There came to Haristra a traveler, one Caz by name: he walked into the bustle and bustle that was Pony Day, the great festival held in honor of the god Equinus in thanks for his blessings and the day when those ten percent of the city's women, chosen by their sisters, were transformed into ponygirls to serve out the rest of their lives as the lowest of slaves, to be used by anyone who wished in any way that they wished.

Many of the bound women Caz saw standing naked in the paddocks were older women; the magic of the transformation restored one's youth and many women were willing to take the several decades more life, even if they were years of servitude.

Not so the young woman who caught Caz's eye: clearly not of the city with her honey brown skin and long mane of red-gold hair. Her body was trim and fit, her large breasts swinging and jumping as she struggled against her bonds and the female hands holding her. "No! No!" she cried. "It's not me! I'm a traveler! I'm innocent!" Transformation was also used as punishment.

She caught Caz's glance. "Please!" she begged. "Please help me!" The priestess of Equinus gestured, murmuring an incantation. The maiden squeeled as the transformation took hold: the flash of her bare feet and bounds hands ran like hot wax then reformed into hooves; her head shook with pain as her hair changed, becoming a true mane.

Her body changed too: her shoulders pulled back, thrusting her breasts up and out. Her legs lengthened, her wiast tightened and narrowed while her hips widened and her bush vanished, leaving her pussy bare and open for all to see.

She screamed again and again while she changed, her cries growing higher and hoarser until unrecognizable as human speech. "Huh!" Huh!" she grunted, ignored by her captors who forced a bit into her mouth and fastened a bridle about her head.

Caz rested his arms on the top rail of the paddock, fascinated with the transformation and the crature it had produced. "So, how much is she going for?" he asked.

The priestess glanced at him with calculating eyes and named a figure. The new ponygirl watched wide-eyed as Caz counted out the price, then folloed submissively when he tuggedon her reins and led her off through the fair. "Don't think thick I rescued you," he admonished her. "I intend to get my money's worth."

Caz's ponygirl served him loyally for many years and he did get his money's worth, just as did Melanie the queer who sought out a skilled dominator to take her away from her life of wealth and luxury.

But, dear people, that is a story for another night. In the meantime, my purse is overlight. . .