The hands of her watch showed a square angle when Cathy entered the courtyard: nine o’clock sharp. The sun was shining above Charissa, as it usually did in the month of Rose. The New State had changed the names of the months: instead of Roman gods and imperators, they were now named after the nicest Auronian flowers. A light breeze made the ponytail swish over the Lady’s shoulders as she stood under the archway, her hands on her hips and the crop sticking out from her black bikini bottom. The thirty-seven girls, huddled in the shade of the building and already without their clothes, stopped chatting at once: the teacher’s face showed that she was very upset.

“Why aren’t you dressed in harness and bits?” she shouted.

“Because Mr. Anderson said that we had to wait for you, Miss Cathy”, Desiree said in a frightened voice.

“We have no time to waste! You know how to fasten buckles, don’t you? Or you have to be taught that too? MR. ANDERSON! Come here, NOW!”

The man walked out from the workers’ room.

“What were you thinking? They need to be ready before I get here. ARE WE CLEAR?”

“Yes, Miss Cathy! The other teachers don’t allow the ponies to meddle with their tacks, so I thought...” He turned to the shed: “Hey, Chico! Raymond! Matt! Bring the stuff here!”

Three men pushing carts with the outfits appeared as by magic and unloaded them in the middle of the yard, near the central pole.

“Fetch your harness, collar and bit, and form pairs! The same as yesterday!” Cathy commanded. Her voice trembled, so angry she was. The crop smacked on one of the walls, producing a very eloquent, dry sound.

The girls moved quickly to adjust the straps on their partners’ body and head. The teacher’s face was still red, her breath heavy on her nose. Sabel had never seen her so angry, not even when Jenny had tried to undo her bit. She felt the leather straps almost cutting into her skin as Cathy buckled them one notch too tight; the bit was pushed into her mouth and the headstall fitted tight on her head.

“Do you think your owner will be waiting for you to be ready when they need you? Who thinks that?”

Silence. No hands were raised.

“You will learn to be ready or face the consequences! Mr. Anderson - bring the wrist cuffs!”

The fat man distributed them. The cuffs were wide and had long leather tails on each one in the same color as each girl’s outfit.

“Now face the wall, all of you, and cross your hands behind your back!”

Cathy encased all the wrists in the metal cuffs and ordered the class to turn around. Moving briskly along the line, she tied the tails with a tight knot in front of each girl’s tummy, so that her hands were firmly secured on the small of her back. She stepped back and glanced at her herd: with their bits in place and their arms forming a nice angle beside their bodies, the girls looked splendid – and conveniently helpless.

“We’ll march for ten minutes now! Knees high and tushie pushed out! Breasts forward, heads high! Off you go!”

The line moved on, Sabel leading as she had done the previous day. Cathy felt her anger melting down at the sight of her pony wearing her green harness and marching so elegantly. Sabel lifted her kneels high, feeling the cement against the pads of her bare feet.

“Why is the Lady so upset?” she was asking herself. “Yesterday she said nothing about harnesses – she told us to wait for her, “naked and ready”. How could we have guessed that ready for the class meant harnessed?”

Cathy let the girls make a few turns around the yard to warm up. Suddenly she remembered that she had forgotten to ask the Ponygirl Department to deliver the carts for today’s lesson. Only one was available – her mother’s – as she had sent for it the first day of the course.

“We will have carts for all of you next Monday”, she said angrily. “Today, we have only one. Sabel, come here – the rest of you, MARCH!”

The ebony moved up to where Cathy was standing. The teacher took a leash from her vest pocket and hooked it to the ring in front of her collar. Sabel felt a tug on her neck and followed the teacher into the shed. A cart painted in black was parked there. Its rails came out from the spikes holding the wheels and curved up from the foot holder in a very elegant way.

“Her mother’s sulky”, Sabel thought as she saw the name Caroline Magnusson engraved just below the seat. Cathy dropped the leash and it fell down to the girl’s ankle. She gulped and looked at the teacher.

“Stand between the rails, near the rings.”

Sabel obeyed. The shafts reached out about a foot beyond her; they were provided with rings from which dangled little chains– and in no time they were hitched to her hip belt. Sabel closed her eyes, listening to the thumping of naked feet outside. She was grateful when Miss Cathy slackened by one hole the buckles on her harness– it felt much more comfortable that way. The crotch strap still adhered to her slit, and Sabel shuddered: the sheer movements of her thighs would turn that mild itching into a desperate craving for relief – and with her hands tied behind her back, none would come until the teacher decided to end the class.

Cathy covered the ebony’s breast with her hand and whispered into her ear:

“Are you ready to serve me for the first time, my pretty Sabel?”

“Yeff, ...iff ....a...ffy.”

“Your skin is such a pretty shade of black, dear! The showiest pony I have ever taught! Now push out your bum and suck in your tummy.”

Sabel did as she was told. Cathy smiled and squatted down to check her choice’s pussy: the leather was already darker on that spot. From between Sabel’s legs wafted a delicious odor of sweat and of something juicier than mere water. Cathy felt an urge to brush the strap aside, finger her to bring out some cream and lap it, but didn’t do that. She rose up and slapped Sabel’s tushie with her open hand, making a loud noise that echoed in the ample shed. The girl contracted her buttocks, surprised, but kept looking straight ahead.

