Ponyboy vignettes

He started to run through the documents on the tablet she had handed to him, initialing and signing as he went, and by the time he was done his pounding heart felt like it might burst out of his chest. The woman beamed at him, a real smile, and nodded towards the bin in the corner of the little office. When he tossed his clothes in there, they atomised instantly. The air on his bare skin made him feel whole.

Two big female orderlies came in and cuffed his hands in front of him; the cold metal was delicious against his skin. They gave him a smart-steel collar right there, and its nanite tendrils dug into his throat and made him yelp, then squeal, then bray. That was it - his human voice gone in seconds. The orderlies encouraged him out of the room and the administrator waved him off, then he was prodded into a surgical room and locked into an open metal frame that made accessing his whole body easy.

A nurse came in first and drew some blood, then she made the new ponyboy bray by applying a hot gel all across his whole body. When she hit him with a blast of water from a shower nozzle, all his hair fell away and left him more naked than he'd ever been. Then she left him and he learned that waiting was a skill well-known to slaves. He waited and waited, then waited some more. Still bound in the frame, he could only look around the room and wonder at what the machines were for.

Doctors and nurses - all female - came in a few hours later and wasted no time getting the new ponyboy's transformations started. He started to panic at the moment they implanted his new tail, and a gentle nurse gave him a sedative that made his head float. He seemed to spend the rest of his conversion half in and half out of his own body, absent but present as his muscles were altered and enhanced, his nipples pierced and his septum ringed. He brayed at the medics, but they ignored him - he knew then that to them he was a project, not a person.

Sedated sleep followed soon after. The ponyboy expected this, expected to awake at a training centre, in a medical ward, or at an auction house. Instead he awoke to sunlight and straw, alone in a small stable, lying in a stall. His faltering attempts to stand were hampered by the binder that held his arms behind his back, and when he finally got to his feet he realised that they too had been altered, or booted. The hooves at the end of his legs somehow felt like part of him.

The door swung open, "Oh, goddess, auntie, is he really mine?" came the voice of a svelte young woman who walked in at the head of a gaggle of free-women and male slaves.

"The final of your four graduation gifts, Henrietta. A green, unbroken ponyboy for you to make your own. Be careful of this one, Henrietta - he's had no training at all, not even the most basic obedience or movement drills. You'll be starting from scratch."

"Thank you thank you thank you! That's just what I wanted. Boys, meet your final friend. What shall I call him, auntie?"

"Whatever you like, darling, he's your slave."

"He needs a name that suits all the uses I'll put him to. Somedays I'll charge around our estate on his strong shoulders, some days he'll pull the cart or plough, and I think occasionally I'll get him dressed up in a nice frilly pony-dress and have him prance and dance for my entertainment. Hmmm... Let me think... He has lovely glowing eyes, doesn't he, and a very nice little pair of balls. He can't stand still, either - we'll work on that. How about ... Shimmer?"

"Very appropriate. Will you brand him now?"

"I don't see why not. Uncle?"

"Yes, miss," said an older naked male slave following the group.

"Be a good boy and bring out the brazier then get it lit."

"Of course, miss."

"Maid," said the girl to a short, plump male in a frilly dress and high heels.

"Yes, mistress?" he squeaked.

"Totter inside and bring out a bottle of champagne and two glasses - my aunt and I will toast my new family of slaves."

The maid scurried away and left the girl with a tall, well-built male who she had start to massage her shoulders. On the stable floor scrambled a petmale who wore a pink collar, from which ran a pink leash that the girl held. She pulled on it until he was underneath her short skirt, then she started to pant as the petmale's tongue connected. Her aunt stood off to one side and waited.

The new ponyboy - Shimmer - stood watching the scene with his mouth hanging open and his smooth cock jutting out in front of him. He looked down at it and with quite some surprise realised it was twice as long as it had been before, if just as thin. His eyes flicked between the gorgeous girl who now owned him, the petmale nestled beneath her skirt, and his own altered body that just felt so much more a home for himself than his old one had.

The 'uncle' came back in with a small portable brazier and set it down, after clearing a patch on the stone straw. The device popped and sizzled as it heated, and the 'uncle' asked his middle-aged owner for permission to fetch something else; he returned with a long iron rod, which he thrust into the heart of the glowing coals and left there. He retired to a corner of the stables, and leant against the wall to watch.

