The Pony Revolution

Chapter 1: Prelude to Nowhere Island

The operation was far from legitimate. It was really organized slavery and abuse with a very kink twist. But the remote location of the island, way out in the Pacific, with no other islands within over five hundred nautical miles, made it a perfect location for concealing the secret of what took place on the island. The island was about twenty-five kilometers east to west and slightly more north south. Compared to other islands in the area, it was of substantial size.

As you may guess, there were only two ways to get to and from the island; by ship or by plane. The latter was not obvious, as there was no airstrip visible from the air. One could in theory fly in a helicopter, but there were extremely few helicopters on the surrounding islands, and those that were there did not have enough range to make it even halfway to this island. As the island was far away from shipping lanes, the only visitors were the ones that owned the island, guests, worked there – or were brought there, as human ponies, for the enjoyment of the first two categories.

At one point in time, there must have been several large ships arriving with workers and building materials. When they left, the island sported a large, main mansion. It was about one hundred meters wide, three floors above ground and two below. It was situated at the island’s highest point, a cliff that had its top blasted flat to allow enough space for the huge building. They used the rocks from the blasting to build a harbor with a molo to break the waves. Beautiful gardens surrounded the buildings and blended with the dense jungle that covered most of the island.

The airstrip was a brilliant piece of engineering. From the air, it looked just like a clearing in the jungle, partially overgrown by low jungle plants. But the plants were anchored in large flower beds half the width of the runway. These could be raised and moved to the side and hidden with the help of electromotors. It took about ten minutes to ready the air strip for landing.

The airstrip certainly was not long enough for jets, but more than enough for the two twin engine propeller planes they used when they needed to get fast on and off the island. At one end of the runway, they had a hangar set into the terrain and covered by jungle plants. Unless the airstrip was in use, it was invisible for anyone passing above the island.

There were paved roads all over the islands. All the roads were hidden from above by overhanging trees. The roads connected several small buildings. Some of them looked aged, others looked new.

How did I get there you may ask? The answer is simple: By utter stupidity, by letting my primal mind overrule my rational mind. In short: I got there the way that most other human ponies got there. I was abducted. They are rather good at that. I admit though, that before the abduction, I had spent a fair amount of time in pony gear – and I loved every second of it.

After a “breaking in session” on the lower level in the basement of the big mansion, they fitted me with full pony gear, corset, tail, armbinder, boots and an evil bridle that I absolutely hated. To add insult to injury, I wore a bridle that had some twenty bells attached, so any head movement I made produced merry chimes, chimes I absolutely hated, which was exactly their purpose. I was a controlled animal, unable to speak because of the evil bit that held my tongue down and let them control me easily with just a slight tug on the reins.

The breaking session would have made any despotic dictator proud. Rhythmic sounds, sleep deprivation, thirst, hunger, pain. In the end we all begged, we all obeyed. And when we left the basement, we left as docile, restrained and easily controllable beasts, to be used at the pleasure of owners and guests on the island.

They could let us roam free. Somewhere in our gear there was a GPS tracker. They knew where we were. They could summon us when it pleased them. If we did not respond quickly to the summons, we were shocked. If we were not fast enough, we were shocked. Even if we were left free to roam the island we had to show up within minutes when called. The call happened with a buzzer on our tummy. Initially the vibrations were pleasant. After some minutes they became uncomfortable and soon they became painful. When you were buzzed, you ran to the nearest assembly point. And you ran fast.

I said we were broken when we exited the basement. I learned eventually that it was not quite true. A few of us kept some rebellious spirit. I could see it in some of their eyes. I was one of those. I pretended to be broken, just before I would really have been broken. Whenever they looked at me, they would see dull eyes. I would follow orders without hesitation.

I even followed the orders to go to the dreadful frame where they secured us while they used us sexually. Whenever that happened, my mind drifted from my body, and I was watching what happened as if through the eyes of a spectator. I would not let the abuse break me.

We all had rings in our earlobes. If we performed less than perfect at any time, they attached a plastic chip to one of the earrings. Each evening the rings were counted and removed. We would either be punished there and then or get a delayed sentence that was usually conducted during one of the frequent parties in the mansion. We all preferred the punishment there and then to becoming an attraction at the parties.

Punishments were really punishments even for the worst masochist. It was something that made you behave with perfection. Lack of enthusiasm during the sexual abuse sessions were the most common reason for getting plastic tags attached to our ears. During the break in period, we had been informed that sexual use (they did not use the word abuse) was a reward and not a punishment. They used beatings, ice, heat, electro, suffocation, near drowning – and everything else that made life hell for the punished one and motivated them to perform even better in the future. But there were always imperfections to be found. They simply would not allow perfection. They wanted to punish us.

After a sexual session you were supposed to thank all that had used you, verbally if you were not bitted. They expected you to put a lot of creativity into the thanks. So, when they were done with you after hours of use, you had to get on your feet, you had to thank them, you had to wait to be excused, and only then could you leave and head for the stables where most collapsed. There was no risk that a used pony would manage to escape. Besides, you were always sent to the stables with your hands locked behind your back and a gag in your mouth.

