It was the third day of the Ponygirl Instruction course. All the girls stood up as Miss Cathy walked into class right after the nine o’clock bell. As the rule prescribed, they had stripped out of their tops. The teacher glanced at Sabel, sitting so shiny and pretty on the first row, and smiled at the thought of what she had planned for this class. The girls had already had some basic information about what expected them in their new life; now they had to begin their training in two essential aspects – immediate obedience and sensitivity to non-verbal commands.

Sabel’s eyes followed the sleek, blonde figure as she walked towards the desk: those shining boots, the black vest, the ponytail waving behind her back, simply fascinated her. She had attended basic school in the Farm she was born, but none of her teachers had ever impressed her so much. And the memory of that strange vision in the first day of the course still lingered in her mind. Sabel looked furtively at the blackboard and sighed, relieved - no mysterious words were written there.

The teacher took her crop from her waistband, laid it on the desk and looked at the class:

“Good morning to all. I am sure you all know that our lovely city is named for Charissa Magnusson. What you probably don’t know is that she is my grandmother. My mother Caroline is going to take her place as Head of the Council, and someday I may follow; but no one can just be doing nothing because their Mother or Grandmother is of a high station. So I became a ponygirl instructor.”

“Oh!” , the class exclaimed in unison. Charissa Magnusson was a legend in Auronia. Sabel closed her eyes. It would be so nice if such a distinguished Lady chose her as her filly, she thought.

Miss Cathy looked around the room, pausing on her pretty ebony choice.

“Today you will learn several important things. Sabel, come up now and close your eyes.”

The girl did as she was told. There was a whistle of the crop in the air, and it smacked loudly in the teacher’s hand, but all Sabel felt was a faint breeze on her rounded bottom, followed by a light caress on the back of her thigh as the tip lifted the hem of tight shorts that covered her buttocks.

“Keep your eyes shut, Sabel.”

The girl stayed motionless. The steel-blue eyes of the teacher wandered over the class.

“After you have your implants, even the faintest touch of a crop on your skin will be powerfully felt. Some of you may begin to get wet at the mere sight of one. And in the latter part of this course you will come to love it, because it will help you to learn faster.”

Robin crossed her legs and leaned on her elbow. She was very interested by this part of the paper Sabel had held out. The mulatto girl was endowed with the quick responsiveness of her African descent, and her strong sexual drives had to be satisfied several times every day. Sometimes, just contracting and relaxing her pussy muscles while she held the broom could bring out a mild orgasm, alleviating the long hours of street sweeping she was obliged to do.

Sabel’s eyes were closed, so she could not see her friend’s reaction to the teacher’s information. She nodded, wondering why Miss Cathy’s voice seemed to have a fuller ring. The item about “learning to listen”! How true that was, she said to herself. She would have to pay more attention to what came to her ears: during her long years as a floor scrubber, she had learned to disconnect from the ambient sounds, which were for the most part steps and voices saying things miles away from her daily interests.

The class was following the demonstration in complete silence, broken only by the gentle breeze that came from the open windows.

The tip of Cathy’s crop touched Sabel’s right areola; the cool leather didn’t reach the nipple, but the ebony felt it beginning to perk. “Oh my God”, she thought, “there we go again...” She held her hands firmly behind her back, preparing for another session of nipple teasing like the one had been given the day before.

Without interrupting her movements, Cathy glanced around and saw Robin’s foot moving back and forth over her crossed leg. She was unaware of what she was doing, her eyes glued to the crop moving in small circles over her friend’s breast.

“Robin, come up here, sweetie.”

The pretty mulatto approached the desk. Sabel’s senses were in complete alert now: she could smell her friend’s scent, a mixture of cheap colony and something that could only be called “pussy musk”.

“You will close your eyes, stand in front of Sabel and circle her nipples with your fingertips. Very slowly, very lightly, do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Cathy.”

Robin began to caress Sabel’s nipples, making them pop up like two black mushrooms. The teacher watched them for a moment and commanded:

“Everyone, stand up! Today you will be assigned partners. So the first, third and fifth girls turn around and face the person behind you. NOW!”

Grinning at the promptness with which the future ponies sprang to their feet and took the required position, Miss Cathy went on:

“Close your eyes and circle the nipples of your new partner. Do it while she caresses yours, so that you can feel both sensations, touching and being touched.”

Sabel stretched her arms and felt Robin’s berries already hard under her fingertips. A few moments elapsed before a sudden loud crack of the crop on skin was heard. Was it on someone’s bottom, or just in Miss Cathy's hand? Sabel thought of opening her eyes a little bit to check, but refrained from doing so. She had no intention of feeling the taste of that leathered rod on her buttocks. She was beginning to feel damp between her legs, and as in the previous day feared that it could show on her white shorts.

Miss Cathy’s high heels clicked as she walked slowly down the aisles, watching carefully each couple for closed eyes and perfect circling, touching lightly the shapely bottoms and breasts, taking her time to feel the girl’s reaction. Suddenly, another loud crack of the crop and a surprised whimper from Chi Ling, who was not expecting it.

Sabel could not help it and opened her eyes. The Chinese girl’s face was contorted in a grimace and she was holding her rear with her hands.

“Did I order anyone to stop circling?” The question was followed by a smack on each cheek of the Asian girl. “Do as you are told! NOW! Ponygirls must listen, always, always, always!”

Sabel quickly closed her eyes and went on circling Robin's nipples, feeling every grain on them and eliciting a low moan from her friend. She was dying to see if her shorts were already stained, as she could feel a thin film of juice forming on her labia. She calmed down, however, at the thought that her thong would prevent Miss Cathy from noticing. Unless the blonde lady had a powerful nose... Sabel shivered at the idea and kept touching Robin. Her own nipples were responding fully to her friend’s caresses: she thought of whispering to her to be less enthusiastic but refrained from doing so: Chi Ling’s example was very effective.

“Listen, class! I want you to drag your nails across the top of your partner’s nipples. Keep your thumbnail straight down. Do it over and over while I check.”

Sabel jerked as Robin’s nails touched her swollen plums and instinctively moved a step back.

Miss Cathy realized that the girls were very aroused, and that feeling nails on their sensitive berries was driving many mad. Several were stopping the exercise as their partners moved back.

“Stop! Everyone! This is the rule: no matter how much you are touched, you may not move. This kind of touch is for learning self-control. Now start again, and be warned that your bottom will burn if you move even half an inch away from your place.”

She waited for a minute to check if everybody was obeying her command, told the girls to sit down and began to walk again between the aisles, looking each student carefully in the eyes. Some held her gaze, while others lowered their eyelids; glancing at their ankles, the teacher noticed that not all the upper Station girls sustained her look, and that not all that looked down wore anklets. “Submissiveness has nothing to do with social standing”, Cathy said to herself. “A Sixth Station girl can be much tougher to tame than one coming from the Second.”

That was one more reason for picking Sabel among all the students of that class: the ebony seemed to bend quite easily to a firm pulse. She had not protested against being kept after class and although visibly wishing to leave had allowed the teacher to tease her as much as she wanted. Being born into one of the families that most supported the New State, Cathy held no prejudices against lower Station persons. But after years of teaching experience she had reached a conclusion: even with good muscles and enough stamina, a pony would give trouble to her owner if she balked at obeying orders. The capacity to awake obedience in reluctant girls was the secret of Cathy’s success in her craft.

Cathy reached out to touch Desiree’s nipple, using her curled finger to lift it and clamping her thumbnail tightly down on the topside. The Haitian emitted a low sound, but kept immobile. As Sabel was sitting near Desiree, she could see clearly the contrast between the teacher’s white hand and the glowing black skin of her colleague. It reminded her of a part of her vision, when the ivory foot of Miss Cathy had landed on her dark breast, and she touched furtively its bottom.

The teacher had arrived back at her desk and was asking:

“How many of you have felt a crop smack on your naked bottom? Hands, please.”

No hands were raised. Sixth Station girls were never punished that way, and even less so those belonging to upper Stations.

Cathy’s eyes went straight into Chi Ling’s. The girl slowly raised her hand and ducked her head, as she was reminded of the crop on her bottom only moments ago.

“Come up and show us what crop marks look like on such a sweet rump, Chi Ling.”

The Chinese did as told. The teacher ran her fingertips on it and went on:

“Does it hurt?”

Chi Ling seemed as surprised as everyone else as she shook her head in wonder.

“You will learn that it does no harm. It serves just for teaching. The people you will be assigned to will do it sometimes. And even if it may be somewhat painful at first, it will cease to disturb you once you see that it is your mind that is afraid.”

A few loud gulps were distinctly heard. The teacher didn’t seem impressed and went on:

“Your body won’t mind it that much. Desiree, come forward please and hold your palm out to me.”

The black girl complied, stretching out a deep-lined pink palm. There was a shade of fear on her glowing black eyes.

“Class, tell me: if I hit my own palm with the crop, will it hurt?”

“No, Miss Cathy”, all said almost in unison.

The teacher smacked her own hand so loud that many girls jumped on their seats.

“And if I hit Desiree’s palm the same way, will that hurt her?”

“Yes! No! Perhaps! Depending on the force...”

The answers popped up all mixed. Miss Cathy suddenly did what she had just announced. Desiree jumped back and automatically pulled her hand back to her body.

