe. My heart was thumping inside my chest as if I had run five miles without a halt. Miss Cathy stroke the fronts of my thighs wit her foot:

“Sabel?”

“Yes, Miss Cathy?”

“Turn around and lick my dildo clean.”

I knelt down and took it with my hands. It was only then that I saw what had given me so much pleasure - well, not actually “saw”: I guessed its form. As I licked it very slowly, savoring my own flavor on it, a moon ray illuminated the pen and I saw Miss Cathy standing, her hands on her hips, looking down at me and licking her lips. I lapped the rubber mast until no trace of my nectar was left on it – and when I looked up again, her form was enveloped in darkness.

“There will be times when you will do nothing but make me come and then cradle me to sleep, Sabel. It is part of your duties as my ponygirl. Now stand up and put your hands over your head.”

I will never know how she fitted so deftly my belt again, but she did. The cold metal around my waist, pressing against my pussy – this is the last things I remember, for as soon as she left the pen I fell asleep on my blanket, too exhausted to think.