When I got to the island, I got there with two men and four women. Both men were flabby and overweight. A year on the island had changed that. The four women were all beauties. Well, I was also a beauty back then, but after a year of exercise and diet, I had become stunning. In one way they took good care of us with exercise, lotions, sunscreen and taking care of any scratches from jungle plants. There was a daily routine. We slept with headphones that prevented us from communicating.

Soft music started the day. We got up, were moved blindfolded to the washing and caring area, did our morning business and then the hateful bits were inserted, the blindfold removed, and we were ready for whatever the day brought. The routine was the same, day out and day in. Days merged to weeks. Weeks became months. Months became years.

One day the owners decided to get more ponies. The guests left the island. I had seen them board the planes and fly out. It was always impressive to see the airstrip being converted to jungle, and I watched it whenever I was not on an assignment. Looking towards the harbor, I noticed that a yacht was docked there, and I saw several people board the yacht. I counted thirty people. I had once heard that there were only fifty owners. So that meant that max twenty owners were left on the island.

A male pony approached me. I heard him long before I saw him, because of the bells. Our harnesses showed our names. Mine was Fluffy. I hated that name. His was Thumper. I have no idea what he thought of his name.

We stood together a bit watching the events that unfolded. Then he started writing in the dust on the ground with his hoof: “30 left, odds improving.” I looked at him, shocked. He erased the text with his hoof. Then he wrote: “You not broken either.” I nodded, and he erased the text again. He nodded to me and set off back the path from the viewpoint. I had an ally.

Night came. Blindfolded and muffled with the headphones on, I still heard that something happened outside my stable door, but I had no idea what. Only later did I get to hear the story from Thumper:

The leather we wore was worn down by the sun and the salt in the air. Thumper had noticed that the leather on his bridle had started cracking. He had managed to weaken it by using a nail in the stable wall to the point where a firm tug would break it. That night he pulled hard back when his handler pulled the reins, and the bit flew out of his mouth. He charged at the handler, brought him to the ground with a sweeping kick and crushed his skull with his hoof. That is what you get for trying to transform a former special ops soldier into a human pony.

Thumper had noticed that because of all the owners that had left earlier, there was only a skeleton crew in the stables, in fact a few minutes before Thumper made his move, two handlers had left, leaving a single handler in the stable.

Freed of the bridle, he no longer carried the revealing bells, but his arms were firmly in the armbinder. He needed help to get out, but that was help he could not get from me. In fact, without his arms, he could not even open my stable door. Only one of the ladies was still not blindfolded and in a stable. She had watched his takedown of the handler with horror. Thumper approached her, but she was obviously terrified and tried to pull away while screaming into her bit. The sounds caught the ear of one of the handlers, who decided to come back to investigate. Thumper hid behind the door and took him down with a kick and a stomp as he entered.

Thumper needed his armbinder off, but he was not getting any help from the hysterical, strapped pony attached to the handling rig. Thankfully, she stopped screaming, she probably was afraid Thumper would kill her too.

Thumper knew he was short on time. One of the dead grooms carried a knife. The knife had fallen to the floor. Thumper picked it up with his now unbitted mouth. He managed to jam it into a crack so that the blade stood out by positioning it with his mouth and hitting it with his hoof.

He later estimated that it took him the better part of an hour to cut the armbinder off and regain control of his hands. The knife fell to the floor many times. Each time he repeated the procedure of picking it up with his mouth, kicking it in place and restarting the cutting of the thick leather.

Just as he got free, he heard two voices approaching. He wasted no time, got out the door and hid in the jungle. The two handlers had no idea what hit them. You do not mess with a former special ops man with hooves.

Having bought time, and reduced the opposition by four, it was time to plot a strategy. The reaction of the pony in the stable had scared him from enlisting the help of other ponies. He knew that the GPS tracker in his harness would alert them if he approached the main house. He also knew that he could be incapacitated at any time with a shock from the harness. His next task was then to get the harness off. He managed that with few difficulties. It was after all just leather and not steel, and he had full use of his hands.

His tail plopped out easily and Thumper considered getting me free but changed his mind when he saw that my stable door was alarmed. He went over to his stable door and closed it. He got the other ponygirl off her handling rack, closed her blindfold, put on her headphones, and led her into her stable before closing the door.

Somewhere in the mansion two red lights on a screen changed to green. “Ah, finally, they are done. They must have had a lot of fun there tonight. Well, they should be back here in a few,” one man said to the others. There were four men in the room.

Thumper got out of the stable and ran towards the house, using the thick bushes as cover. The wind had started picking up. That made things easier for him. He decided to approach the house from the backside where there were the fewest windows. He got rid of the pony boots by cutting them off and started climbing stark naked up a drainpipe to the roof. The roof hosted several antennas. Each antenna was supported by four supporting wires, and he cut them all. The wind would do the rest and cut the island from any contact with the yacht or other islands.