“Miss Cathy, that hurt!” she said in a somewhat angered voice.

The blonde lady just smiled: the first phases of taming a prospective pony always excited her. She decided not to chastise the girl for what could seem a fit of insolence. The question she had asked the previous day came back to her mind:

“Desiree, you asked me yesterday about getting old and not being able to work anymore. But now you are young and fresh, and surely can take a few smacks on your hand. Stretch it out again. You will see how much of your pain is only in your mind.”

The black girl hesitated, but a stern look from the teacher made her hold out her other palm. This time Miss Cathy used her open hand instead of the crop, clapping it loudly against Desiree’s hand. The ebony winked, but did not flinch.

“Good, very good! I see that it will not be difficult for you to learn how to obey ANY order. Now go to your seat.”

As the sturdy Haitian walked back to her seat, Cathy imagined her pulling some obese gentleman and had to repress her wish to laugh. She turned her face to the other side and asked:

“Who will volunteer for a smack of the crop on her palm?”

Sabel quivered at the idea. “If I ever become a ponygirl”, she thought for herself, “I will do my best to avoid being whipped! It must hurt a lot! Being a granddaughter of Charissa Magnusson, I am sure that Miss Cathy has never felt her own bum aching from a lash!”

She was amazed at the audacity of that thought, and lifted her eyes to see if the teacher had noticed. Miss Cathy was looking at her, and suddenly hit her own palm very loud. That magnetic gaze had such an effect on the ebony that she rose slowly from her seat and walked forward, so slowly that the stepping of her sandals could be heard on the wooden planks. The teacher smiled gently at her:

“Close your eyes again, Sabel.”

Both her hands clapped at the same time on the stretched hand, on top and underneath it. Sabel felt a quiver down her spine, as the teacher didn’t let her hand go after the demonstration, but kept it between hers while she spoke again.

“Tell us what you have just felt, Sabel.”

“It didn’t hurt, Miss Cathy.” The girl’s voice trembled a bit. “I... I don’t know how to describe this...”

In fact, Sabel was very embarrassed. What she had felt was not pain at all – it was a kind of sensual feeling, something she had never experienced except when touched by a man. Her face went hot and she thanked the Good Lord for making her kind in such a way that they never blushed.

Miss Cathy looked at the class, still holding the warm hand between hers.

“We are so used to not being touched that we don't know what touching can do to us and for us. But as ponygirls, you will have to rely very much on this neglected sense.”

Sabel felt the teacher’s manicured nail tickling the lines of her palm. She gulped: her pussy had involuntarily contracted. Goosebumps were showing on her arm. The teacher was a bit surprised to feel how soft that palm was, in spite of years of scrubbing. “She must use lots of cream”, she thought. “Good sign... the girl likes to take care of herself.”

“Now listen, you all. Your owners will have your whole body at their disposal, including your little ponygirl tushies. And they will not talk that much with you, because of the bit in your mouth, which will make it difficult for you to reply.”

Sabel licked her teeth within her closed mouth, imagining how a bit would taste. Jenny already knew that, and with the corner of her eye Sabel saw her licking her lips as if to brush away an imaginary bar. The girls from the upper stations took their hands to their mouths, visibly frightened.

Miss Cathy caressed Sabel’s wrist and went on:

“They will talk to you with orders, but also using crops and reins. This is why you must become sensitive to the lightest touch: otherwise, strong ones will be necessary for you to do what the driver requires. Sabel, put your finger in my mouth.”

As the girl obeyed, the teacher bit it, surprising the ebony with the edge of the pain. Sabel made a grimace, but did not try to take away her finger. Her hands were now captured in Miss Cathy’s fist and mouth; she felt the lady pushing her right wrist behind her back. With her high heel boots, Miss Cathy’s breasts almost touched Sabel’s now – there was a sizable difference of height between them, the teacher being a head lower. Sabel felt good that she had washed her hands well before coming to the class: it would be horrible if Miss Cathy found her finger distasteful, she thought in a fraction of a second.

The teacher took Sabel’s other wrist, letting go with her teeth, and pushed it back too.

“Your skin is so soft and lovely, Sabel.”

The girl felt her heart warming at those words. She remembered what the teacher had told her at the end of the previous class: “you could be the pride of your owner.” The perfume that wafted from that white body was delicious: a lemony lotion, so fresh and exquisite – and Sabel could not avoid comparing it with Robin’s smell, which still lingered on her nostrils. Her friend’s scent was not disagreeable, but more acrid, less refined so to say. It told of a healthy girl in whom the voice of Nature spoke very loud, while Miss Cathy smelled completely different – Sabel would have named it “culture”, “good taste”, “sophistication”, had she known these words. But her sensitive nostrils had captured the distance between them.

Suddenly Sabel felt a very strong desire that Miss Cathy would choose her for her private service. She caught herself thinking whether in her more intimate parts the teacher used the same lotion, and her face became very hot at that thought. But she had no time to ponder over that: with a deft movement, the blonde lady took her other wrist and put it behind her back. Knowing that the eyes of the whole class were glued to her, Sabel offered no resistance,

Cathy pushed down a bit Sabel’s shoulders, so that their nipples almost touched, and bit her lower lip to hold her close. It felt thick and luscious; the teacher had never tasted any other African lip and wondered why Sabel’s had that peculiar taste. Was it because she was black? Or because of the lipstick she used? Her honesty towards herself made Cathy brush aside that attempt at self-deceit: it dawned on her mind that Sabel’s lip tasted wonderfully because she was Sabel, the sexiest little thing that had fallen in her hands in a long time, who with proper training could become the best pony she had ever owned.

Sabel’s heart was pounding so loud that she feared the teacher would notice. The lady was almost kissing her, and in front of the entire class! She could feel her tiny teeth on her lower lip. Their faces were so close that she had to shut her eyes to prevent the blonde lady’s gaze from piercing into her innermost self. Distracted by that thought, Sabel moved forward her tongue and before she could help it touched Miss Cathy’s teeth.

She opened her eyes, amazed at what she had done and expecting to be ordered to show her tush for a hearty smack. But the teacher did nothing of the sort: she just let her wrists and lip loose and said, “STAY!” The ebony didn’t need such a command: she would never dare to change her position unless the teacher told her to, and stood still, with her hands crossed behind her back and her mouth slightly open.

Cathy smiled: the girl was really ready to learn and obey. It was time to make a further step in her training – and see what she hid beneath those tight shorts.

“Oh my good Lord, what is she going to do...?” Sabel thought anxiously as she felt Miss Cathy unbuttoning her shorts. She was soon to see. The zipper slid down and the loose garment fell down to her sandals, leaving her thighs bare. Only the small triangle of her white lacey regulation slip covered her sex. The rest of the girls held their breath as the teacher slowly turned around Sabel and hit that perfect butt with a hearty swat of her crop. Sabel was astonished to see that she felt almost no pain. Out of sheer habit, however, she contracted her buttocks.

“You see that most of the time the crop is for noise-making and effect, and does not hurt unless one uses it very fast and hard. Step out of your shorts, Sabel: you won’t need them any more in your training.”

Sabel remembered the rule about nudity and moved forward. Now she was clad only in her thong and her sandals.

“EVERYONE! Take off your shorts!”

There was a rustling of feet as thirty-six garments fell down. One could sense electricity in the air: of course all the girls had been at some time almost naked in front of other girls, but that was different. It was part of their training, and they had seen enough ponies in the streets to know that nakedness was an inviolable rule. According to the status and whims of her owner, a ponygirl could be partially covered by her tack, but many wore just a girdle around their waist and a strap covering their sex. And their breasts were always exposed, often adorned with nipple bells that jingled happily as they trotted between the shafts. Letting their shorts fall down was therefore the first step into permanent nudity.

“Move forward and form a line on the wall, facing it”, Miss Cathy said. As the girls complied, she noticed that most wore thongs like Sabel, while those without anklets on their feet – the Fourth and Third Station girls – had panties that covered more of their skin. And three had no underwear at all. Standing naked against the wall, the three girls – among them Robin – covered their sexes with their hands, but put them on their heads as the teacher ordered the whole class to do so.

Cathy walked along the line, tapping here and there a pair of buttocks as she went on. As she approached Robin, the teacher stopped to admire her. Robin had the high haunches so commonly found in descendants of Africans; Miss Cathy slid her nails from the nape of the girl’s neck all the way down to the small of her back, feeling the goosebumps as they appeared on the silky brown skin. Her finger went down the rear crack and slid over the thick outer labia; Robin responded lifting her butt and arching down her back, visibly offering her pussy to be caressed.

Cathy grinned and remembered that this was the girl who had been shocked by her use of the word “animal”. This was a good occasion to hammer into her mind that her future status would be exactly that.

“Lift your rump, Robin.”

She rested her hand on the mulatto’s strong haunch and said loudly so that everybody could hear her:.

“The parts of your body will be called differently when you begin your work as ponygirls. This is called “rump” – she tapped with her fingers on the girl’s left cheek – and once you pass the final tests your identification number will be tattooed here.”

Robin turned her head, alarmed at that piece of information.

“FACE THE WALL AND LISTEN, you disobedient animal!” Miss Cathy shouted sternly.