If Sabel passed her exam - and the teacher was pretty sure that she would – her registration number would be tattooed on her left rump. A more personal mark could be added to the girl’s body, though – Cathy’s blue eyes flashed as the thought of a capital C tattooed on the top of her arm, colored in red to match her collar and contrasting so nicely with the sheen of her black skin. “A few weeks”, she said to herself. “Just a few weeks...”

She took the reins from the box by the seat and let them slide down the girl’s bare back, making her tingle with their touch. Knotting them to the wide O-shaped rings at the ends of her bit, she made a movement to climb into the sulky, but something made her change her mind. Sabel’s head had slightly turned away from her hand, as if she was offering some resistance to being yoked. An imperceptible movement -, but the teacher was too experienced to let it go unacknowledged. She frowned, annoyed: obstinacy and disobedience were the last things she would expect from such a docile creature.

Sabel was not aware of what she had done. It had been a kind of reflex, a tiny sign that something in her still rebelled against the inviolable rule she was nonetheless so familiar with – ponygirls were property, and for life. She was not sophisticated enough to realize that; her conscious wish was to become a ponygirl, but deep in her soul the idea of losing her liberty was frightening her.

As a Sixth Station girl, she could be designated to work anywhere, even transferred from Charissa to another town – but she lived in an apartment, however crowded; she was free to go wherever she pleased after her shift; she could go jogging when she wanted to, or take a nap if she felt tired... As a ponygirl, she would be at her owner’s mercy – and the fury the blonde Lady was capable of had scared Sabel. All that was implied in her reflex, even if she would not be able to explain her feelings if someone asked her to. But Cathy had noticed: the ebony was not ready to pull her around, period.

“Mr. Anderson!”

The fat chief of the workers rushed into the shed. Cathy handed him the reins:

“Take her out for some exercise with the sulky.”

The teacher was careful not to pronounce the girl’s name. She was still in the first phases of her “conversion process”, and had to learn that people would often talk about her as if she was not there. Some owners even referred to their ponies using the neutral pronoun “it”, as for any other animal. Cathy didn’t favor that, but in her opinion not naming a hitched pony while speaking to someone else was a subtle way to foster submission and self-effacement. The conversion process depended much more on psychology than on physical exercises, she believed.

Sabel felt a yank at the reins and began to walk. The chains on her hips stretched to full length as she trained the vehicle into the yard. The sulky was made of bamboo and very light; she discovered that no particular effort was needed to pull it.

“Trotting now, little ponies!”

Cathy leaned against the wall, watching the girls. All shades of black and brown were represented, from Desiree’s charcoal hue to Robin’s warm mulatto color. That was not surprising: in colonial times, large quantities of African slaves had been brought to Auronia, and even if many of their descendants had dramatically improved their condition under the New State, they were still numerous in the lower Stations. The rest was composed of girls coming from the provinces and from the neighboring countries, Asian immigrants’ daughters, and a few Caucasians. The teacher’s steel-blue eyes fell on Charra, who was leading the file. Her bronze skin shone so nicely against her red harness!

“Circle the pole! Trotting! One, two, one, two!” she shouted, hitting the palm of her hand with the crop.

Mr. Anderson quickened his pace and pulled Sabel into a light trot around the yard. Cathy watched her, admiring her athletic figure and the way she raised her knees even while trotting. She wanted to take Sabel with her for the weekend, which she was to spend at the Magnusson farm just outside Charissa. But was that wise? The girl was not ready... What if she failed to obey a command in the presence of other people? That would be embarrassing for both of them.

Cathy didn’t mind teaching again and again the gaits or disciplining reluctant candidates, but this was a special case. She had picked that African gem to be her personal pony, and wanted her to be perfect. She could become perfect – with those long legs and firm muscles, her body seemed sculpted by a skillful craftsman specifically for that job - and she was so pretty! Perhaps she should hold back her expectations and give the Nubian a little more time to adapt to her new condition. Girls like her had a long way ahead of them - but once they became fully conditioned, nothing surpassed the pleasure of controlling a pony with just a faint touch of the crop or a slight flick of the reins,

Cathy shrugged and bit her lower lip. She was not happy; she had counted on tasting that black pussy in the warm stall, feeling the bristles of the straw on her knees. She had counted on Sabel to pull her along the road by the lake and let her feel the wind kissing her cheeks as she sprinted after a hearty smack on those splendid haunches. Cathy felt her pussy tingling as an image formed in her mind: Sabel under the shadow of a tree, covered in sweat, hitched to the cart and breathing deeply as she undid her crotch strap and lapped avidly between her legs…

“Mr. Anderson! Bring her here!”

Sabel knew that the girls’ eyes were on her as she pulled the cart around the yard. Her heart leaped in her chest: would Miss Cathy lead her for her first ride? But the teacher had other plans. She went to Sabel and unhooked the arms of the sulky from her hips.

“She is not ready”, she whispered to the head of the leather workers, then turned to Sabel:

“Take your place at the head of the line and lead the girls to the trough. You all, listen – you are going to learn how to drink without using your hands.”

The trough was welded onto one of the walls about one foot above ground, and was long enough to accommodate the whole class. The girls approached it and stopped: how could one drink that way? Cathy smiled as Chi Ling knelt down and put her face into the trough; one by one, her colleagues imitated her. Water splashed out as they sucked it into their mouths, making the teacher and Mr. Anderson smile at their clumsiness. Cathy gazed approvingly at the line of naked bottoms, which soon would be wiggling between the shafts of sulkies and chariots, and observed with pleasure that the dark patches on the girls’ foot pads and toes offered a sharp contrast to the light layer of dust on their heels - a sure sign that they had assimilated the standard gait.