It started raining heavily. Looking over the side of the roof, he could see that only three windows shone light on the falling raindrops. On the back of the mansion no windows had light. The wind caught one of the antennas and sent the dish flying off the roof and into the jungle. Doors below opened out on a balcony, and two people got out. As they turned to look at the roof, he threw himself flat down.

“Darn, the wind must have taken the sat antenna. We really need that working, the VHF does not have enough range,” one said.

“No problem, we have a spare antenna. I will go up and set that up as soon as the wind calms, it is too dangerous to be on the roof now, the other man said.

They both went inside. The VHF antenna was caught by the increasing wind. Thumper stayed flat down. The two men re-emerged on the balcony.

“Well, the VHF antenna is certainly gone, we should be able to see that from here, I will go up and check, there is something going on up there, must be some wires that have not been tightened.”

“I will go with you, too dangerous to be there alone in the wind.”

As soon as they went inside, Thumper ran over to the door where they had to come out. He laid flat on the roof of the exit. Pretty soon the door opened, light shone out and one person stepped on to the roof. Thumper had a snare in his hand, made from the wires that used to support the antenna, but before he could drop that on the second person, he heard two more people coming up the stairs.

He waited patiently until all four were out on the roof before he silently dropped down behind them, slipped inside the door, and closed the door. He blocked the door with a beam he found inside, obviously made for the purpose of just that.

He heard shouts from the roof: “Darn wind, get the door open, we need the light from the stairwell.”

“It is jammed, I can’t move it!”

Thumper had heard enough. He quietly went down the stairs, dripping water. One level down he was in a hallway running the length of the house with a door that was half open with lights coming through. He tried several of the closed doors and found a kitchen behind one. He picked up five solid chef’s knives and a carton of eggs that he put in the microwave and set the timer to 20 minutes and the effect to max.

It took only a few minutes for the eggs to explode, sending the oven door off its hinges. Soon after he heard running, and two men came running into the kitchen. He killed them both.

Then he went out into the hallway to the door where the lights came from. He was quite sure there were just two left there. He stepped into the light, stark naked, muddy, and said: “Gentlemen, you have a problem.” As the two men turned towards him, he felled them with two of the chef’s knives that he threw across the room.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins. The pulse was raging. There were no signs of others in the building, but he still had four to deal with on the roof. He calmed down. So far so good. Four in the stables, two in the kitchen, two in here. Plus, four on the roof. It would be hard to split the ones on the roof. He had not seen a single firearm on the island, and none of the ones he felled wore any either.

He could hear banging noises from upstairs. He looked up in the stairwell. The bolts holding the locking bar had started to give a little. They would be able to break through in half an hour or so.

He ran through the house, opening all the doors. He found three gas flasks in the kitchen. He brought them into the stairwell, turned off the light there, crushed the glass of one of the light bulbs so the glow thread was exposed, re-screwed the destroyed bulb, used a cut gas hose with the right adapter for one of the gas flasks, opened the valve and closed the door.

Then he patiently waited.

The explosion came after only ten minutes and shook the entire building. The lack of combustible materials in the hallway quickly stopped the fire. He entered the stairwell and found four dead bodies.

Soon after he was back in the stable where I was the first one to be freed. I was sleepy, groggy and woke up in the arms of a real hunk of a naked man. It took me a bit to get my bearings, but he kept removing my pony gear until I was stark naked too. It was just a wonderful feeling. I stepped outside the stable and let the wind and rain wash over my body. For the first time in over a year I was free.

We freed the remaining eighteen ponies. They were disoriented, sleepy, docile. Many of them did not dare to speak. But as the storm passed over, they started drifting out of the stable. They walked like zombies. They needed time to get used to their newfound freedom. I later learned that guessing can be a dangerous activity.

We found a small tractor excavator in one of the garages and made graves for the dead. Behind the house, we found other graves. They were marked with a single white wooden cross with names like “Silver,” “Firehoof” and “Black Beauty.” The graves of former ponies on the island.

We learned from papers found in the house that most owners had left to pick up a large shipment of new human ponies and would be back in a month.

Thumper, whose real name I learned was Brian, was built like a Greek god. We spent the first day holding hands and, whenever the chance presented itself, fucking our brains out. That man sure knew what buttons to push with a woman.

We let the other ponies drift and get used to their freedom. They did not seem overly happy, but I assumed that they would over time start appreciating their freedom. We made plans to fix the antennas the next morning, so we could call for help.

As we entered the main building, a huge cargo net fell over us followed by at least ten ponies landing on it, pinning us to the ground. Brian and I fought with all we had, but to no use. Inside a net you are very badly handicapped. A lady stepped up to us. She carried a cattle prod.

“You are hereby captured by the pony revolution group. You threatened our lifestyle, you freed us against our will. You will be sentenced by our council. Until then you are our prisoners.”