Robin’s nostrils flared as if she was going to react with indignation, her breasts heaved up and down, but she turned her head to the wall all the same.

“Miss Cathy, may I ask a question?” she whispered.

“Go ahead. But before asking, show me that you can become an obedient animal. Wiggle your rump for me.”

Robin gulped. That woman was really tough! She moved her “rump” two or three times, until the teacher tapped it again.

“Enough, Robin. What do you want to know?”

“Why do ponies have to be tattooed?”

“Because when you ascend to the Fifth Station, the identification band is removed from your foot. Suppose that a crazy or evil ponygirl decided to escape from her stall and travel to another city – how would one know that she is a pony and send her back to her owner?”

From her place, Sabel nodded silently. All male ponies in Ms. Stevenson’s farm had a registration number tattooed on their butt. Why was Robin making such a fuss of that?

Robin did not answer back: it was useless to discuss with that lady. Miss Cathy recalled that she had decided to use the pretty mulatto to demonstrate the effects of the pill. She knew herself too well to be unduly proud of her ability to evaluate a ponygirl. Which kind of pony was Robin going to be, she asked herself, watching closely the girl as she kept her hands crossed over her head.

“Rump up!” she said curtly.

The muscles were firm under the brown skin: with her body, the girl was most likely to become a delivery animal. But with that degree of sensitivity, reacting to a light touch so promptly even before the pill was administered to her, she was almost certainly an adept of daily masturbation. So much the worse for her, Miss Cathy thought: she was a serious candidate for a chastity belt - no sensible owner would allow her to waste her energy in wanton spasms.

She sighed. That was not her business.

“Take off your thongs and panties, girls. You won’t need them anymore.”

A blonde girl pulled her panties up instead of removing them. It was Karen, a former Third Station accountant who had almost brought her company to bankruptcy by completely messing up its books. Miss Cathy’s reaction was immediate: she began to tap hr hand with the flat of her crop.

“Karen, come at once to my desk. You must learn the basics, oh my God! Never undo something your owner has done! Never, are you listening? Now cross your arms behind your back and lean over the desk.”

A trembling Karen complied and received two hard swats on each bottom cheek. Smack, smack, smack, smack – all the class had turned to watch the punishment.

“Karen, the judge who in his mercy recommended you to this course instead of sending you directly to a Breeding Farm wrote that you might be lazy and not pay attention. Is this true?”

“No, Miss Cathy!”

The blonde almost sobbed as she replied, making it sound more like a lie. Miss Cathy swished the crop over her head and hit the desk with all her force.

“Answer me again, and this time truthfully, or you will receive another series of smacks on this rosy bottom!”

Karen knew that the teacher was very angry. It was better to tell her the truth.

“Yes, Miss Cathy! Sometimes I just cannot pay attention, I don't know why!”

The crop hit the blonde’s curved back, making a dry sound that sent the whole class almost jumping to their feet.

“Will this help you to pay attention? Answer quickly!”

Karen jerked and tears popped from her blue eyes.

“Yes! Yes! I will listen and learn and do, Miss Cathy! I promise!”

With her chin touching the desk and keeping her arms crossed behind her back, the former Third Station girl waited for the order to stand up. Miss Cathy could feel thirty-six pairs of eyes fixed on her, and that feeling was not displeasing at all. She didn’t like to be harsh, but knew from experience that sometimes a strong measure was needed to instill into the candidates the notion that no order, whatever it was, could be ignored – or, worse still, willfully disobeyed. Ponies were not meant to think, but to pull, and to pull as their driver wanted to, not according to their silly ideas.

She turned to the class:

“Sometimes pain comes from a crop. As you cannot not know if your bad behavior upsets your owner to the point that he or she feels that you need to be reminded of this obvious thing, I will give you some sound advice: obey orders and you will not be whipped... at least not often”, she completed sarcastically in a lower tone.

“Karen, I hope that you have learned your lesson. Now go to the corner and stay there until this class is over.”

Cathy watched the blonde’s red tush as she walked to the corner. A pretty one by the way, but which would soon show welts if the blonde didn’t mend her ways.

The class was almost over. Miss Cathy recalled mentally her schedule: it was ten a.m., and her meeting with the head of the Pony Department was not due until noon. She glanced at Sabel: the ebony was looking at her boots, her hands still behind her back and her mouth still slightly open.

“It is almost time for the bell, girls. You may put your shorts on again.”

Everybody fetched her garments, but as Sabel was bending to grab hers she heard the teacher’s voice:

“You stay here, Sabel.”

Sabel turned to the teacher.

“Miss Ca...”

The blonde tapped the crop on her open palm, in an unequivocal gesture.

“Yes, Sabel?”

The ebony tried to conceal her embarrassment. Actually, she wished to stay there with Miss Cathy and learn more about being a ponygirl, but she was afraid of showing her feelings. Also, there was a lot of scrubbing and washing waiting for her at the government building - the leave she had been granted was only to attend classes, not to stay idle for the rest of the day. The prospect of staying in the classroom for some extra time was of course much more interesting.

Charra and Robin buttoned their shorts and put on their tops; Robin winked at Charra and whispered something on her ear; Sabel wondered what – Robin’s sharp tongue was well known among her friends. She saw them disappearing into the corridor together with the other girls and sighed. What did Miss Cathy have in mind this time?

Was it so evident that our teacher had some particular interest in me? As my friends walked out from the classroom, I wondered why she was keeping me after class for the second day in a row. She had been so severe that morning! So it was with some surprise that instead of an irritated tone, I noticed gentleness in her voice as she said:

“Move closer to the desk, honey, and stick out your tongue.”

As I obeyed, she caught it with her sharp teeth, taking me entirely by surprise. But she didn’t bite hard; instead, she pulled it with her mouth, making me move with her. Nobody had ever bitten my tongue like that, so I didn’t know what to do; the simplest was to let go and offer it to her licking. She did so for what seemed to me a long time, sending shivers down my spine, and then released it. I was going to close my mouth, but Miss Cathy said that I should not and began to brush the handle of her crop between my lips and on my tongue, wetting it with my saliva. I had never tasted leather before; now I know that it is a bit rough and salty.

“Keep your tongue out”, I heard her saying.

Miss Cathy held my earlobes and kissed sweetly the same spot she had bitten. I didn’t know where to put my hands, so I crossed them behind my back and let her do as she wanted. Her breath was on my upper lip; suddenly she let one of my ears loose and grabbed her crop.

“Eyes closed now, Sabel”, she said softly, and I shut them. I felt the handle slipping between my thighs; I knew it was the handle because it is thicker and smoother than the tip. It is incredible how you begin to pay attention to the surface of the things that touch you when you cannot see them. Miss Cathy moved the crop very slowly, making me feel every inch of the handle; she pressed it upwards and I parted my legs. The gentle rubbing on my slit was so arousing that I became wet almost instantly. Of course I know how it feels when a cock is rubbed on my labia, and the sensation is completely different – the crop is much harder, and leather has its own peculiar touch.

I began to rock my body, trying to place my clitty in a position where it could brush on the handle, but it was difficult to do so with it moving. I think that Miss Cathy sensed that, because she stopped her motions and let me rub myself on the rod. I moaned softly – the sensation was so good! I rocked faster and was beginning to feel that tension that precedes an orgasm when she said:

“Enough, Sabel. Lean on the desk, but keep your legs straight and curve your back.”

I obeyed and she explained that this position was called a “tush push”. She slid again the crop between my labia and teased the very middle of my sex, while her other hand cupped my right breast. I felt my skin getting hotter and hotter with every movement; she was so expert with that crop, making me feel things I had never felt before!

“Are you liking to be in my class, Sabel?”

“Oh yes, Miss Cathy!” Of course I was...

She leaned over me and I felt her weight on the curve of my back. Her bikini was not made of leather, but of a soft kind of material imitating it, as and its touch was different from the crop. I could feel both the bottom and the small vest on different parts of my back. Her thighs pressed on my sides like she was riding me, and I felt her tongue lapping the base of my neck. With one hand she kept moving the crop between my thighs, while her other hand moved down to my bottom, pinching slightly, tapping here and there, varying her touches in such a manner that I never knew what would come next.

I was feeling very confused. On the one hand, all that was so sweet and arousing, and my body responded instantly to everything Miss Cathy did. On the other hand, she was a woman! I have heard Robin saying that being caressed by a girl is better than by a man, but I doubt that she knows the sensations I was discovering with my teacher.

Suddenly she slapped my butt, but to my astonishment, it didn’t hurt! It was as if my nerves were electrified: no pain – I don’t know how to call that sensation, I just know that it made my pussy tingle so strongly. I felt the handle slowly opening my petals and sliding inside me. I cannot cum except with something rigid moving inside my twat, so I welcomed that crop as if was the most delicious cock in all Auronia. How on earth had Miss Cathy guessed that?

My mind was so boggled that I could not think any more. All I knew was that I wanted to stay with my teacher, wanted her to pick me as her ponygirl and reward my good service with more of those marvelous sensations. From the moment she walked into the classroom on the first day of that course, some kind of bond had linked me to that blonde lady. The effect her smile had on me, the need I felt to follow her movements, my fascination for her clothing and boots, so shiny and soft – all this was more than mere admiration. It was an attraction I had never felt for anybody else.