Shimmer started to shake. The brand was meant for him, and its rough size seemed to match the one he could see on the flank of the petmale. The service slave who'd come in with his new owner moved around her and Shimmer caught sight of the brand on the boy's buttock, then when the maid-male tottered back in with the drinks, the same brand was seen again. One girl, four slaves.

Henrietta gasped out an orgasm then gave the petmale's pink leash to her aunt to hold. She strode over to the stall and opened its low door, releasing Shimmer into the main area of the barn, where he shuffled forward, unsure of what to do. His owner pointed to a spot and he stood there; she scowled at him and he straightened up and thrust out his chest, which made her clap.

The girl turned him so he was facing away from her, then she did something that made some beeps and blips happen - the noises of a wrist computer, Shimmer thought. His body seized up he found that he couldn't move an inch, just balance and breathe and stare straight ahead. No command he sent his body was answered, and his heartbeat picked up sharply, but no amount of adrenaline that it shunted round his veins could budge him.

The brand bit into buttock and Shimmer bellowed as loudly as he could manage, a bray of agony that filled the barn and shocked his newly enhanced hearing. He kept on braying even so, as the careful girl who now owned him worked the brand in deep to his flesh, ensuring an even burn that would mark her property well. Shimmer screamed until his health nanites kicked in and released a dose of painkillers that washed away the worst of the feeling.

He was left with a sensation of intense heat that soon faded down to nothing, while control of his body returned bit by bit and he found himself shaking and nearly falling over. Henrietta steadied him then stroked his hair, nibbled his ear, rubbed his flank then let her hands fall to his cock and got it hard again. She harnessed him in that state, in a collection of thick brown leather straps that smelled old and of other ponyboys. The weight of the straps helped calm Shimmer down, and by the time Henrietta clipped a long leash to septum ring, he was steady again.

"Come, Shimmer, you have some basics to learn. By the end of the day I'll have you prancing and ready to carry me for short distances. Your hide will taste my crop many times today, and tonight your virgin arse will taste my strapon. If you're ever such a good pony, I'll even let you cum."

****************

"What kind of ponyboy are you looking for?" asked the saleswoman.

"My slavegirl will explain what she wants - the animal is for her, and she has very particular tastes and requirements, don't you Girlie?"

"Yes, mistress!" said the curvaceous twenty-year old slavegirl to her fifty-something owner. "I want an older ponyboy, one who's calm under pressure, slim and elegant, with a good history and lots of experience carrying riders. He should be of medium height, with some pride in his past achievements, and expecting to be sold as a competition pony or an expert trainer."

"What's he actually going to be?" asked the saleswoman.

"Eye candy," said the slavegirl.

"Come with me," was the reply.

The former derby-winner stood in the corner of the stables, carefully holding his display position in a way that accentuated the clean line of his carefully sculpted muscles, trained over many years into a well-functioning machine. His eyes swept the other ponyboys in the room, picking out where he saw potential and where he saw only beauty. Nothing wrong with either, but he'd been a racing ponyboy for most of his long years as a slave, and he was used to assessing the competition.

"This one is past his prime but can still race in the lower leagues and help train others. His price, I'm sure you understand, will reflect that no matter what purpose he's sold for."

"Oh, he's just perfect, mistress! It's love at first sight. Please please please can I have him, pretty please?"

"Of course you can, Girlie. After your tight little slave cunt won me that business deal, you can have anything you want."

"I just want him, mistress. And some accessories, of course."

"Of course. We'll take him. Have him brought out front."

The transaction was swiftly concluded and the ponyboy was led out to the front of the stables, into the heart of the city. The streets were quiet that early, and he hadn't expected to be sold quite so fast. He struggled to get a hold on his situation. There was no question of disobedience - he was too long a slave to even be able to imagine it - but he hesitated when he saw the devious look in the slavegirl's eye.