“You stupid cow! Don’t you see that they use you, then kill you, like any livestock. They will be back in three, four weeks, if not sooner. These are not nice people, they abducted you…” My speech was cut short by the lady with the cattle prod who rammed it into my pussy, pressed the button and held it for a long time. I screamed, thrashed, vomited, peed – and finally passed out. I would rather have had those events happening in the opposite order.

I woke up in the stable, in full pony gear, blindfolded and ear muffled. I was in a stable box, and my bit was secured with a leash to somewhere. My body hurt all over. Bringing my legs together hurt enough to strongly discourage that. I heard a voice in my ears: “You are an enemy of the pony revolution. You have been sentenced to a lifetime in tack and blindness. You will serve as any other pony on the island. Long live the pony revolution!” The soundtrack kept looping.

Chapter 2: Inside the revolution

I struggled to remain sane. In my darkened world, I heard “You are an enemy of the pony revolution. You have been sentenced to a lifetime in tack and blindness. You will serve as any other pony on the island. Long live the pony revolution!” the message played repeatedly.

I needed to escape. But I was an enemy of the pony revolution.Hey, how did that thought appear?The mantra was getting to me. It would break me down. Make me a docile pony, one of the herd. One that obeyed without question. I would be in tack for life – and blinded.NOOOO! I cannot be.I had to find a plan, an escape. But I had no hands, no vision, no speech. There had to be way. But I was sentenced to a lifetime in tack and blindness.NOOOO!I could not believe the mantra. I tried my restraints, pulled with all I had, but nothing gave. I was sentenced to a lifetime in tack and blindness. No way out. Just suffering. I had felt what those stupid misguided ponies would do. Soon the owners would be back. The disappearance of their guards, the newly dug graves. I had no doubt the repercussions would be severe. They would probably kill off all the ponies, start anew. The pony graves told the story. But I was an enemy of the pony revolution. “NOOOO!” I cried out again, but it sounded like a “auuo.”

There was no way of telling time, so I had no idea when the mantra stopped. I heard a female voice on the headphones: “I must be quick. Only you can hear this. Not all ponies are captures. Some are here of their own free will. I am one of them. I had no idea about the non-consensual captures. The efforts you and Thumper put in to get free opened my eyes. I have been promoted to handler, which means that I am unrestrained while I do my duties as a handler.

I need you and Thumper sane and fit for the fight. I will stop this, but I cannot do it alone. Your bridle has been replaced with a metal one, and the locks have been filled with glue. When they say permanent, they mean permanent. I need a side cutter, a hacksaw, or a bolt cutter to get you out of it. I do not have access to one now. They will soon be here to bring you back to the house for some entertainment. I doubt if you will enjoy that. Please play along, pretend you are broken. Believe me, I am working on a plan, but must steal some tools first without being noticed, or I will also be declared an enemy of the pony revolution.

I know four ponies that are here and remain here of their own free will. That leaves sixteen ponies plus you and Thumper. Except for you two, the rest are brainwashed, docile creatures that will follow any order given. It was a big mistake to free them all. I must run. Be brave. I will be back soon.”

The mantra started playing again. An unknown amount of time passed. My bridle was clipped to a leash, and I was pulled by the bridle in the direction I assumed was the main house. Unfortunately, I was all too right.

They strung me up, upside down. Legs spread wide. The mantra kept playing.

“Traitor,” suddenly sounded in my ears, followed by an intense jolt of pain from the inside of my left thigh. It was a thin crop. I could tell the pain from that anywhere. “Enemy of the revolution” – followed by another sting on my right thigh. It continued. I would have liked to say that I stood my ground and did not cry, but I was screaming my lungs out, mumbling incomprehensible words into my bit between each scream. I totally lost it. The pain was too intense. I bucked and spun as much as I could. I fought for air. I would have done anything, promised anything for the pain to stop.

Then they started aiming at my vagina. Thankfully, it only took a few blows for me to pass out.

Ice cold water woke me up. I was on the floor. Hands pulled me up on my feet. “Run, pony RUN!” I heard in my ears. The mantra had stopped. I struggled to stay on my feet. My legs and my lower body were a sea of pain. Someone touched me with a cattle prod, I jumped and ran, only to meet another prod and another. They drove me blind around the room. The mantra alternated with comments about my performance. They kept me running until I was on the floor, unable to react even to the cattle prods. Only then was I dragged off down the stairs and ended up somewhere below. I was nauseated, hurting, confused – and the darn mantra started again.

I had no idea of time. I drifted off, woke up, suffered, screamed, and cried. The mantra kept on and on and on. I was breaking down and I realized it.

“Please lie very still, I have never used an angle grinder before,” sounded in my ears. Now if that was supposed to be comforting, it did not exactly work. But I decided to stay very still. Soon I heard the grinder disc digging into metal. After some tense minutes, the eye shield was off my bridle. It was almost dark in the cell, but I could see the smiling face of one of the ponies, although without the head harness, hooves, and tail. She went to work on the locks securing the rest of my head harness in place. Soon I was free of that dreadful contraption.