She whispered on my ear:

“Are you surprised that your body might love to be touched in so many different ways, Sabel?”

“It’s not that, Miss Cathy”, I muttered. “It is... because you are... a woman...”

“Yes, I am a woman, and know what you are feeling.”

My knees began to buckle and I felt that I was nearing my climax. But she took the crop out and said:

“On your fours now, Sabel. Put your forehead to the ground and stretch out your arms.”

I did so and parted my legs, exposing my pussy. I saw her kneeling behind me and felt two fingers being inserted in my soppy pussy. I eagerly clenched my muscles on them and moved back and forth, feeling her nails on the bottom of my hole. Her magic thumb began to circle my clitty; I moaned loud and silently prayed for her to keep her fingers inside me until I reached my orgasm.

“How wet you are, Sabel! Do you know, you could be a wonderful ponygirl for me.”

It was as if a lightning bolt had fallen on my head, so big was my surprise at those words! I gasped as her finger reached my cervix.

“Miss Cathy – are you… speaking… seriously?” I could barely speak, so strong were the sensations I was feeling.

“Of course I am.”

She stopped wiggling her fingers inside my pussy and sped up her movements on my small button. I jerked, contracted my thighs a few times – and suddenly it came, a powerful burst of pleasure that sent my whole body shaking. Miss Cathy kept caressing me while I cummed, making me feel happier than any other time in my life. Then she slowed down, and suddenly her fingers were gone. As I looked back, I saw the tip of her boot just inches from ribs.

I wanted to sprawl on the floor and relax, but Miss Cathy gave me no time for that.

“On all fours now, Sabel.”

I obeyed. She flicked the crop twice on my shoulder:

“When you are on your fours and I give you this sign, you lower your forehead onto the floor and stretch out your arms, like you did just now. This is called the “Friday” position, do you know why?”

“No, Miss Cathy.”

“Because a man named Friday took it to acknowledge that another man named Robinson Crusoe was his Master. Now pay attention. If you feel these two light flicks on your shoulder, you “go Friday”, as we say, no matter whether you are sitting, standing, kneeling or any other position. Got it?”

“Yes, Miss Cathy.”

She went behind me and I felt the two flicks on my shoulder. I brought my head down and stretched out my arms like I was before. All that was so new for me! Then Miss Cathy clicked her tongue twice, making a sound like “ts, ts”:

“When you hear this double tickling, you move up, but stay on your fours. Let’s train this, ok?”

There was a short silence. She tickled once and I began to lift my arms, but she pressed her crop on my neck to stop me.

“Two tickles, not one, Sabel. Again.”

The clicking of her boots told me that she was moving away. My whole body was tense, waiting for the sign. Then I heard very distinctly two tickles of her tongue and lifted my body to all fours.

“Good girl”, she said. “You are beginning to understand what I call “crop language”.

Still on my fours, I turned my head to see where she was.

“I didn’t say you could look back, did I? Get used to stay how you are until told otherwise, Sabel. This is very important for your future life as a pony.”

“Yes, Miss Cathy.”

I sensed from her perfume that she was approaching – the clicking of the boots became slightly louder - and I then felt her bottom on my buttocks. She slid her crop between my teeth as if it was a bit and grabbed my ponytail:

“Move on, Sabel! You will carry me around the classroom.”

I had never carried anybody like that, but I discovered that it is not difficult. As I moved forward, feeling her weight on my hips – she is not heavy at all – I heard her saying:

“There is something I want to tell you, Sabel. The day before your interview I had a meeting at the building where you work. I saw you scrubbing the floor of the lady’s bathroom and was impressed by your fine body; your face was fresh in my memory and I recognized you when I saw your photograph on the application form. I was very happy and told the interviewer that you could become an excellent pony. And after examining you, he wholly agreed with me.”

I had reached the end of the wall and felt a tug on my ponytail:

“Turn right.”

The interview came back to my mind: how the examiner asked me to run in place for twenty minutes to check my breath, how he pinched my calves and thighs to feel my muscles, how he made me fold my arms to check my biceps – of course I don’t have the arms of a man, but after seven years of scrubbing they are quite firm – and how he opened my mouth to see if all my teeth were there. I suppose this is to check if one can hold the bit, but am not sure.

“Oh, thank you, Miss Cathy”, I wanted to say, but did not because if I opened my mouth the crop would fall down. Her thighs were pressed against the sides of my body; as I glanced back I saw that she had folded her legs back and lifted her boots from the floor. When we reached the end of that wall I was already expecting the light tug on my ponytail. A few minutes later, I had brought her back to the desk. I looked up at Miss Cathy, not knowing if I was to rise up or to wait.

She smiled at me and flicked the crop twice on my shoulder. As I “went Friday”, she patted my head and said:

“Up now, dear, and get dressed. You did very well. Keep the good work and soon you will find yourself pulling my cart.”

I was so happy at those words! As I went out from the classroom, my mind was racing: we were still at the very beginning of the course, and so many things had already happened! I felt that my life was going to change – and for the better.

Cathy was sitting on the desk. She smiled as Sabel walked through the door, followed by Robin and Charra. Sabel was very pretty that day, with her hair tightly pulled back, showing her lovely ears. The buckle placed very high behind her head made the bushy mane go up and wave down over her shoulders in a deliciously casual manner.

The teacher’s face flushed as she recalled how just a few hours before she had ridden the ebony around the room, her bottom rocking on the small of her back as the flexing muscles sweetly massaged her sex. Only her bikini had concealed the wetness that had formed on it. She smiled at the thought of so many moments like that.

On the blackboard, she had written just one word: STRIP. Nakedness was mandatory in the course, and Cathy wanted her students to get used to it.

“Good morning, class! Do you see those shelves on the wall? Go there and put your clothes on the rack marked with your name.”

Shorts and tops were removed, sandals were untied, and the students rushed to comply with the lady’s command. She waited until all the girls had tucked their garments and bags into the small holes; a broad smile appeared on her face as she noticed that they were standing beside their seats, waiting for her order to sit down. The girls were still a bit ashamed to be naked, but that was expected and Cathy made no comment about it.

“Today you will be fitted to your harness and receive your mouth bit.”

There were mummers of curiosity as she turned to the blackboard, wrote in capital letters the word BIT and underlined it. Her bottom wiggled from the fast writing and her blonde ponytail swished over her shoulders. Sabel eyed Jenny, the only girl who had tasted a bit so far. The pale ex-Third Station looked uneasy. Although the ebony could not know that, Jenny was quite scared with what she had seen in the first days of the course.

Cathy turned quickly and caught Sabel’s eyes glued to her bottom. The girl lowered them, embarrassed at being caught staring, and feigned to be looking at the teacher’s high, shining boots.

“Now, little ponies, follow me in single file, and walk as I will show you.”

A very light sound of bare feet against the wooden planks reached the teacher’s ears as the future ponies crossed the hall, imitating her. Miss Cathy was not exactly walking: her gait was a kind of marching, with knees going up at each step. She was slightly bent forward because hips were tipped and her tushie pushed out in back, while she kept her upper body very straight and proud. Her heels didn’t touch ground; what supported her weight were the pads of her feet as she moved swiftly down the hall into the back yard.

“I want you to make four lines, facing each other. Hmm – we have an uneven number of students, right? Sabel, come here. You will be my partner.”

Cathy giggled at the mummers while the girls separated into lines. “They are realizing who my favorite is”, she thought, and raised her brows. The mummers ceased at once.

Robin eyed Sabel a bit crossly. She was burning to know what had taken place the previous day, when Miss Cathy had kept her colleague so long after class that she and Charra had given up waiting and had gone home. And now the blonde lady was singling her out again!

“Sabel, pass out these pads and pencils and come back to distribute the measuring tapes. One for each pair.” She went on while the ebony carried out her command:

“You will write your name on your sheet of paper. The lines on it are for your measurements. Each girl will be measured by her partner and write down the figures on her sheet. Do it carefully, because the information will be used to make your personal harness.”

She pointed to a big chart on one of the walls, showing a ponygirl with her outfit on. The girls looked at it: of course they had seen many ponygirls before, but had never paid special attention to all those straps on their bodies.

Cathy touched the silver clasp holding her vest.

“Your front ring will be where my clasp is. Measure under your breasts for the chest strap. Take a deep breath before you do that, because if it is too tight you will not be able to breathe when it is in place.”

While the girls were busy with the measuring tapes, pencils and pads, Cathy leaned and reached around Sabel. Their faces were so close that it was easy for her to peck the ebony’s lower lip with a soft kiss. Sabel shuddered and inhaled deeply, making her pert tits stick out. The teacher pulled the tape snugly and said: “Thirty inches.” Her nail dragged along the velvety black skin down the ribcage, and she giggled as Sabel jerked back.

“Finished with that? Let’s go on to the second measure: from where I said your ring will be - right under your breasts - down through your crotch and up to the small of your back. The girl being measured will hold the tape while her partner stretches it. Make sure that it goes between your pussy lips and into your rump cleavage. Do it two or three times to get the right figure.”

Robin moaned distinctly as the tape in Charra’s hand touched her labia. Having slept late that day, she had had to run to arrive at class on time and therefore skipped the good, strong orgasm she habitually offered to herself every morning before getting out of bed. No wonder that she was feeling horny and a bit irritated. She rubbed the leather strap on her labia, forgetting for a moment where she was.