The mistress and Girlie - his new effective owner - collected a corseted petgirl they'd left chained outside and leashed both their human-animals, then set off towards the shopping district. They passed by each of the stores the ponyboy knew equipped racers, and even the ones he knew outfitted long-distance endurance ponies, which he wouldn't have minded being. He snorted and stamped when they stopped outside a shop for show-ponies, but Girlie activated the shock-implants in his balls and he was given no choice but to go inside or keep enduring the searing pain.

A cute shop-slaveboy met them at the doorway of the shop, which was filled with fancy harnesses, ribbons, shiny boots, make-up and other paraphernalia. The shop-slave enquired what services he might be able to offer them that day. Girlie took the lead and answered, "We'll need to make one or two little modifications first, so we'll need a nanite suite and some medical bots. After that, it's clothes we'll need." Girlie whispered into the shop-slave's ear and he scurried off to carry out her orders.

"Into the medical suite with you, then," said Girlie when they reached the little booth in the basement.

"Ready for commands," said the suite. It shot out a set of restraints that clamped around the ponyboy's limbs and held him tight. He'd been in such contraptions before, but only to change weight-class or have a torn muscle repaired, never in a shop such as this. He was not, and never had been, a show pony. Why was this slavegirl doing this to him?

"Hips first - widen them and make them curvy."

"Input dimensions on screen. Input accepted."

Nanites invaded the ponyboy's body and mixed with protein stock that was injected at the same time. They layered up his hips to make them even curvier than the slavegirl's, until his body lost its racing finesse and started to femme up. The slavegirl did his bottom next, and cinched his waist, which completed the look and made the ponyboy start to cry a little.

"There, there, Lipstick, it'll be over soon. Oh, goddess, I didn't mean to call you that yet. Sorry, Lipstick, I wanted that to be a surprise. I mean, now the cat's out of the bag: nanites, tattoo the word Lipstick on the ponyboy's left buttock, in swirly script. Hmmm... what next? Your cock looks smaller now you've got luscious hips and a big booty. I like it, but the balls hang too low - I'm going to tighten them up. Much better! They'll fit into your new knickers now. What next? Nanites: add breasts, 34C, with big sensitive nipples."

The former racing ponyboy looked at himself in the mirror that faced him on the wall and sighed. He was too accustomed to slavery to entertain any thoughts about resisting, or failing to submit, but letting go of an old way of life for a new one was hard, and his whole self-image was experiencing an earthquake. Breasts emerged from his tingling chest and his nipples grew ten times as sensitive as before, so that he could feel currents of air swirl across them.

"Good boy, you're behaving so well. Hair next: nanites, grow Lipstick's head hair out to twenty-four inches long, then infuse style nanites to keep it in two pigtails, to emerge from the side of the head for four inches. Oh, that's so cute. You look so delicious, Lipstick! You just need some new clothes now."

In the upstairs shop floor, in full view of a gaggle of customers and their slaves, the ponyboy known as Lipstick was dressed by the shop slaveboy. Girlie picked out glossy red hoof-boots, a glossy red corset with harnessing attachments, matching collar and bridle, and finally some glossy red thong knickers that held the ponyboy's cock down flat and made it hard to tell if he was a girl or boy.

"One final touch. Pucker your lips. Here," said Girlie.

She reached across and coated his lips in the same bright crimson as his new clothes, completing his transformation and sending a shiver through his whole body. Judging by the taste, the lipstick was the permanent kind, which would self-renew from the oils and materials in his lips. The slavegirl added some eye-shadow, then she had the shop-slave wax the ponyboy's eyebrows.

Girlie clipped a long red leash to the ponyboy's collar and led him out of the shop. There waiting was a cart in the same glossy red, with 'Lipstick the pony-bitch' painted across its sides. Girlie screamed and hugged her mistress, who kissed the curvy nymph. Lipstick watched them roving their hands over each other's bodies and felt a pang of jealousy in his stomach. The tight knickers he wore prevented his cock from even appearing to swell.

"It's perfect, mistress, just perfect," said Girlie.

"Happy early birthday, my love," said her mistress, "now, where shall we have Lipstick take us first?"

"Let's take him for a tour around the racing district - I'm sure there are some old friends of his there who'd love to see his new breasts bounce as he prances past."

"Of course, slavegirl, of course."