“I cannot undo your armbinder, it is rigged with an alarm. We must have you on a handling rack to do that, but first we must get Thumper. Oh, I am Ann, better known here as Apricot.”

I mumbled some response, using my tongue was hard, and the pain in my body did not encourage extended politeness.

Ann or Apricot led me out of the cell, a few doors down the corridor and stopped in front of another cell. She brought out a flashlight, consulted a notecard she carried, input a combination on the touchpad, and the door quietly swung open. The flashlight revealed a body covered with red and bleeding welts rolled up in a corner. I realized it was Thumper.

Ann kneeled and stroked his chin, the only part of him visible under the metal mask. He jerked violently and tried to get to his feet while he was trying to move away.

“See, this is why I needed you, he is still too strong for me to handle – please speak with him,” said Ann. I went up to the bruised heap of human skin and muscle and started talking calmly. To begin with, nothing changed, but then he started calming down and a few minutes later Ann was busy with the battery-operated side grinder.

With the bridle off, I saw a strained face filled with tears.

“How,” he asked.

“Later,” Ann responded. “Now we must get you out of the armbinders. The members of the revolution are asleep, I guess it helped that I opened the wine cellar for them. They have not tasted alcohol in years. They are so misguided. They want to declare independence, but ponies cannot hold firearms, which is what the owners will bring with them when they return.”

“Can you walk?” I asked Thumper.

“If I cannot walk, I will crawl. This madness must be stopped,” Thumper responded.

I was still skeptical. Once in the stable, I refused Ann to secure both me and Thumper to the handling frames at the same time. She just shrugged, released first me then Thumper.

She had bought sneakers and a track suit for each of us. I had to pass on the sneakers. Having my feet held in a toe walk position had shortened my tenderloins to the point where I could not walk on flat feet.

Looking at the naked Thumper, I was amazed that he could walk at all. They must really have had a go at him and enjoyed it. I was in strong pain myself, but it was nothing compared to what he would be. I knew that while he may seem fine, his judgment could be impaired, and he would move much slower than normal. He also had wounds that needed tending. He saw me look at him and quickly put on the track suit making several grimaces in the process.

We needed a plan, but we were too easy to find in the stables, so we headed into the jungle. We found a clearing where we sat down and started talking. All the time, Thumper was scanning the area around us. It was clear that he did not want to be caught in an ambush again. We kept our voices low.

“I honestly can’t believe that anyone voluntarily enters a fulltime life as a human pony,” started Thumper – eh Brian – as I should probably call him. Darn, he looked much more like a Thumper than a Brian. “Anyhow, we do not know how long we have before the owners return, we do not know how the ponies will react – well strike that, we know how they will react, but we don’t like that.”

“Could we send a message to the yacht?”

“Well, I can sure rig the antennas so that they will work, but nothing we say will change anything, and when they have collected the new pony girls, they will return for sure…”

“Not if we tell them that the place has been raided by a bunch of US marines…”

Thump – eh – Brian thought about that for a moment, then responded: “We cannot do that. They will kill off the new human ponies they are going to fetch.”

“Not if we get there first! As far as I know, both planes are here in the hangar. I can fly one of them out. I saw what direction the yacht set off in. There cannot be too many inhabited islands in that direction. We get there first, find the girls – and call in the authorities and it is a wrap. Meanwhile the other ponies are safe here, well, as safe as they can be.”

“Do you really know how to fly a plane? I mean – it is scary and…” Ann objected.

“I have not renewed my pilot’s license while I have been here, but I think I still remember it,” I responded, maybe a bit too curtly, but hey, no time for politeness.

“That plan sounds risky. There are so many ifs. What about something simpler: They are bound to start looking for us when they sober up. Your harnesses still have the GPS trackers in them. Let us place them somewhere extremely hard to access, I know the perfect place. When they come for you, we take them out one by one,” suggested Ann.

“What if we just fix a radio, call in the authorities, sit tight and wait for help,” suggested Brian.

I so hate it when men have better ideas than me.

Chapter 3: A year and a half later

I was in the pilot’s seat, but the autopilot was really flying the plane. I had picked up three frisky young women and a very timid man. We were destined for the island. The last two hours we had flown over the open ocean.

Things had changed a lot at the island that had now been named “Nowhere Island.” It took Brian a few hours to fix the satellite communication, and it all happened before any of the ponies and self-acclaimed handlers woke up from their drunken stupor. After letting the world know of what happened on the island, we retracted to the forest after dropping our harnesses with the GPS trackers down an abandoned mineshaft. They spent the day looking for us while a rescue party was mounted and sent to the island.

Just before dawn, four long range helicopters swept in from the east, each carrying troops that had no problem taking control. We emerged from the forest to greet the troops that were led by a captain Duncan – who happened to be a military friend of Brian.

The yacht was tracked until it made landfall a few days later, and ten soon-to-be pony girls and two boys were freed from a warehouse in the harbor area. The whole organization was uprooted, including the financial supporters. Which left the ownership of the island in an unclear state.