“Shh, Robin”, Charra whispered. “Miss Cathy might notice and punish you!”

But Cathy was occupied elsewhere. Sabel felt the blonde lady’s delicate fingers drawing the tape between her labia; she closed her eyes as the teacher reached behind her to pull it upward through the cleavage between her buttocks. The cloth had a soft touch; Sabel opened her legs and held her breath.

“The point on your back is for your back ring”, Cathy shouted as Sabel wrote down that measure.

“Third one now, little ponies! Put the tape on the point in front and pass it over your shoulder all the way where the back ring will be. The harness is veed in front and goes all way down to the back ring. Look at the chart and you will understand.”

The girls took their measures with the utmost care and wrote them on their sheets.

The last two measures were waist and hips. The waist belt would be provided with rings in front, on back and on the sides. Each had a function: the side rings could be linked to the wrists’ cuffs, the back ones would keep in place the straps coming from the front and over the shoulders, while the one in front would come in handy to hitch the pony to a pole if her owner wanted to. The hip strap was usually linked to the cart shafts, so that the girl could pull the vehicle with her whole body. Sometimes she would do it differently, having her wrists chained to the handles and holding them with her hands, but that required strong muscles and was used most in short-distance sprinting competitions.

“Finished? Good. Sabel, get the sheets and give them to Mr. Anderson.”

Mr. Anderson was the chief of the harness makers, who belonged in the Fourth Station and knew how to cut leather and to fit the buckles and rings. That would take some time, and Cathy didn’t want her students to be idle while the craftsmen prepared their harnesses. She whispered something in his ear and the man nodded.

“Kneel down, everyone. Put your nose to the ground and pull your hair up over your head.”

Mr. Anderson came back, holding a box in his hands, and stood at the teacher’s side. Cathy giggled at the long row of bare bottoms and necks in front of her. Picking a collar from the box, she slid it under Chi Ling’s throat and buckled it on the back. The Chinese was given a light swat on the left rump, where her identification would be tattooed if she passed her midterm exam, and the teacher proceeded to the next girl.

The steel felt cold against the skin of Charra’s neck; she thought of touching the collar to check if it had some kind of leather covering on the outer part, but remembered what Miss Cathy had said in the previous class – “stay in the position you are until you are told otherwise”- and kept still. A wide smile illuminated the teacher’s pretty face at the sight of so many future mares with their butts obediently raised and their faces hidden under their hair. Desiree, Robin, Jenny, Karen - Cathy tried to guess from the exposed bottoms who its owner was while she walked along the bowing bodies to accomplish that most agreeable task.

Sabel was the last on the line. Even folded, her legs were the longest Cathy had ever seen on a would-be pony. “Perfect for a running competition”, Cathy said to herself, taking a long glance at the round haunches and remembering how pleasant it had been to ride them. She straddled the ebony, leaned down and fastened the collar on her neck. Sabel felt the teacher’s warm thighs hugging her sides and had to muster all her self-control to stay motionless as the lady reached back and tickled the sensitive area under the arch of her foot. Then she heard a distinct click: Cathy had produced a tiny padlock from her vest pocket and clasped it on the buckle of her collar.

“You are mine now, pretty Sabel, for as long as I choose to own you”, she whispered into the girl’s ear.

Sabel felt a shiver going up her spine. She was going to be that fine lady’s private ponygirl! Only the midterm exam stood in her way – and this time she would not fail, she said fervently to herself. To pass it she would be required to run and pull and obey commands, not to solve problems of multiplication or to arrange words in alphabetical order, both things that had defeated her in the tests to become a secretary.

The gentle slap on her left buttock sent a wave of pleasure through her body. Cathy cupped her choice’s breasts and pinched lightly her nipples, thinking how nice the little bells would show on them. Her wish was to stay there for the next two hours and tease that African jewel until she begged for release - but she had a class to give... She sighed – there would be many occasions to do that in the next few years.

Cathy rose up. A worker had come with another basket, and she knew what its contents were.

“Everyone! Stand up now. You will get your bits.”

Each bit was made of a kind of strong rosewood that could stand years of chewing. It was padded with a material made from a local plant to taste better and also to make it impermeable, as the pony would produce lots of saliva while it was between her teeth. Large steel rings were fixed to its ends and it was provided with straps to be buckled behind the pony’s head and under her chin, all very simple and practical.

“Put your hands behind your back and open your mouth to the widest.”

The tiny wooden bar was deftly slipped between Sabel’s teeth and the straps buckled behind her head. Cathy arranged the bushy mane in such a way that it concealed both buckle and lock and stepped back: collared and with the corners of her lips drawn a little back, showing her glaring white teeth, the ebony was delightful to look at. Cathy could almost see a rectangular little plate under the steel band, with the words Property of C. Magnusson engraved.

Sabel moved her tongue over the bit and tried to bring her lips together, but this was impossible. The bit was so snug that there was no loose play at all. She wanted to say how much she was glad, but all that came out of her mouth hundred were undistinguishable grunts. She looked alarmed at the teacher:

“My pretty black pony, don’t try to speak. It is not necessary”, Cathy said, caressing with the back of her hand Sabel’s silky cheek and adjusting another strap under her chin.

Sabel made a funny wiggle with her hips to show what she was feeling and stayed on her place as the teacher moved on to the next girl.

The fitting of all the bits took some time, but finally everybody had gotten one. As the workers were still busy preparing the harnesses, Cathy decided to begin a short workout. She called a worker and asked him to bring her forty pieces of rope about two feet long. Turning to the girls, she said aloud:

“Stay in line now, about four feet from the girl in front of you. Sabel, you first.”

Cathy started at the end of the line and hooked the ends of the short ropes onto the O-shaped-rings on the ends of each girl’s bit. When she reached Sabel, all the ponies were linked to each other.

Cathy flicked the tip of her crop on the shoulder of the girl behind Sabel.

“Step a bit forward, Chi Ling. Yes, like this – I want the rope to be loose between you and Sabel.”

Chi Ling obeyed. Desiree was behind her and stepped forward before the trainer had told her to. A hearty slap on her tush, and her eyes opened wide in surprise:

“Did I tell you to move, Desiree? You are to stay still until told otherwise, always!”

“Ye…, …iss .. athy”, the Haitian mumbled.” I...m ...orry.”

The crop touched Desiree’s shoulder.

“Shut up! And remember – it’s your owner who tells you when to move! Now everyone – make a step forward and cross your hands behind your back.”

The girls did as they were told. When everybody was ready, the teacher said:

“I want you to get used to walking on tip-toe. Be careful not to touch ground with your heels and lift your knees to waist level. Now you may begin! Off you go!”

Sabel raised her knee and set off, followed by the whole batch. She was careful not to pull on she rope, knowing that if she did so she would hurt Chi Ling’s mouth. Soon all the line was moving to the beat of the teacher’s hands clapping against each other. Cathy watched closely the hooked ponies, flicking her crop at the bottom of those who did anything faulty.

After a few turns of the yard, she called for a ten-minute break. The girls were relieved to be allowed to stand normally on their feet.

“You may sit down, but be careful because of the rope.”

The thirty-seven girls managed to sit down and leaned against the wall to rest. Cathy licked discreetly her lips at the sight of so many exposed pussies, knowing that soon they would be wet from the contact with the crotch strap.

The teacher let her eyes wander over the class. The interviewers had done a good job selecting those girls: all had a healthy body, a pretty face, and good muscles in calves and arms. It was her responsibility to turn those floor-scrubbers and street-sweepers into good mares. Part of her job was to get them to accept as natural the domination they would be subjected to for the rest of their lives. Behind the bars of their stalls, between the shafts of a cart or tied to a waiting pole, most of the time their movements would be restrained in a way or another - and the rope that tied them together like a herd of goats was a good means to make them understand that without having to say it in so many words.

“Some of these pretty creatures will inevitably flunk the midterm exam”, Cathy said to herself. Her rate of failures was very low, but in every class some students always failed to meet her severe standards. Those wearing anklets had nothing to fear, except being sent back to their scrubbing or to the malodorous garbage-processing plants. Jenny, Karen and a few others from the upper Stations were in a much more delicate position: if they ever reached a Breeding Farm, they would join the thirty thousand Breeders of Auronia. Okay, Breeders were as important to the New State as her grandmother, the Head of the Council – but it certainly was not agreeable to spend the best years of one’s life in successive pregnancies.

Mr. Anderson appeared on the door of the shed facing the yard.

“The harnesses are ready, Miss Cathy.”

“Very good. Tell your men to come and fit them on my new ponies. Girls, stand up!”

It was easily done. First came the horizontal straps; the first under the girl’s breasts, another around her the waist and the last circling her hips. Next a long strap was hitched to the front ring and pulled down through the girl’s slit and butt cleavage up to the small of her back, where it was tied to the appropriate ring. The last to be placed were the V straps over the shoulders.

Sabel shuddered: the leather felt rough on her skin because of the newly cut edges, but Miss Cathy told her that after some use it would become smoother. The waist and hip belts were padded underneath and felt quite agreeable on the body. Sabel feet her pussy itching a bit as the vertical strap pressed against it, and put her hand on it to make it looser. An angry Miss Cathy stopped her with her crop:

“Sabel, Sabel! Don’t make me punish you as I did with Karen! Never undo what your owner has done!”