“Charra! Come here!”

The teacher hitched the leash she had taken off from Sabel onto the Mexican’s collar:

“Come, girl”, she said, leading her between the arms of the cart.

Charra winked at Sabel as the ebony lifted her head from the trough. Her face was beaming with pride; she had overcome her doubts about being in that class, and was taking very seriously the opportunity to leave forever the stench of the garbage plant. When the teacher showed her the nipple clamps, however, she stepped back, visibly afraid.

“These go on your nipples, Charra. Don’t worry, I won’t tighten them too much.”

The bronze-skinned girl made a grimace while Cathy placed the clamps around her nipples. It was uncomfortable to have those things so near such a sensitive part of her body, and her eyes showed some confusion behind their long, dark lashes. The teacher smiled and pulled the reins though the bit’s rings, connecting them to the clamps. Charra’s breasts were heavier than Sabel’s, her nipples fairer and bigger. Cathy felt no urge to lick them: the sturdy Mexican was better suited to pull a taxi than to serve a Lady in the upper Stations, she thought.

Cathy glanced at Sabel as she hitched the chariot to the girl’s belt. Her pony-to-be was still kneeling by the trough, clearly scared at the sight of the nipple clamps. Her mouth was open and some spittle was drooling over her chin. The teacher smiled wryly and walked around the cart onto the seat.

“Mr. Anderson, I want them trotting fast now, almost cantering. Twenty complete laps around the yard – we have to increase their stamina.”

As the girls stood up and the line formed again, ready to follow Mr. Anderson’s lead, she accommodated her body on the seat and held firmly the reins:

“Charra, can you hear me?”

The girl nodded.

“If you pay attention and follow the reins, you will never feel any tug on your nipples. But if you don’t ... Now, giddy up!”

Charra started walking, her tushie wiggling as she moved her legs. She was surprised to find that even with a driver on it the cart weighed less than she had imagined. Cathy applied some pressure on the rein over her right shoulder and she turned right to avoid a tug on her nipple.

“Very good, Charra! Now pay attention – if I flick your rump with the crop, that means “go faster.” And remember, don’t stop until you hear my Whoa!”

A quick tap and the pony sped up, under the keen gaze of the other girls. Cathy pulled on the rein to make her tighten her circle around the pole, and grinned as the Mexican executed the move without mistakes. Like so many of her countrywomen, she had a wide waist; her bottom was large and her strong calves ended in thick ankles. On one of them shone the metal band marking her as a Sixth Station cleaner.

“Strong, healthy”, Cathy thought. “And intelligent, too – she might become she leader of the team in those special taxis.”

Charra felt a light tug from the reins and turned toward the archway. It was not hard to pull the sulky – she had to pay close attention to the reins and to the crop, and the clamps were still a menace to her nipples, but otherwise it was an easy task - except for the itching on her pussy because of the strap between her labia.

As they passed under the arch into the street, a flick of the crop on her buttocks told her that Miss Cathy wanted her to move faster:

“Trotting!”

The Mexican leaned forward to gain impulse and started to trot. From her place on the seat, Cathy could see that she was quite determined to do well what she had to do.

“Charra works well for me, but I wish Sabel had been ready”, she muttered to herself.

The street stretched along the school building and ended in a busy thoroughfare. Charra dragged the cart all the way down to the corner and suddenly the bustle of Charissa engulfed her: the peculiar sound of wheels against the pavement, taxi drivers squawking orders to their ponies, a pineapple vendor announcing his fruits, people on foot walking on the sides of the wide road – there were no sidewalks in the capital, as cars had disappeared long ago.

Cathy kept her charge in the lane reserved for leisure carts. She knew that Charra must be scared at her first ride outside. Her feet were not yet clad in pony boots, but that should not be too much of a problem, Cathy said to herself: the road was paved with a smooth layer of makeshift asphalt. That thought soothed any doubts she might have about working Charra harder.

Charra felt the tip of the crop on her bare buttock:

“Faster! Charra! Chin up, breasts out! Concentrate on what you are doing!”

She bit into the stick between her teeth and giddied up. She was worried about stumbling and kept eyeing her feet, trying to ignore the busy street at her left side. Now it was clear why Miss Cathy had been so emphatic about learning to obey non-verbal orders: it was difficult to understand spoken commands with all that noise around her.

The teacher kept her at that pace until they reached the end of the block, then slowed her down to turn around the corner. Charra seemed to understand easily the “crop language”, and sped up again as it landed on her firm rump. But she was beginning to feel tired and towards the middle of the third street she slackened down. She was not a jogger like Sabel: every muscle on her thighs was yelling for a respite.

Cathy would not tolerate that. The crop kissed once more the bronze skin on Charra’s butt; thick trickles of perspiration had appeared on her back, her heart thumped like a whole band of drums had decided to rehearse inside her chest, and her arches ached from the strain imposed on them. But she was not going to be accused of laziness: she mustered what remained of her forces and trotted until the reins told her to slow down.

A faint tug on her nipple made her turn into the last side of the block. The dark mass of the school building was already on her right side. She dragged the cart along the wall and felt relieved when the teacher led her through the archway.

She walked into the yard and stuck her breasts out, proud of her accomplishment. Mr. Anderson clapped his hands: it was not usual for a pony to complete a turn around the block – more than half a mile - before the end of her first week, and in so short a time. “That is an able teacher”, he thought as Cathy steered the sulky towards the shed.