The soldiers brought in psychiatrists that talked with the ponies, but in the end all but two declined to be evacuated from the island and asked to be kept in tack. Which created a challenge. To make a long story short, ownership of the island was transferred to a foundation. Me, Ann, and Th… eh Brian became executors of the foundation with Captain Duncan as overseer. The pony ranch kept on running, with one main exception: The ponies now had to come by their own free will and could demand release at any point in time. Income became based on donations, and on interest from a fund formed to support the operations.

The four-sleeping people in the passenger cabin were not drugged, only tired after a long flight over open water. In fact, they had paid money to be taken to Nowhere Island. Two were there on a time limited contract, as a late summer adventure, two were on open ended contracts. The time limited contracts had turned out to be popular, leading to some busy summer months. But now it was late August, and the traffic was winding down.

We had organized the operation with handlers, routines, briefings, contracts, modified equipment, and an absolute ban against the use of excessive force. The buried ponies were exhumed, identified and the remains sent to their relatives for proper burials where relatives could be found. We were not able to find any relatives of four of them, and they were re-buried on the island.

One of the rules we had instituted was that all handlers had to spend at least one month in a year in pony gear themselves. That upset some dominants that wanted to come to the island to quote: “Run the subs hard and teach them a lesson.” We quite frankly did not care, and our business was running well even without the business from these sadists.

I had been out of pony gear for eleven months now, and when we landed, it was time for me to spend a month as a human pony again. I dreaded this – but also looked forward to it with a strange mix of feelings. As the head of the operation, I had no doubt that I would be kept on a tight leash. As the head of operations, I also had to set an example. Preferably a good one.

The island appeared on the horizon, and I started a slow descent. There were protocols to follow. I leveled off at twelve hundred feet and aimed the plane for the hidden airstrip. I did not deploy the wheels but slowed the speed down to hundred and ten knots. As I passed over the landing strip, I dipped the wings, three times to the left, one time to the right. Three plus one made four. Having passed the landing strip, I turned right, flew parallel to the landing strip, and dipped the right wing four times. Below us motors started, retracting the plant beds from the runway, making it ready for landing. I let the plane continue a few minutes out to sea before turning back again, setting full flaps, deploying the landing gear, and making my final approach.

Once the plane was inside the hangar, the runway was again getting covered with plants and the plane and the runway once more became invisible from the air.

I completed the post flight checklist, had my passengers taken care of and left the cockpit. Brian was waiting for me in the hangar. I threw myself in his arms, and he held me tightly, kissing my upturned face, having a bit of fun avoiding my lips.

“It is time, you know. No more postponing,” he smirked.

“Ok, yes, I know. I just need to get back to my apartment, get a shower and I will report for pony duty,” I responded with a sigh.

“You will do no such thing,” he said, spun me around effortlessly, handcuffed my hands behind my back, picked me up and carried me over his shoulder down towards the stables.

“No, please, you have to let me at least get out of these sweaty clothes!”

“You will get out of those clothes, I promise,” he said with a laugh. “Now shush. Ponies do not speak. You are the boss. You must lead by example.”

I could of course have objected, but I had to admit, the situation was quite sexy, being carried handcuffed, thrown over his shoulder. I could feel his body work to carry me. I felt sweat breaking out on his skin. I was helpless and enjoyed every moment of it.

It was a short walk downhill to the stables. Brian wasted no time securing me to the handling frame. I was there slightly bent forward, legs to the sides, arms to the sides high above. A huge mirror was in front of me. It sounded like a clever idea when I had it installed, but now, with me secured in front of the mirror I regretted the installation.

The bridle was the first to be put on. We always installed the bridle first. Having vision and hearing as well as speech restricted sent the ponies into the proper submissive state of mind. I expected to see the pile of straps, but instead Brian held up a metal bridle for me to see.

“I finished this while you were drinking pink umbrella drinks back in civilization. It is a modified version of the bridle the rebels put on you, but very much improved. It will be an honor for you to try it first, all the other ponies will envy you!”

I started to protest, but his hand was inside my shirt, grabbing a nipple and twisting it. “I believe the words you are looking for are ‘thank you Master’,” he said. Instead of a protest, I mumbled “Thank you Master,” which earned me another nipple twist, so I repeated it louder. He let my nipple go. I opened my mouth and accepted the spoon bit. He closed the bridle. It fit my head perfectly. It connected to a collar with a click. That thing was not coming off without the keys or a side grinder.

“As you can see all the locks are integrated. You cannot cut them off with a side grinder as you will be cutting too close to your skin and the side grinder will make a lot of heat. It has some bright new features, like noise canceling. It is fully remote controllable, and with the new antenna at the south mountain, we have full island coverage. It has this beautiful plume attachment that makes sure you are not overlooked in any crowd.” He attached a huge, two-foot-tall plume to an attachment point at the top of my head.

I tried to speak, but nothing that could be understood came out of my mouth. That was for the best. I absolutely hated that huge, feathery pink plume.

He clicked something on a remote, and the eye visor blocked my sight. At the same time, all sounds stopped. The effect was unexpected, and I did not like it at all.