******************

The starting pistol cracked through the air and Mr and Mrs Lightning shot out of the starting position, easily overtaking the chariot in front before their young rider steered them in behind the leader. Mr Lightning felt the sting of his rider's whip as it slashed across his shoulders, and he put in a burst of speed that brought them perilously close to the rear of the chariot in front.

He focused his attention on breathing hard to maintain endurance, and tried not to be distracted by the naked back of the lithe rider in front. Like all chariot riders, she was small and slim, and to save weight she wore only the regulation black boots. Her hair flared out from behind her and her thin arms worked in a frenzy to whip her male-female pony pair.

The same treatment was being doled out by their rider - Georgia - to Mr and Mrs Lightning. They had both been diagnosed with Slavery Denial Disorder shortly after getting married, free-man to free-woman, a true rarity on their world. As the law provided, they were sold together, never to be parted for the full two years of their contract. When they'd both revealed under the truth drug that they had a fondness for ponies, that had sealed their fate.

Here they were, a year and a half later, running for a place in the hemisphere amateur finals, bounding naked and harnessed on livecast to millions of viewers while their eighteen-year-old rider thrashed them to extract every ounce of speed she could. Mr Lightning ached with desire as he was forced ever faster round the track; Georgia had not let him cum for a full month, claiming that horny ponies went quicker. His wife had received the same treatment.

"Faster, ponies!" yelled Georgia as she steered them out to the side on the straight. The husband and wife pair pulled as hard as their enhanced legs could carry them, lungs bursting and vision flickering, but the extra speed was not enough and they had to tuck back in behind the chariot in front before the next corner.

Mr and Mrs Lightning bled from the lashes, and Georgia drove them harder than ever before. They careened around each bend and galloped along every straight. Every time they tried to pass, the skillful rider in front blocked them at the last moment and wasted their effort, obviously intending to wear them down and leave them with nothing spare for the final sprint lap.

Mr Lightning wished his rider could see the strategy for what it was, but she kept thrashing him and forcing more speed every time she saw even a glimmer of hope for passing. The race kept on. Heart pounding, sweat pouring, legs screaming, Mr Lightning sped forward. No good. The rider in front outmatched and out-thought Georgia again and again.

The bell for the final lap made Mr Lightning want to scream inside. His balls ached and his whole body was wracked in pain, but still the whip blows rained down and still he had to make futile passing attempts to beat the hated chariot in front. One failed, then the next; more lashes, a storm of blows, a close call and a near-pass, then dashed hopes as they entered the final straight. The chariot in front sailed clear, using all the spare energy its human-ponies had hoarded, and left Mr and Mrs Lightning a distant second.

Georgia collected her trophy with at least a semblance of dignity, but the ride back to her family home was tense and silent. In the little stables, she washed down the married pony pair and fed them their high-protein meal, then she led them into their shared stall and chained them in for the night. She bound them so that their chastity-belted genitals couldn't help but rub together, but left their nanites set to block orgasms.

"I know your legal contract means you have to get orgasms every six weeks, but that still leaves two to go. Only winners get to cum when they want - you two can wait the maximum and be milked. Second place! Why didn't you just run faster? Ugh! Fucking slaves! Go the fuck to sleep, slaves. Good night."

She stormed off and slammed the stable doors after her. Mrs Lightning started to rub herself in a frenzy against her husband but to no avail; her wet pussy could get nowhere except hornier and hornier. Unable to resist, her husband thrust back and found the same thing; his cock and balls pulsed with the pressure of pent-up cums, but nothing would happen beyond that. They subsided and kissed; just six more months and they would be free again.

**************

Instructor Helen led the gaggle of new ponyboys out from the stable where they'd been delivered by the agency just a few hours ago, into the large yard in front of the school. She had impressed on them with her painstick the need to be completely obedient to her and her students, but also to trust in their new trainers to guide them. No need to try to be clever animals.

The students were the usual mix that the finishing school took: 18 and 19 year old girls who were going to learn the finer points of adult life in the female-dominated society where they had finally taken their place. This meant learning how to deal with all kinds of slaves, but for wealthy women like these, it especially meant learning about training ponyboys. The school often sold the ponyboys when the students left, either to the students themselves or to rental agencies. They had to start with a fresh slate to teach proper breaking skills.