Sabel was leading the running line, her breasts bouncing nicely and her butt thrust back. “What a pity that she has not met my expectations”, the teacher muttered before emitting a high-pitched “Whoa” to stop Charra. Getting off the cart, she took off the clamps and unhooked the girl:

“Good girl! Now go to the trough and show me that you can drink like a pony.”

Charra knelt down and somehow managed to drink without making a mess around her.

“Shall I hose her, Miss Cathy?” Mr. Anderson asked.

“I’ll hose her myself, Mr. Anderson. But the rest of them need hosed now. Have they completed the twenty turns?”

“Three more to go”, the man said.

Cathy leaned against the wall to watch the girls: some were clearly exhausted, dragging their feet out of sheer fear of being punished if they stopped their trot. A few – among them her Sabel – seemed to have enough energy to go on for a longer time. The others were just fatigued, but after taking a rest could be worked a little more. A normal class, in sum: with the program she had in mind, by Graduation Day most of them would be ready to join the thousands of ponygirls that served the inhabitants of the capital.

Cathy waited until the end of the exercise and shouted:

“Enough! The class is over for today.”

There were noticeable sighs of relief as the girls came to a halt, happy to be allowed to stand normally on their feet. The teacher told Mr. Anderson to free their wrists, and when this was done she commanded:

“Remove the harness and collar from your partner, and wash your bit on the tap out there. Hang all your stuff on your peg and line up to be washed. Quickly, ponies!”

While they rushed to obey, Chico, Raymond and Matt took their place behind the water pumps. Water was precious in Ansonia, so the tall towers of liquid gushing out from the hoses reached the fruit trees after showering the girls.

It was good to feel fresh water on their bodies after so demanding an exercise. Charra joined the line and was a bit surprised when Miss Cathy grabbed a large soft cloth and wiped it gently down her body. She remained still, feeling the sensation on her nipples – they stood out very nicely with that caress. What had Sabel felt as Miss Cathy touched her the other day, she wondered – that woman had such a gentle hand when she wished to be sweet!

“Charra, have you had any children yet?”

The pony shook her head. She was only twenty-one and wanted to wait until she moved up from the Sixth Station to find a husband.

“No, Miss Cathy.”

“You will make a wonderful mother”, Cathy said as she brushed Charra’s exposed slit with the wet cloth. “But now you will have to wait at least three years, won’t you?”

Charra nodded and parted her legs – after all that rubbing from the leather strap, Miss Cathy’s caress was very welcome on her sensitive cleft. The teacher squeezed the cloth on her rump and she felt a trickle of cold water going into her rear crack and dripping along the back of her light-brown thighs.

From her place on the line, Sabel glanced at her friend. She had been hosed rather summarily, as the workers had to take care of thirty-six girls. She felt the sun drying her skin up while the teacher took her time with Charra – and a cloud passed over her pretty black face: a sudden thought had flared in her mind. Was Miss Cathy mad at her? Why hadn’t she picked her for her first ride? Had she done something wrong?

Jealousy was foreign to Sabel’s heart. She was not envious of Charra; on the contrary, she was happy for her friend, and also grateful because of her help on the previous day. Still, she would have liked so much to take Miss Cathy for a ride! She sighed: perhaps Charra was wrong and she was deluding herself – Miss Cathy was not going to keep her – she was going to become a delivery animal, after all – but wait, she had been given the lock! She touched anxiously the nape of her neck – there it was, well fastened by Miss Cathy’s own hands. But then, why was she ignoring her?

Sabel was feeling confused. Tears formed on her eyes and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

“Mr. Anderson, make it certain that nothing happens to my mother’s ponycart!” Cathy said, and turned to the class:

“This lesson is over. We will continue on Monday at nine o’clock – and don’t make me angry again! I want all of you collared, harnessed and with bits on before I arrive, am I making myself clear?”

As Sabel walked past her on her way to the shed, the teacher grabbed her wrist and felt again how silky her skin was. Looking right into the girl’s eyes, she noticed a thin film of liquid on them – and that touched a sensitive cord in her heart. Perhaps she had been too hasty in her judgment. The girl was human, after all, and had her weaknesses. What she had done was very different from Karen’s or Jenny’s ugly actions. She had not willfully disobeyed; she had just had a defense reflex at her first contact with the reins – and that was easy to forgive.

Cathy ran a finger down the ebony’s flat tummy until it reached the bush above her clit, then moved it further down into the drenched pussy. Sabel had to control herself not to leap: after almost two hours with that infernal strap exciting her labia, her world had narrowed down to her cunt and she needed badly something hard inside it.

Her mind was racing. If she felt that much aroused without the pill, what would happen once it was in her body? She parted her legs and looked at Miss Cathy’s crop. Would the teacher keep her after class again, or at least tell her whether she had unwittingly done something wrong?

When Miss Cathy finally spoke, her voice was almost inaudible:

“Do you want to belong to me, Sabel?”

“Yes, Miss Cathy, I really do!”

Cathy pulled her finger out and with her thumb pushed back the dark hood, exposing the pink button that stemmed from it like a tiny mushroom. Sabel took a deep breath and thrust her body an inch forward, but Cathy ran her finger briskly upward and slid it into the ring of the girl’s collar:

“I want to take your with me this weekend. Will that be a problem?”

The girl’s face opened into a coast-to-coast grin.

“Not at all, Miss Cathy!” Sabel had to control herself not to scream from happiness.

“Wonderful. I need to make you feel more trusting about what I do with you, Sabel.”