Half an hour later, all my gear was on. Brian released me from the handling frame, and clipped reins to my bridle. Blinded and deaf, he led me outdoors by gently pulling on the reins. I hated this. I was wearing a chastity belt, but my breasts were swinging free, only adorned with the bells he attached to my nipple rings. My hands were in an armbinder keeping them in a reverse prayer. My tail was swinging with every move. My tummy was kept in a strict corset.

That afternoon I was paraded everywhere. Bells jingled with every move I made. My hooved feet made clopeticlopeti sounds as I walked. I thought the tail vibrated at times, but I was not sure. I was helpless, but thankfully the one handling me was a man I loved. Oh, did I just say that?

Chapter 4: Developments

By the end of the day, Brian led me back to the stables and secured me on the handling frame. He removed my bit, which surprised me. They never used to do that.

“New routine, the metal bits can chafe, and there is really no need for them in the stable, as the improved headphones filter away all voice. Besides, it gives the ponies some relief, to be able to articulate themselves properly. Strangely, some ponies do not want their bits removed. It is up to you, bit, or no bit in the stable?”

“How many ponies opt to keep their bits in the stable?” My voice was hoarse and cracking.

“Oh – well – so far all of them,” Brian answered.

“Then I do the same. I must lead by example,” responded quickly and without really thinking.

“As you wish, just remember that there is no going back on that,” he said. Your bit stays in for the duration of the month.” I swear I saw a smirk on his face as he bent down and picked up something from the handler’s table. He held it in front of my eyes. It was another spoon bit. It had a slit on the underside, and I suddenly realized what that slit was for. You see, I have a tongue piercing. The ball of that piercing would slide right into that slit where it would, I assumed, be locked in place. I was right. Talking became an impossibility. The only sounds I could make were moans and guttural sounds, which I assumed was just the effect the makers of that bit were after.

“I must say that you looked the part today. It was really amusing to see you get back into the pony role. And I must say I enjoyed showing you off. You did try to talk a few times, but that will not be a problem in the future, not with this bit.”

He cupped my breasts from behind and played with my ringed nipples. The bells chimed. My knees felt weak, and I started to breathe heavily.

“Now that is a horny pony if I ever saw one,” he chided. “Too bad the pony will not get any relief for the next month.” He slapped my butt and stepped away. I groaned.

“Tomorrow you will be with the normal handlers. I will see you again at the end of the month. You are just one of many ponies now, as you insisted. Now let us get you off this handling frame and into your box.”

I did not sleep well, between getting used to the new bit and my horniness, I kept drifting in and out of sleep. As I could not see anything nor hear, I lost all track of time.

I was woken by a gentle hand stroking my side. I must have slept because I was disoriented. The same hand that woke me, helped me to my feet, steadied me and let me to the handling frame. I heard sound again, and the blindfold was removed.

I went through the normal morning routine, enemas, washing, checking for chafing and a thorough application of sunscreen. My handler then released me from the frame, gave me a slap on the butt and sent me out of the stable. I was glad to be on my feet, with vision and hearing. I started running towards the south, up the hill to the airstrip.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was pleasantly warm. A slight breeze swept in from the sea. Birds were singing, jungle sounds were around me and I was alone. I followed a familiar path and started running, careful to lift my legs in the right way. The habit had been well established, and I did it without thinking.

I rounded a sharp corner on the path and entered a clearing where there had been an abandoned house before. It was clearly not abandoned any more. The plants in the garden, the crops in the kitchen garden, the intact and polished windows, the close-cut lawn, all indications that someone was living there. As I approached the house, the collar shocked me, not a strong shock, but a kind warning to not move any closer. The house itself was clearly off limits to ponies. That was strange, the houses had never been off limits before. There was nothing I could do about that though, so I kept moving down the path.

I soon came upon the second house. It was well kept and clearly off limits to ponies too. I shrugged and pressed on to the south. When I came to the point where the pathway started ascending the southern mountain, I had passed six inhabited houses, all off limits to ponies. I decided to do the climb, but as I started the collar shocked me, and this was a stronger shock than before. I was clearly not allowed up that hill.

Having nowhere to go forward, I turned east and followed the path into the jungle. I found more houses, but these were not well kept, and nothing prevented me from examining them closely. One had an open door. I went inside. It was empty with leaves and dust covering the floor.

The path turned north after the last house, and I followed it, running, enjoying the wind, soaking in the sun rays that filtered through the thick canopy of leaves above. I entered a clearing and scared some birds that took flight while uttering some loud protests. I saw that the house was uninhabited and did not even slow down as I drove on my journey. By the time I was by the runway, more inhabited houses had turned up, and they were all off limits to ponies.

The buzzer on my tummy activated. I was needed for service somewhere. I kept running until I came to a fork in the path, and the right buzzer went off. OK, so head right. A few similar turns later, I was in a clearing where four people and a dogcart were waiting for me. They were two women and two men, none of which I had ever seen before. Judging by body language, they were two couples.