The ebony shivered at the reminder, lowered her eyes and put her hands behind her back. On the other hand, it was reassuring to hear the blonde lady calling herself “her owner” – she could not upset her!

“I’m ... orry ... iss Ca...y.”

The granddaughter of Charissa Magnusson stepped back to admire her newly harnessed pony.

“You look splendid, Sabel. Someone ought to make a drawing of you.”

All the girls were ready now. Cathy strolled along the line, touching here and there to make sure that everything was in order. She had chosen colors matching each girl’s skin: Desiree, who was as dark as a moonless night, had received a pink one, Robin a warm hue of black that stressed nicely her brown color, Charra a red ensemble that went very well with the bronze of her skin, the blonde girls a bright tone of blue. Sabel’s outfit was dark green, with the edges in a lighter shade of the same color. Contrasting with the shining steel rings on her chest and on the sides of her bit, it made her look very pretty.

“Very well, girls! Now we will train the standard pony gait. Lift your knees up to your waist and walk using your toes and footpad. Hands behind! On my beat – one, two, one, two!”

As the ponies began to walk and felt their straps bushing between their labia, several stopped, making the line break down into a mess.

“Don’t stop! Keep walking!”

The teacher had grabbed a long whip and cracked it loudly on the cement of the yard ground. Even with a light discomfort, the girls managed to keep their hands crossed behind their bodies and walk as the teacher had commanded. Sabel was leading the line; the constant rubbing of the leather between her labia was making them damp, but she soon got used to that sensation and raised beautifully her knees to her waistline. Cathy checked each girl for step height, looking out for laziness and occasionally slapping a bottom with her whip.

Suddenly Jenny, who was feeling very disturbed with all that, stopped and tried to undo her bit, making the girl in front of her scream as she small wooden rod tore at the corners of her mouth. Karen, who was just behind her, gave a knock on her back with her knee. The whole line turned wrong and leaned to see what was going on.

Cathy’s nostrils flared. She was very angry, but controlled herself and snapped her fingers. Mr. Anderson rushed to the rebellious pony and quickly cuffed her hands behind her back. Jenny was so scared that she didn’t protest – what would that cost her?

“Get in line again, all of you! March in place!”

Bare feet thumped on the cement to the pace set by Cathy’s crop clapping on her hand.

“Knees up! And don’t touch ground with those heels!”

Sabel felt the front strap curving out as she lifted her legs to a ninety-degree angle. Cathy walked along the roped ponies and stopped at Jenny’s side. The pale girl’s eyes showed how nervous she was; the teacher just flicked the whip on her bottom and went on with her inspection. She noticed that the black girls had an easier time with the exercise and wondered if that was because of their natural flexibility.

“Faster!”

The girl’s bodies were warming up with the swift movements. Sabel’s calves and thighs started to ache: she was accustomed to jog, but not that way, without being allowed using her heels to rest her weight on. She heard the teacher saying:

“Two pony commands now: “giddup!” means accelerate, and “whoa!” means stop. Now GIDDUP!”

The girls sped up. Cathy giggled: almost everybody had assimilated the basic pony gait, their knees were being correctly raised and their heads were tossed back. She knew from previous courses that it took some time for a new pony to get used to the bit and to the sensation of arousal between her legs, so the next lessons would have to include numerous repetitions of that exercise. But for a first time this class was doing quite well.

“Trotting now! And take care not to lag behind, or the rope will make the bit hurt you! I want the rope loose between each of you and the next pony, understood? Sabel, lead!”

Sabel started a light trot and the rest of the students followed her. From where she was, Cathy could see the pink bottoms of her feet and her nicely shaped arches; she felt happy to have such a good leading pony in her group. Nothing was said for the next fifteen or twenty minutes; only the dry sound of bare feet could be heard in the back yard. Cathy stood on her place, watching the girl’s breasts bounce as they trotted with their hands behind their backs.

Sabel was sweating now. Her bit and the straps on her body were wet and her dark skin glistened under the morning sun. The teacher waited for her to come near and began to trot at her side, reaching to pat her rump and caress it while she strutted, feeling under her palm how warm and damp the ebony’s skin was. Cathy made a complete turn of the yard together with the ponies and called for a halt.

“Ten minutes rest! No sitting this time! Hands behind your back! Mr. Anderson – water, please!”

The man filled a bucket at the tap and fetched a ladle. All the girls were thirsty and drank eagerly from the ladle as he approached it to their lips. Cathy walked to where Robin was and fondled her nipples: they were hard, and she instinctively stuck her breasts out. The teacher squatted down and moved aside the strap covering her sex: the dark labia were covered with a thick film of juice, from which a heavy musk wafted. The girls watched amazed as she slid her finger over the girl’s pussy and brought it to her nose to sniff it. Robin was frozen: what would the teacher do?

But Cathy just smiled and rose to her feet. She had thought that the pretty mulatto would be perfect to demonstrate the effects of the pill, and what she had just seen confirmed her opinion. She walked to Desiree and giggled at the sheen of sweat on her body. Her lip approached the Haitian’s neck and she lapped twice on it – no, her skin was not rough as she had feared. It had a peach-like touch – a black peach, but a peach nonetheless.

Mr. Anderson came to her and whispered something into her ear. Cathy nodded and said:

“Everyone! Five laps around the yard and we are over with today’s lesson. UP! Follow my beat!”

She clapped her hands, quickly increasing the rhythm after the first lap to get the line running quite fast and watching knees and breasts and heads. The ponies had got accustomed to the rope and had no difficulty in trotting together. As Sabel began the last lap, the teacher slowed the pace down to help them cool off. The girls were quite fatigued and when the bell rang to announce the end of Class Four she ordered them to stop.

“Good, little ponies! You have done well. Now unhook yourselves from the pony in front of you, but leave the rope on your bit’s ring. Follow me into the shed!”

As all the girls were there, she removed all the bits and spoke again:

“Each of you, unbuckle all the straps on your partner’s body. Do you see those pegs with your names above them? Hang there your harness, collar and bit, and go back to the classroom to get dressed. Tomorrow at nine I want all of you already naked in this yard, ready for the class. Jenny and Sabel, stay here.”

As the girls disbanded, the teacher took Jenny by her collar and led her to a high pole in the middle of the yard. Little chains were welded onto it, so that ponies needing to be disciplined could be tethered at various heights and in different positions. “Will this be my first failure?” she wondered as she pressed down the rebellious girl’s shoulders and hitched her collar some four feet above ground, making her bend into a roughly right angle.

“Mr. Anderson! Spreader, please!”

A bar with ankle straps at its ends was brought and fitted to Jenny’s legs, spreading them quite wide. Cathy moved the end of her crop along the sensitive thighs, making the girl squirm. Sabel watched all that in awe, wondering what the teacher would do.

Jenny was terrified at the idea of having her bottom whipped. What a foolish thing she had done! All she wanted was to have her arms freed and be allowed to leave that yard as soon as possible. So she felt quite amazed when Miss Cathy spoke:

“Jenny, you did a very ugly thing trying to remove your bit. I don’t have to tell you that this is your only chance of not spending the next few years as a Breeder. But I want you to know that a ponygirl’s life has some advantages too.”

The girl gulped and said nothing. The bit in her mouth would not allow her to, anyway. Cathy dropped her crop, approached her and rolled the taut nipples between her fingers.

“You know, Sabel, some people have never been touched. They are skittish and afraid of that. It is high time for Jenny to learn how good it feels. Go under her and undo the crotch strap.”

The ebony did as she was told. Her eye caught the contrast between the rosy womb above her she had just exposed and the black of the teacher’s boots appearing behind Jenny and going up to the middle of her thighs. Cathy let her fingers go all the way down from Jenny’s breasts to the grotto between her legs and shook her head: a soft bush covered the girl’s mound. It would have to be removed – nothing ought to interfere with the sensations a pony should feel on her pussy when harnessed. Jenny jerked at that caress, but Cathy couldn’t care less and went on, probing into the humid walls.

Her own twat was oozing juice inside her bikini as the feeling of power she knew so well began to surge through her body. To have the right to arouse a girl while knowing that she was at her mercy was one of the things Cathy liked about her job. She walked around the pole and fetched the crop:

“Sabel, I want you to finger Jenny while I caress her clitty.”

Sabel introduced two fingers into the soppy hole and wiggled them inside it, while the teacher circled the little salient button with the end of her crop. Jenny moaned at the combined moves, arching down as lust sparkled through her body; her muscles clenched around the ebony’s fingers and she lifted her bottom.

Cathy smiled: the girl was reacting as expected. She told Sabel to stop her fingering and went behind Jenny, holding the crop a few inches away from her pussy.

“Step back until you reach the crop, girl. You are not a virgin, are you?”

Jenny girl shook her head and stepped back as far as the chain from her neck allowed her to. Her body slipped onto the leathered handle and she stopped, fearing that it could hurt her sensitive walls. The teacher held it in place; seeing that it felt like an extra-hard cock, Jenny relaxed and moved back, letting it glide inside her. The teacher winked at Sabel, who winked back: she knew how good that surface could feel. Jenny moved a bit forward and began rocking back and forth on it, like the ebony had done the day before. Her moans showed that her excitation was growing; Cathy allowed her a few minutes of that and pulled out the crop. Jenny growled something, stepped back in a futile attempt to reach it and felt a tug from the chain that tied her neck to the pole.