The ebony’s big eyes showed her surprise at those words, but she kept silent. “Don’t talk unless you are told to”, she remembered. And she didn’t want to jeopardize her chances of becoming the blonde Lady’s pony.

“I have things to do with the Ponygirl Department this afternoon, but will be done by four o’clock. I’ll ask your supervisor to get you off earlier today, so that you can be ready by that time.”

Sabel’s heart jumped in her chest.

“Meet me at four in front of your building, my Sabel. And don’t forget to wash your bit before you hang it with the rest of your stuff.”

She narrowed her eyes to watch the ebony as she walked into the shed with her tack thrown over her shoulder. “So strong and tall”, the teacher thought. “And such a pretty rump, wiggling so sweetly even when she is just walking! This ponytail swishing across her back! I can’t wait to see her between the shafts of my sulky...”

Cathy stayed with her eyes closed for a while and then glanced around: the yard was empty. Workers and students were gone, and so was Sabel. She put discreetly her hand inside her bikini bottom and sensed the wetness on her womanhood. Wetness she wanted to see on the lips of her black ponygirl.

Sabel looked at the street clock on the other side of the street. She had been waiting for about half an hour, clutching to her side a little bag where she had put a hairbrush, a tube of cream for her skin and other personal items. Twenty past four – what had detained Miss Cathy?

She was surprised by a kiss on she back of her neck. As she turned to see if that was the Lady, she heard a click at her throat: a dainty metallic leash had been attached to the front ring of her collar.

“Hi, sweetie!”

Miss Cathy smelled of the lemony lotion that she liked to use.

“Oh Miss Cathy, you have surprised me!”

“Follow me, we have to rush.”

The teacher moved swiftly along the busy avenue. Sabel walked after her, holding her bag. She was wearing her regulation shorts and had tied the flaps of her blouse under her breasts, leaving bare a portion of black skin. The contrast with the white fabric above and under her navel was so striking that people turned their heads as they crossed her. It was impossible to misread what was in their minds. Sabel felt flattered – Robin had said many times that she was pretty and desirable, but in her natural modesty she had always believed that her friend’s words expressed only her insatiable sexual appetite.

As they turned into a side street, Cathy stopped:

“Arms snug across your back now, so that your elbows are close. And you may march with high steps.”

Sabel did as she was told and they resumed their walk. The leash hung loosely from Cathy’s hand; her vest came down to her waist, and the girl couldn’t help seeing the teacher’s shapely tush encased in the tight bikini bottom. “How many of these does she own”, she asked herself, and suddenly noticed that the high heel boots were gone. Miss Cathy donned comfortable walking shoes and white socks going up to her ankles.

The street went down to a wide avenue lined with trees, which flanked the edge of the lake. As they entered it Cathy began to trot; Sabel followed her, lifting her knees high as the Lady was doing. The lake was at their right side; farther away, on the other bank, the rolling hills were covered with lush vegetation. Proud ponies tied to elegant chariots were taking their owners for a leisure ride – people in the upper Stations had already finished their work and were indulging to a moment of pleasure in that beautiful décor.

The avenue was called Delilah Boulevard, after the woman who cut Samson’s hair. The main streets in Charissa had their names chosen to remind the citizens that women ruled the New State. Sabel liked to jog there after her long hours of scrubbing, so the scene before her eyes was familiar to her – the sun already over the other bank of the lake, the calm blue waters shining with red and golden reflexes, the sulkies and rickshaws, the ponies trotting on their lanes. But she had never totted tied to a leash and with her arms crossed behind her back, so she kept her eyes glued to Miss Cathy’s bottom until they reached the pier.

A barge was already waiting and some people had taken their places on it. Sabel noticed a heavy farm cart with a ponyboy hitched between its shafts. He had very strong arms and legs; his complexion was a deep brown and he stood like a statue with his hands tied behind his back. Sabel’s attention was attracted to his large full balls, which were topped by a cock that could fit a horse.

“A stallion”, Miss Cathy whispered into her ear, bemused at how much Sabel was interested in the powerful male’s attributes. The girl lowered her eyes in an attempt to hide her embarrassment and focused on the metal tube that encased the brown ponyboy’s dick and forced it downward. A lock secured the tube to a chain going under his crotch and tied to the back ring of his belt. Sabel had never seen such a device, but as she was going ask Miss Cathy about it she felt the crop tip sliding under her thighs and pressing up against her pussy.

The barge began to move. There was no motor: strong Fifth Station men pedaled it through the lake. Cathy kept discreetly teasing Sabel; her legs widened a few inches and she wondered what Robin would do in her place – no doubt she would ask Miss Cathy to take her nearer that monument. She liked cocks quite a lot - only, because of the work schedules, there were fewer occasions for sex with a man than with a fellow cleaner girl.

The ponyboy was staring at her and changing his weight from one foot to the other, clearly excited. Tails similar to those she had had on her wrists that same morning, but much wider, were fastened to a ring on his waistband. Sabel knew from experience what their function was - to keep his hands immobilized behind his back.

Lots of questions popped up in her mind – who was that ponyboy? She narrowed her eyes to discover whom he belonged to, but the letters on his plate were too small to be read from that distance. He was going the same direction as she and Miss Cathy; his cart was heavily loaded with things her owner had bought in Charissa –, boxes piled upon each other, stacks of bales, farm tools and so on. Sabel had never gone to the other side of the lake, but from what she knew from her childhood she guessed that there must be farms there.

