Head Count by Sogo

Elise saw the thirtyish blonde in the smart business suit step out a car parked in their driveway. She turned back to the interior of the stable.

"Mitch, someone's here."

A muscular man in his mid-forties, Mitch stopped what he was doing and slipped past his wife at the entrance.

"I'll see what this is about."

As he approached the woman, she flashed a professional smile and held out her hand. In the other hand, she held what appeared to be a personal computer the size of a cell phone. An identification badge hung from a strap around her neck. Even though she wore glasses, and her hair was done up in a severe bun, and her pumps said Business Not Pleasure, she was an attractive woman.

"Hi, I'm Sharon from the Census Bureau. I just need to get some accurate information about the ponygirls you have here. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Mitch shook his head. "No. No problem. Follow me."

He led her into the stable. "We have seventeen pony girls at present. We're just a small mom-and-pop training operation here that services the farmland communities in this county."

"I see. And how do you acquire your ponygirls?"

"Some are voluntary, but most have been legally reclassified."

The woman nodded. By law, any male who has had at least one year of personal relationship with an adult woman (a father, husband, or boyfriend) could file papers and pay the $1000 fee to have her "reclassified" as a ponygirl, provided he relinquishes any claim to her and allows her to be sold publicly. This last part prevented a man from having undue control over a specific woman. Along with the first part, it also prevented co-workers and stalkers from getting revenge or gaining control over objects of their affection, not to mention the random kidnapping of sexy women. Though the male had to give a reason for this action, almost any excuse was considered valid, including, "She's disrespectful to me," "She's fat and needs the exercise," "She doesn't put out anymore," "She's a cunt," and "She needs to know her place." The woman had no recourse, and could only gain her freedom when it was given to her by her master. She could then be a free woman again. Until her next "reclassification," that is. The gray area regarding stepfathers and lesbian lovers was currently being debated by the Supreme Court.

"Good. Then let's begin. Are they all here?"

"Yep. They're in their stalls eating lunch."

The census taker punched a few buttons on her hand-held device. "Perfect. I'll just take a few moments to scan their chips and verify the information and I'll be on my way."

She stepped over to the first stall, where a nude, dark-maned woman in pony tack was calmly munching from the feedbag strapped to her face. She held the device up to the woman's shoulder, and pushed a button. There was a beep as it read the computer chip in the woman's upper arm, and information flashed onto the small screen.

"Olivia, 38, former personal secretary, reclass."

The next stall held a very thin blonde in her early twenties. Sharon scanned her arm.

"Samantha, 22, former ballerina, reclass."

Next stall.

"Anna Marie, 18, former student, voluntary."

She continued on. "Anya, 23, immigrant, reclass. Zoe, 43, former wife, reclass. Kenna, 27, former restaurant manager, vol. Darcy, 31, former dancer, reclass. Meg, 24, former graduate student, reclass . . ."

The ponygirls concentrated on their lunch, barely glancing at the census taker as she scanned their vital info. Twenty minutes later, she finished scanning the last ponygirl.

"Good. I think that's-- wait a minute. You have one more?"

"We were informed this morning that we would be getting a new arrival today."

"Okay, let me just check her data here." She pressed a few more buttons. "Here we go! It's Shar--"

The census taker froze as she saw the vital info displayed on the screen. She blinked and shook her head.

"No. No, it can't be."

"It's you, isn't it?"

"There must be some mistake. Let me call the office."

The unnerved woman texted her supervisor. She got her reply almost immediately.

"Sam had me--?" Her eyes welled up as the implications hit her. She bit her lip as she tried unsuccessfully to hold back the tears. She turned to Elise. "He said he was going to divorce his wife. We've been seeing each other--" her voice dropped until it was barely audible-- "a year."

Elise put her arm around the other woman as Sharon sobbed. "It's okay. It's not so bad. At least you'll be treated well here. Don't you see how healthy and obedient the other ponygirls are? Is there someone to come take care of you?"

Sharon nodded.

"We'd better get you ready, then."

Elise helped her off with her jacket and blouse, which she draped over the front gate of the nearest stall, then fitted the hooves over her hands and strapped them tight. Mitch carefully removed her glasses, then unhooked her white seamless-cup pushup bra and removed it. As Elise got the scissors, shaving cream, and comb, Mitch had Sharon lift her feet so he could take her shoes. She lifted her feet again as he took off her skirt and slip, then grimaced as Elise began chopping off handfuls of hair. Mitch unhooked her stockings from her nude waist-slimming girdle and peeled them off, then tugged the girdle down by the leg openings until it slid to her ankles in a soft heap. He was careful, even though she wouldn't be needing her undergarments anymore.

By the time Mitch had laced up the pony boots, Elise was shaving the census taker's head. He got a harness, positioned it over her body, and began buckling the straps. When Sharon's head was bare except for her mane, they wiped it clean with a wet cloth, then fitted her with a bridle. The woman's eyes blinked myopically as her head was imprisoned in the network of leather straps, and her full red lips looked sexy wrapped around the black bit. Unused to having her mouth propped open, she began to drool.

They took her to the prep room, where they laid her down on a table so Elise could shave her pussy. Mitch stood there with one hand stroking her head and another patting her stomach. Sharon did her best to remain calm, staring at the ceiling as the scissors snipped away and the razor scraped delicately around her pussy. The sudden coldness of her bare crotch gave her goosebumps.

They then flipped her over and strapped her down. As Mitch heated the branding iron, Elise rubbed a numbing agent and disinfectant on Sharon's left butt cheek. The new ponygirl squinched her eyes shut, even though she couldn't turn to see, anyway. She heard a sizzle and felt a mild burning as her new status was permanently burned into her skin.

With the admission process now complete, they led her to her stall and strapped her in. Sharon was silent and glum as she stood there, naked and restrained.

"Would you like something to eat?" asked Elise.

The ponygirl shook her head meekly.

"Okay, just sit tight until the other guy gets here."

The couple set about getting the other ponygirls ready for their afternoon training. They were out in the corral when the second census taker arrived.

"Hi! The name's Morty. So, Sharon's number came up, did it?"

Mitch shook his head and smiled. "Yep. The guy she was having an affair with ponied up. Oops! Bad choice of words there."

Morty laughed and peered around Mitch at the ponygirls prancing away in the corral under Elise's watchful eye. "So where is the lucky gal?"

"She's still in her stall."

"Okay, let's get this over with."

The new ponygirl stood there, numb with shock, the only movement being the tears that rolled down her cheeks. With a pistol-like hand-held unit, Morty shot an ID chip into Sharon's shoulder, then scanned the information in on his reader.

"Good. That's it, then. She's all yours."

Mitch was already headed out back to the corral. He gave a casual wave. "Have a nice day."

Morty turned to go. "Oh, are these her clothes?" He pointed to the clothing draped over the front gate of Sharon's stall.

"Yeah. And her scanning unit. Take 'em."

The census taker gathered up the clothing as Mitch left. When he was sure they were alone, he whispered to the naked ponygirl.

"Tough luck there, Sharon. We'll be thinking of you back at the office. We'll send a gift basket with apples and carrots and oats and stuff." He shrugged. "You know, your tits always were a little small for my liking, but--," he pulled out her girdle, buried his nose deep into the crotch, and inhaled deeply, "--aaahhhhhh, you always DID smell nice."

THE END

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27.04.17