“You are in heat, eh? Sabel, go under her and lap her clitty.”

The teacher couldn’t help licking her lips at the contrast between her chocolate pony’s face and the ivory legs spread above it. She also wanted to gauge Sabel’s ability with her tongue, and having Jenny as a guinea pig was a good means to check that. She stretched her arm and inserted again the crop handle into Jenny’s inviting hole.

Sabel wanted to cause a good impression on Miss Cathy. Her tongue worked fast, adjusting to the movements of Jenny’s body. She had been taught to use it by Robin, whose phenomenal sex drive could not be appeased exclusively by her own fingers. After some coaxing from her friend, the ebony had consented to help her out, and had learned the subtleties of tonguing from the best teacher one could have wished for. Now she was using all her pussy-eating skills, and Jenny’s response showed how good she was at that.

The blonde girl was torn between opposite feelings. What was left of her self-esteem made her want to be miles away from that yard, but her body was telling her to stay: even with her arms bound, her legs spread and her neck tied to a pole, what she was feeling was excitation – and pleasure. She contracted her thighs and tried to bring her legs together, but the spreader between her ankles would not allow her to. Her pussy was on fire; she bit into the wooden stick between her teeth as the little spasms announcing an orgasm made her belly shake.

Sabel looked at the teacher in a silent inquiry; Cathy nodded and continued to tease the tethered girl. Jenny felt her resistance dwindling; her heart beat faster, her knees buckled, she arched down and raised a little her toes - and suddenly she exploded into a huge climax, letting loose all the tension accumulated in her body.

Jenny was astonished at the intensity of her orgasm. Occasional flirts with guys in her Station had conduced to rather dull sexual relations, which she had never paid special attention to. She had a shy temperament and didn’t care much for physical sensations. But that was different! And to her surprise, the awkward position she was in had made it still more intense.

“If you ever become a pony, Jenny, you will discover that being permanently excited can be very… exciting”, she heard Miss Cathy saying. She was so involved with her sensations that the sarcasm escaped her attention. The teacher tugged on Sabel’s mane, told her to stand up and pulled her out of the attached girl’s sight.

A deep kiss made her discover that the ebony’s mouth was seasoned with Jenny’s cream and tasted even better than the day before. Holding Sabel’s head in place, Cathy sucked those luscious, thick lips like an athlete would on a bottle of energizer. Jenny moved her feet to find a less uncomfortable position. Her arms felt numb from being tied; she glanced aside – where was the blonde lady? How long would she have to stay attached to that pole?

Cathy moved away from Sabel and looked at her watch: eleven thirty. She had some more time before going to meet her mother.

“Sabel. Go under her breasts and take care of them.”

Squatting behind Jenny, the teacher contemplated the little red hole in front of her eyes and after a while slid two fingers through the drenched labia.

“Isn’t this much better than the strap, sweetie?”

Jenny gnawed on her bit at the sudden yet welcome intrusion in her dark tunnel. Her pussy was still sensitive after such a recent orgasm, and Sabel’s nibbling on her nipple was driving her horny again. She raised her rear and began to move back and forth on Miss Cathy’s fingers as she had done on the crop. Cathy let her other hand wander over the girl’s smooth buttock, pinching, caressing, tickling and slapping to provoke the most varied sensations. The girl contorted her body to escape those devilish fingers, but the chain and the spreader gave her very little room to move. She felt powerless, yet so aroused! Her loud moans filled the air as she discovered areas of her skin to which she had never paid attention before. “I don’t want to become a Breeder”, she thought. “Being a ponygirl can be good, after all…” A slap made her contract her buttocks:

“Quiet! Sabel, turn to her thighs now.”

Jenny stood still while the teacher screwed her with her fingers, going all the way down to the cervix and back, taking her time at the portico, brushing gently and suddenly ramming into it. Jenny gasped for air and thrust her body back as if trying to suck those fingers into her pulsing tunnel, making Cathy grin at how quickly she had learned to enjoy being touched.

Sabel changed her position to reach down onto Jenny’s warm thighs, which tasted of her sweat and of the juice that had drifted down from her pussy. She couldn’t help feeling aroused by what she was doing; the strap between her legs was drenched and the itching on her labia almost unbearable. How long would Miss Cathy keep them? She thought of Robin’s tongue and sighed: her wish was to go and find her friend, but first she had to face five or six hours of washing bathrooms and mopping floors. Unless Miss Cathy… hmm… But that would come – if it came – later... Meanwhile, she had to channel her dammed lust into licking, and so she did, going from one thigh to the other and back, lapping behind the knees and going up again.

Cathy pulled her fingers out and leaned over Jenny to press her own breasts on the girl’s wet back. From where she was, Sabel could see the bottom of the lady’s bikini and wondered what the pussy inside it would taste like. Would she ever be allowed to discover? She burned to slip aside the strap covering her twat and touch herself – Miss Cathy was occupied elsewhere – but her hands stayed on Jenny’s calves. Although fear of the teacher’s reaction was one of her motives – Sabel didn’t want to mess up her chances of becoming Miss Cathy’s pony – something else was holding her hand, something so new for her that she couldn’t even name it.

That sort of respect surging from the depths of her mind was a sign that her “conversion process”, as pony trainers called it, was under way. She was beginning to consider Miss Cathy as her owner – someone whose permission she would need to ask for the simplest things. Sabel’s mind was not sophisticated enough to realize that: she just felt that it would be wrong to cheat and kept licking vigorously those ivory thighs.

Holding Jenny’s haunches with her hands, Cathy slipped her knee along the exposed crotch. Jenny emitted a loud grunt, arched her back down and wiggled her butt, looking for a position that would allow her clit to reach the teacher’s knee. She found it and began to rub her knob on the soft leather, wetting it with her juices. Another grunt escaped her lips as she felt the lady’s tongue inside her ear – nobody had ever done that!

Cathy leaned forward for better balance. She particularly liked to watch how a new pony reacted to stimulation, and that girl, formerly so skittish and now so eager to cum on her knee, was doing quite well. Seeing her helpless and depending entirely upon her to be relieved had made her feel deliciously powerful for the last hour or so, but now it was time to bring the teasing to an end. The teacher kept her knee under Jenny’s clitty and strengthened the hold on her hips. “Three minutes more”, she said to herself. “If she does not cum again, she will have to look for relief elsewhere.”

Jenny became suddenly aware that Miss Cathy had stopped moving her knee and was allowing her to rub her button on it. If she could speak, she would have said, “Miss Cathy, please, just a little time more, and Sabel, don’t stop, don’t stop!” Another orgasm was building up inside her: her thighs quivered, her clit was swollen, and her labia so slippery! She closed her eyes and concentrated on what she was feeling – it could cease at any moment, it all hung on that blonde woman’s whim… And then it burst out - another formidable orgasm. Her body shook savagely; she bit hard into the wooden stick and arched down like a cat, engulfed in the waves emanating from her pussy.

Sabel was licking with much less enthusiasm after Jenny’s climax; Cathy stepped back and tugged gently on the ebony’s hair to indicate that she could rise up.

“I will not be that generous if you relapse, Jenny. One more stupid action and you are out of this course.”

Jenny was too exhausted to reply, so she just nodded. The teacher called Mr. Anderson and told him to remove the spreader from her legs; with a deft movement, she untied the chain from the collar and uncuffed her wrists.

“Sabel, take out Jenny’s harness and collar.”

After being in that position for so long, the girl’s back ached and her arms were like two bars of lead. Soon the complete outfit was lying at her feet.

“Jenny, do the same for Sabel.”

Jenny had never touched black skin before and was amazed at its smoothness. She had to rise to her toes to reach the ebony’s neck; a puzzled look appeared on her face as her fingers fumbled with the padlock.

“It is locked, Miss Cathy. I need a key to open it.”

“Sabel’s collar stays on her until I decide otherwise. Now, both of you - hang your things on the peg under your names. Tomorrow at nine, and already naked, as I said. Move on!”

As I walked to the government office to work the remaining hours of my shaft, I noticed that I was feeling uneasy. At first I could not guess why: the class hadn’t been different from the previous ones – the dress code had been followed, we had learned new things, someone had been punished because she had upset Miss Cathy… I should be feeling proud and happy. She had said quite openly that she wanted me to become her pony, and had shown everybody how much she liked me. Who had she chosen as her partner? Who had led the line while marching? And whom had she called to help her tease Jenny?

She could barely stand on her feet, the poor thing, so shaky she was after Miss Cathy was done with her. And the expression on her face when my collar did not open! Was she thinking that it was her fault and Miss Cathy would scold her?

The image of the girl with her hands tied behind her back and her legs separated by that awful bar came again into my mind. I had never seen that kind of punishment. Okay, she had tried to undo the buckle on her bit, and that was a serious offence. But what if she wanted to become a Breeder? Women in the Seventh Station are not slaves; they are respected because they give hands to the nation, and this is as necessary as pulling carts - or as anything else.