A strong tug on her collar awakened Sabel from her thoughts. Miss Cathy pulled her head down and tied the leash close to the barge rail, and she had to clutch her hands on it to keep balance. She could not turn her head, so she didn’t notice the ponyboy staring at her protruding bottom; she only heard him squirming, and wondered why. The reason was, of course, that his cock had stiffened inside the tube.

Sabel shivered as she thought that the motive for that squirm could be – her. A terrifying but enormously arousing idea came into her mind – Miss Cathy lowering her shorts and asking the owner of that stupendous male to release him from the cart – his thick cock sliding into her pussy – she would not be able to flee it because of the knot on her leash – all those people staring and chuckling - oh no, that would be too humiliating – oh YESSS! She raised her butt in an involuntary movement, as if offering herself to be ridden, and her face went hot as she realized what she had done. She tried to turn her head to see if Miss Cathy had noticed, but the knot on the leash didn’t allow her to. She could hear her voice, though:

“Hello, Charmagne! How are you?”

“I am fine, my dear sister! What have you tied over there?”

“A girl I am training.”

A mother with a baby on her lap came forward and leaned on the rail just beside Sabel. The little boy began to cry, making it difficult for her to follow the conversation. She pricked her ears to overhear as much as she could.

“............................. right to pick one……………special……….. at such an early stage in the course?”

“Yes…................... very strong and obedient, perfect to pull ................me in it.”

“.......................such a beautiful color. Seems as if she was just imported from Africa.”

“...............pure-bred, but this is difficult to ascertain. And it doesn’t matter..……. soft as creamy butter to my touch.................. to the house for the weekend.”

Sabel feet a wave of pride surging through her body: they were saying such nice things about her! She kept paying close attention to the scraps of conversation that reached her ears:

“............................. Shig in that cart? He is your best stallion!”

“.…………………….”

“Oh my! Really? ... to mount YOU? What was she thinking?!”

So the spectacular male was named Shig, Sabel thought, and belonged to Miss Cathy’s sister. Was it possible that the Magnusson farm was so near Charissa? She had not had enough time to watch the other lady – what had Miss Cathy called her, Char or something – so busy she had been eating the ponyboy with her eyes. She moved her head to the sides, wondering how the blonde Lady would react if she untied that knot just for two seconds to fill her eyes with that perfect masculine form.

The prospect of being sent back to Charissa with the returning barge and be expelled from the course, or at the very least spend some hours tethered to that awful pole like poor Jenny, dissuaded her from “undoing what your owner has done.” She parted her feet to find a less uncomfortable position and kept paying attention to what the Ladies were saying.

“............................ had jutted out three times in a row. I thought he was done with it.................... near to him to fix his restrainer................... yes, Cathy, actually........................ my wrist........................... that look on his eyes! Luckily he was tied by his collar to..................... was so shocked!”

Sabel’s brains were working hard to understand what she was hearing. Was it possible that the ponyboy had grabbed his owner’s wrist and tried to mount HER? She would have to ask Miss Cathy later. How incredible!

The bank was coming close and the men stopped their pedaling. Cathy climbed down from her sister’s cart; as the barge’s front lowered down to the pier, Sabel heard the dry sound of a lash on naked skin. Shig whinnied loudly and jumped forward, struggling to move the heavy cart. Sabel saw it sliding down the inclined front and heard Char Magnusson’s voice:

“Bye, Cathy! See you tonight!”

Cathy waited until the barge was almost empty and unhooked Sabel from the rail. The ebony stretched her back up and waited while the teacher talked to some acquaintances, deliberately ignoring the girl attached to the leash in her hand.

“Yes”, Miss Cathy was saying. “He has misbehaved and is being punished: two months at the cart, as if he was not a stallion. But if your ponygirl is in her fertile period... I will talk to Char, and let’s see what she decides.”

The Ladies’ bags were taken into a chariot waiting for them on the pier; they took leave from Cathy and walked away. Sabel opened her mouth in astonishment as the two Oriental ponies attached to the cart started off at the same pace, with their bodies inclined at the same angle and raising their feet to the same height.

“Well trained, those twins”, Miss Cathy said approvingly as they stepped out from the barge. “And the ponyboy - isn’t he marvelous, dear? He tried to approach my sister, can you imagine that?”

“I heard her saying so, Miss Cathy.”

“After you get your pill, you will turn your bottom to him, Sabel, inviting him with all your being.”

“ME, Miss Cathy?”

“Yes - you”, the lady whispered and kissed Sabel’s ear. “You can’t imagine how strongly you will want to have sex – and I might allow you to go with him, even if you are not going to be pregnant... or perhaps, because you are not going to be pregnant...”

There was a mischievous look on her eyes as Cathy figured Sabel naked, tied to a mating block and exposing her pussy to Shig’s greedy eyes, while the ponyboy chafed and yanked on the chain holding him to a loop on the wall, in a vain attempt to reach the female just a few yards away. And she, Cathy, would tell him to put his hands over his head, remove his cock restrainer and let him loose to pump his seed into Sabel’s womb.

She sighed as that exciting vision faded. It would come true some day: she was ready to bet that Sabel was going to serve her for many years. And in due time she would deliver strong ponyboys and lovely fillies, who would grow up to pull around the next generation of Magnussons.

“Has he got the pill too, Miss Cathy?” Sabel asked as they started walking.

“Yes, it was given to him when he got to puberty to make him into a stallion. If his cock wasn’t locked up, he would be dangerous – it hardens every few minutes, you know. Have you ever seen a stallion, Sabel?”

“No, Miss Cathy. But I know that Ms. Stevenson had some brought to the farm for the Breeders - twice a year, in the months of Violet and Heliotrope. Her ponyboys were all working ones.”

“They must have received the anti-testosterone pill. Ideal to keep heavy-duty ponies calm.”

“Ah! Then it is because of this that they never showed interest in the girls?”

“Certainly.”

Sabel thought for a moment.

“Miss Cathy, what does a stallion do besides making babies in the Breeders?”

“They breed ponygirls too. You don’t think that the stork brings the next generation of ponies, do you? There are ways to ensure that you ponygirls only deliver fillies, didn’t you know that? And the same holds for Breeders. One can make them have as many females as are needed in the Sixth and Fifth Stations.”

Sabel stopped, astonished, and felt a hearty tug on her neck.

“Keep moving, girl!”

Sabel started walking again. That explained why so many girls were born on Mr. Stevenson’s farm. She said aloud:

“My mother alone had twelve – I am the third, and don’t have any brothers.”

Cathy sighed, mentally thanking Sabel for having brought her mother into the conversation.

“I don’t quite know how to tell you this... but my mother knew yours.”

Sabel was so stunned that she stopped again.

“REALLY?”

Cathy let her absorb that piece of information and tugged on her leash.

“I am sorry, but it is a very sad story, which should wait for another day. Your mother loved it here, and you will too, I hope.”

The blonde lady turned her head to look into Sabel’s eyes. Was it possible that she knew more about her mother than she seemed to?

“She has never told me about her former life, Miss Cathy.”

“My mother adored her. I so wish that we had kept a photograph of them in those days – perhaps there is still one somewhere in the house. I must check.”

Sabel looked at the hills looming far away and tried to imagine how her mother would have looked at that time. Even as a Breeder, as far as she remembered she was good-looking - she had not seen her in the last seven years. There were grooves on her belly because of her twelve pregnancies, and her tits reached down to her navel from feeding Sabel and her sisters – but she was still quite attractive. At least Ms. Stevenson seemed to think so – after all, she had picked her to serve in the house after she had ceased to be fertile.

“Your mother once had some power here.”

Sabel was going to stop again, but didn’t. Her mother had been a secretary, a Fourth Station person. What had she done to be downstationed and become a Breeder? She had never told her - only that she had made “awful mistakes”.

Cathy tied Sabel’s leash around her waist and let her walk at her side. Sabel matched her pace to the brisk rhythm of the blonde lady; she was burning to know more, but the teacher changed to another topic.

“There is so much life to enjoy here, Sabel, so many things that don’t go to the market. No, not secret things – it’s just that they are consumed here in the farm. Fish from before the changes that doesn’t taste like the supply fish, or nice vegetables you have never tasted.”

They had entered a side road and Sabel realized that they were already walking past the Magnusson farm. Cathy took a bit from her vest and deftly slipped it into the Nubian’s mouth. She looked so pretty with her lips stretched back and her wonderful teeth glaring against her dark face!

Ten minutes more, and the big house came into view. The teacher pulled Sabel close and let her hand rest on the silky skin of her waist. She smiled to herself, thinking how surprised the household would be at the catch she was bringing with her.

The Lady made a halt so that Sabel could form an idea of the estate. Before and to the sides of a two-story house, wide-branched trees with comfortable benches under them were scattered over a lawn. The house itself was different from anything she had ever seen: its walls consisted of trees planted so close around the original building that they completely covered it. A second story had been added using the upper branches, giving the whole the appearance of having sprung from the soil and grown into a harmonious ensemble.

Cathy led the ebony through a maze of high bushes woven together to serve as a gate or door, holding her close to prevent her skin from being hurt by thorns or by the rough surfaces. The maze opened into a sort of vestibule, and as Sabel glanced around she discovered that the trees did not encircle the house: they were the house, for they had so completely surrounded it that bricks or stones were no longer necessary and had been removed. Her jaw fell down and she turned to the teacher in utter astonishment.

The blonde Lady had taken off her shoes and socks, and Sabel did the same with her sandals. The crop flicked twice on her shoulder: remembering what she had learned about the “Friday position”, she knelt down, extended her arms and touched the ground with her forehead.

A light sound, like of leaves being trodden upon, came from behind her and a pair of black bare feet pointing outward stationed at the right side of her head. The thick ankles went up into equally thick calves, and that was all that Sabel could see without lifting her head.

“Hello, Miss Cathy! Nice to have you back!”

“Shaka! You have no idea of who this is!”

Cathy’s feet approached the black ones and Sabel guessed that she was hugging the woman named Shaka, who was obviously some kind of servant in the house. She took profit of that and turned slightly her head up: the thick black calves ended on the hem of a skirt made from – what was that, thatched grass? She moved quickly back into “Friday”. Later she would check – it was so extraordinary, garments made of grass! The teacher was on tiptoes, giving Sabel a good view of her perfectly trimmed nails, and the ebony felt a quiver down her spine as she recalled her vision in the first day of the course.

“Should I know her, Miss Cathy?”

“No, Shaka. But it’s such a wonderful good fortune of mine!”

She ticked her tongue twice and Sabel stood up. Shaka put her hand to her mouth, amazed. She was almost as dark as the Haitian Desiree, and Sabel estimated her age at around fifty years. A red kerchief covered the upper part of her head and was knotted behind it, leaving apparent a tuft of wiry hair with patches of gray scattered here and there.