I trembled at the thought that I could find myself hooked to that pole and submitted to the same treatment. Being a ponygirl had its risks, after all! I traced the steel circle around my neck and remembered Miss Cathy’s words: “Sabel’s collar stays on her until I decide otherwise.” The steel felt cold against my skin, but this was not disagreeable: Charissa is a tropical town and something cool is always welcome on your body.

I burned to see how it looked. I knew that its outer side was padded with some kind of vegetal stuff, but nobody had even told me which color it was. Was it green, like the rest of my harness? I tried to remember if the other girl’s collars were the same shade as the straps on their bodies, but I had been so involved with learning that I had paid no attention to that detail.

Suddenly I stopped - the words I had seen written on the blackboard! Their meaning became clear now: Miss Cathy – owner of… Sabel. It was so disturbing to have seen that so distinctly on the very first day of the course. I thought of going to Charra’s place and talk things over with her, but at that time of the day they were surely working.

Later, perhaps? I shook my head. We Sixth Station girls live in collective apartments together with ten or twelve other cleaners, and there is never enough privacy. I giggled as I remembered the first time I gave in to Robin’s insistence – it was on the kitchen table! Her roommates kept coming into the kitchen to fetch this and that, and I was so ashamed to be seen kneeling between her legs with her cunt inside my mouth. I eventually got used to their little giggles as I lay on that table, with my feet parted and my knees up while Robin took care of me. But this was different – it was something really private. I would have to sort out my feelings by myself.

The first thing I did when I reached the government building was to go to the workers’ room and look at the mirror. The collar was red and looked really nice on my dark skin. Next I stripped and turned the shower on: all that sweat was making my body smell awful. As I washed my pussy, I realized that the need to touch it was gone. I was simply not in the mood for that.

I put my left foot on a bench to dry it up and my eyes fell on the circlet on my ankle. Suddenly it dawned on me that what I was feeling was – FEAR. Yes, I was afraid! I had so much wanted to leave my job and Station and ascend to a better status, and now that only a few steps separated me from success I was feeling frightened.

But what was I afraid of? Of Miss Cathy? No: I like her a lot. Her self-assurance, the flashy clothing she dons while teaching, those powerful blue eyes, all that fascinates me. And the way she pierces me with her eyes during classes! I think that she feels some sexual attraction for me and it does not bother me - rather the opposite. The way she touched me after the third class was so different from the cold efficiency she showed when teasing Jenny! I am not much schooled, but I can tell when someone is aroused and when not.

After getting dressed I looked on the mirror again. My regulation top has a kind of V coming down from the neck and so the collar was perfectly visible, even if I arranged my hair in such a way that it covered the lock on its back. But I knew that it was there and what it meant – the first step into becoming Miss Cathy’s property. And I could not conceal from myself that I had mixed feelings about that.

As I scrubbed the floors that afternoon, my mind was so absorbed with these questions that I must have done some sloppy work. Luckily my boss was occupied with other things and didn’t notice. I froze at the idea of having to stay three more years kneeling behind a brush: screwing up that unique opportunity to leave my dull job was out of question! Why was I so confused? I had to overcome that awful feeling.

I went through everything that Miss Cathy had told us about being a ponygirl. I have no problems with going half-naked, and found my outfit quite nice. At first, that strap rubbing on my pussy enervated me, but as I marched and trotted it became less conspicuous. So it my fears didn’t come from that, nor were they connected with the bit – I had adapted quite easily to it.

The pill, perhaps? But what could be wrong with having intense sexual feelings at the lightest touch? I like to be touched, I value pleasure, and actually am very curious to know more about that pill’s effect. Perhaps I should ask a pony how she feels – there are so many at the taxi stations, waiting for passengers. Their drivers will not object to such a simple request – or will they?

I remembered the uneasiness among the girls when Miss Cathy told us that ponies are considered property of the persons they are assigned to. I spent my childhood in Ms. Stevenson’s farm and was familiar with this law. Seeing Jenny attached had scared me, no doubt. She was lucky that Miss Cathy decided to tease her - she could have swatted her ass or left her there for the whole day.

But that pale girl had deserved it, I had to agree. Maybe she acted so foolishly because she comes from the Third Station and is ashamed to be turned into a ponygirl. I would never upset my owner, whoever that was, like she had done. I am sure that Miss Cathy will take good care of me and will never act in a mean or indifferent way towards me. At least nothing in her behavior has suggested that she will.

What else had scared my colleagues? Robin had barked at the way Miss Cathy referred to “delivery animals”, and I have to agree that it is not a courteous designation. But if I become Miss Cathy’s pony, I will not be a delivery animal: I will serve a prestigious lady and everybody who reads the plate under my collar will know to whom I belong.

As I went out from the building, I saw Charra coming along. I became friends with her soon after I came to Charissa and she knows me very well. She noticed at once that something was worrying me:

“ Sabel, you look awful! What is burdening you?” she asked.

“Let’s have a cup of coffee and I will tell you.”

We entered a cafeteria and I told her everything, including what had happened the previous day and how Miss Cathy had asked me to help her to tease Jenny.

“I don’t understand”, I said as I finished my narrative. “I still want to be a ponygirl and am quite happy that Miss Cathy has chosen me – if I pass my midterm, that is. I loved when she caressed me yesterday. And I am not going to wrest my bit from my mouth as Jenny did, or be as stupid as Karen and pull my thong up when she tells me to pull it down. So what am I afraid of? Can you tell me, Charra?”

She remained silent for a few moments.

“Sabel”, she finally said. “You are not ashamed of wearing a collar, are you?”

“Of course not. In a few weeks, all of us will have one, I hope.”

“Then your fear doesn’t come from having it permanently on your neck. This wouldn’t make sense after all you have told me. By the way, everyone in the class is talking about you. It is so obvious that you are Miss Cathy’s favorite! Nobody has stayed after class with her except you. She has not told us anything about tush pushes or about the Friday position. And nobody has got a gift from her except you.”

“A gift?”

“Yes, the padlock! Isn’t that a gift?”

I had to agree that it was. She went on:

“You must be afraid because of what she said after that – until I decide otherwise. What do you think this means?”

“That only she can remove it?” I said in a hesitant voice.

“Of course. And why would she do that?”

“Well, she has said that ponies can be transferred from one owner to another. This I didn’t know. Ms. Stevenson’s male ponies were always the same, except when two of them died, and Teresa, her private ponygirl, was already pulling her when I was born.”

Charra looked surprised at what I had just said.

“Wait! Are you telling me that you are afraid of that? I mean, of Miss Cathy getting tired of you and sending you to another owner?”

“Yes!” I looked anxiously at her. “Do you think she will do that?”

“The law says that she can, but I think that it will depend on how you behave.”

I sighed. She was right, of course.

“The trouble is that we ponies cannot choose whom we belong to.”

Charra has not Robin’s quick tongue, but her voice was quite ironic as she snapped:

“We ponies, Sabel? You are not one yet!”

I was so startled by what I had just said that I covered my mouth with my hand to prevent more silliness from coming out of it. She winked at me:

“You want so much to become her pony, don’t you, Sabel? This explains your fear, I think. Listen: as long as Miss Cathy wants to own you, this collar is safe on your neck. But if she transfers you to somebody else it will have to be removed, because this person will give you a new one. It seems that you got her words as meaning that she could send you to another owner, and that frightened you like hell. Do you follow me?”

I nodded. I sure want to stay with Miss Cathy and pull her wherever she has to go. I want to feel her hands on my body and jerk and shake as she touches me.

“But this is not – by far – the only reason for her removing your collar, Sabel! She could want to change it for a new one, or have it cleaned when your sweat has made it brown instead of red. Or the padlock might get rusted.”

It is incredible how chatting with another person can make you see things differently! Since leaving that yard, I had turned that sentence in every sense to understand what it meant, but hadn’t thought of what Charra was suggesting now. But now it sounded so obvious! I exclaimed:

“Charra! You are right! Do you remember when we were kneeling and holding our hair over our heads? When Miss Cathy clasped the padlock, she said the same thing, only with other words: “you are mine, pretty Sabel, for as long as I choose to own you.”

“See? This shows that she wants to keep you. You are pretty, you have these long legs, perfect for running without getting tired, and you do everything she asks you to. Why would she not want to keep you? Don’t tell me that you were the only one in that classroom not to have noticed how fond of you she is!”

“Of course I did. And as her ponygirl, I will do my best to please her.”

“So, Sabel, she is already considering herself as your owner. And therefore it is she, and nobody else, who decides about your collar. This is what she wanted you to know.”

I was so happy at her words that I rose up and hugged her.

“Charra, you are such a good friend! Thank you! Why don’t you come over for dinner? Today it is my turn to cook and I can make something special for you.”

As we walked to my home, I was happy as a bird. How silly I had been! Our laws in Auronia are so simple and wise. A lock on a pony’s collar means that he or she belongs to somebody, and Miss Cathy had put one on mine! Her words sounded so obvious after Charra’s explanation: unless I make some serious blunder, in a few more weeks I will have become her property until she decides otherwise.

Upon arriving home, I always take off my sandals and walk around barefoot. That day I was so excited that I forgot to do that and went directly into the bathroom to look on the mirror: I wanted to see Miss Cathy’s gift again. The padlock is small, but it means so much! I hope that it will stay on the back of my neck for a long, long time.