Shaka was still pretty in spite of the roundness that had accumulated on her face and neck over the years. Her ample breasts heaved up and down in excitement, and from the way they looked under her blouse Sabel guessed that no bra had ever restrained them.

“Miss Cathy! This girl – she is so uncannily like...”

“She is Obe’s daughter, Shaka, and her name is Sabel.”

“Oh my God! Where have you found her? She looks so much like Obe! The same eyes, the same nose!”

“I had to know, Shaka, and I found her. When her training is complete, she is going to be my ponygirl – my very own. I have already collared her, as you see.”

Sabel could not restrain herself anymore. If Miss Cathy scolded her for speaking without permission, so much the worse - she had to ask the question that was burning her lips.

“Did you know my mother, Shaka?”

The black mamma held her arms wide:

“Come here, child!”

Sabel threw herself into that welcoming embrace. Shaka smelled of peace, of sympathy, of understanding – “she is a generous woman”, Sabel thought as she leaned against the smooth bosom and let her cheek rest on Shaka's shoulder. Tears came into her eyes and she breathed deeply to control her emotions.

Shaka's eyes glowed with a feeling she hadn’t felt for years, but suddenly a cloud came over her face, and. Cathy guessed that she was remembering the rest of Obe’s story.

“Don’t worry, dear. I promise you that history will not repeat itself. Sabel has already shown how obedient and dependable she can be. I am certain that she will remind all of us of the time when Obe was here.”

The woman stepped back and admired Sabel for a moment.

“So she is going to be your ponygirl, Miss Cathy! Do you want me to take her to the stable?”

“Thank you, Shaka, I will do that myself. And – if ever Sabel has free time, and you want to spend it with her, it will be fine. Only, please don’t tell her about the last days.”

Sabel blinked at the affectionate way the powerful Lady treated Shaka: it was clear that she occupied a special position in the household. Perhaps it was she who ran things there, like old Esmeralda at Ms. Stevenson’s home. So many years had passed, and Sabel still recalled warmly how happy she felt when she was a little girl and the long-haired Indian allowed her to sit on her lap as she mended the holes on the socks of the Stevenson children.

“Sure, Miss Cathy!”

The blonde Lady turned to Sabel:

“Shaka has been here every day of my life. I love her very much. My mother was always busy with so many things in Charissa! Now you may go, Shaka. I will show Sabel her new quarters.”

Shaka disappeared into the maze, making no noise with her bare soles. Cathy grabbed the leash from Sabel's collar and took her outside the house, wondering when she would see more of it. A wide stepping stone pathway divided into several narrower ones, seeming to lead everywhere as far as the ebony’s eyes reached. The stones felt agreeably cool against her naked feet, and to her surprise she noticed that the teacher had left her shoes inside the house as well.

They slipped through a hedge made of bushes and Sabel held her breath: the farm stretched for miles in all directions and up the hills. At her right, there was a row of barns to store seeds and tools; flowers grew everywhere, pretty and colorful. On the left side, part of the old wood that once covered the estate had been preserved, and behind a narrow creek with arched bridges at short intervals began the vegetable garden, in which row after row of different species were cultivated. Fruit trees of every kind could be seen at a distance, and Sabel thought that it would take her months to get familiar with that wonderful estate.

And all the produce was not destined to make a single family rich, like in the old days, but was transported to Charissa and distributed to the capital’s population. Sabel felt a wave of pride warming her heart: how good it was to have been born in Auronia and live under such wise laws!

“Miss Cathy, it is so beautiful here!”

“Yes, Sabel, we try our best, and so do all the workers.”

“How many do you have here, Miss Cathy?”

“Oh, over five hundred. Look, they are coming back – the sun will soon set down, and their shift is over.”

Groups of men and women were in fact approaching, clad in loincloths or in thatched grass garments like Shaka’s skirt. Songs were being sung as they walked down the paths towards a clutch of low buildings that Sabel identified at once – they were dormitories. The pride they took in their work was evident on their faces: it was the joy of providing their fellow countrymen with healthy food, of not having to worry about what would happen when their old age came, of leading a simple but meaningful life.

A girl about twenty years old called out to Miss Cathy:

“Hi, Miss Cathy! Who is that with you?”

“This is Sabel, honey! My new ponygirl – on probation to be, at least.”

Sabel smiled coyly and the teacher went on:

“She’ll be lovely, I am sure! And will show her pride in belonging to me better than she can just now.”

The girl nodded and turned away from them. Sabel was going to ask who she was, but Cathy patted her rump:

“Come, dear!”

They walked into a huge barn, the largest the ebony had seen in her entire life. Some two hundred carts were parked in the central area, about half of them empty, the others already filled with vegetables and legumes and ready to leave for Charissa next morning. A long row of closed Dutch doors occupied the whole left side, and Sabel guessed that behind them were the stalls for the ponyboys. How many of them worked in such a big farm? Certainly some forty or fifty, perhaps more.

Cathy let Sabel take the view in and led her along the right side, which was covered with a soft kind of dirt that felt good under her naked soles. No wheel tracks were on sight on it. Near the end of that wall, the Lady stopped at a small fountain and washed her feet, motioning for Sabel to do the same with hers.

After the fountains, the ground changed to a sort of grass carpet that reached the corner of the barn. Cathy stopped in front of a door and pushed it ajar. Sabel felt a gentle tweak on her right nipple and walked through the door into a narrow corridor. She did not realize at the moment, but those steps had led her into a new life as well.