As I approached, my vision was removed, and the earphones shut out all sound. It was therefore impossible for me to see who they were or hear what they were talking about. From a distance I had noticed that the women were dressed in flower patterned loose summer dresses and sensible shoes. Both had long hair, made into ponytails. One was redheaded, the other more of a brown-haired person. The men wore jeans, sneakers, and loose fitting short sleeved summer shirts.

All carts on the island were made to be pulled by a single pony. To achieve this, they had battery operated help motors, just like an electrical bike. That did not mean that the pony did not have to work, because the motors only gave help when the pony was actively pulling. Without the motors, one pony would have been completely unable to pull the dog cart empty, let alone with four passengers.

They secured me to the shanks, clipped reins on my bit and entered on the cart. I was now entirely dependent on commands from the reins. The reins slapped on my shoulders followed by a tug on the right side of the bridle. I put my weight into the first pull, and the electro motors activated while I made a gentle right turn until the pull on my bridle stopped. Another slap on the reins on my shoulders set me picking up speed. I had no idea where we were heading. I had to trust whoever was holding my reins. I was glad to notice that my handler was experienced in driving blinded ponies. The corrections were few, they were gentle and he or she never over-compensated.

I was in good shape. I still started getting short of breath. I could feel the ground start rising under my feet. We were moving uphill. We made several turns, first left, then right, then left. We changed direction maybe ten times. The longer the climb was, the more I got convinced that we were climbing the southern hill. Ponies pulling carts were obviously allowed there.

We stopped at a level area. I felt the vibration when they set the handbrake on the cart, effectively immobilizing me. I felt people getting off the cart. My boot hooves were clipped together, hobbling me. I stood there getting my breath back. The wind evaporated the sweat from my body.

I later figured out that I had been waiting for close to an hour. The cart moved as my passengers re-entered. Someone removed my hobble, the brake disengaged, then a pull on the left side of the bridle. I side-stepped until the pressure eased. Side stepping without the aid of the cart motor was hard work. The reins snapped gently on my shoulders, and I started pulling gently forward. I soon felt the cart start pushing me as the ground sloped downwards, but the cart recharging system soon kicked in and kept the push at a reasonable level. We navigated the same curves, I think. When we got back on level ground, the reins flicked, and I picked up speed.

Time passed. I enjoyed the run. I was happy to be running blindfolded and getting my commands from the reins. The wind was pleasant. The temperature almost ideal.

After a while I was brought gently to a halt, then backed up while turning right, then stopped. I felt people disembarking the cart, then nothing. Time passed, then a click, and the wagon shackles disengaged from my body harness while I got back sight and hearing at the same time.

I was alone, in a clearing by a house that looked inhabited. The cart was parked next to the house, and an electrical wire connected it to a wall socket on the house. I had heard about the charging stations, but never seen one.

Two paths left the clearing, one going north, one south. I headed north. Judging by the sun in the sky, it would be around midday. I fell back into a trot, enjoying every minute of freedom – did I just say that? Here I was in full pony gear, senses remotely controlled, monitored every second, obliged to follow any order – and I considered myself free? – That was most strange.

I burst out from the jungle behind the main building at high speed. I got a shock, but it took time for me to stop, so I got two more as I struggled to stop and get back out of the forbidden area. I was clearly not allowed to even approach the house. No sneaking into my own room. No snuggling with Brian. No relaxation by the pool. And absolutely no fancy pink umbrella drinks. I was in for 30 days. Today was day two.

Frustrated, I turned around and headed back the same way I came. In one of the clearings, I found a path going east towards the airstrip. I exited the jungle halfway down the runway and headed towards the hangar. A shock stopped me from even getting close to it, so I turned around, crossing the hidden runway to head towards the stables and the beach.

As I passed the stable a handler emerged, gently grabbed my bridle, clipped on reins, and led me to a green field where there was a sturdy bolt set into the ground. She clipped my leash to the bolt, turned off my vision and hearing, and I was plunged into darkness, silence, and immobility. I was not released until bedtime – or stable time – or whatever you called it. The meaningless tethering got me upset, but hey, I was a pony, I was the boss when not in pony gear, so who was I to complain? I gritted my teeth and drifted off to sleep.

One week passed. The days were almost identical. Sometimes I was called to pull carts. Sometimes they had cargo. Sometimes they had passengers. Sometimes I climbed the southern hill, sometimes not. No matter, I saw no evil, heard no evil, and could certainly speak no evil. I found out why they so much enjoyed leashing me out on the lawn: The place was in direct line of sight from the main patio of the main house. Nothing like a bit of gloating over one of the bosses chained down helpless. I tried to stay away from the stables area in the afternoons. That was not possible on the days I was driven there by the buzzers.

Three weeks to go. I bolted out of the stables and headed straight towards the south, along the beach. I made good speed and soon I was where the beach ended, and the cliffs met the sea. I headed right, into the jungle. I knew a path there that was rarely used, and certainly not fit for a cart. The path took me deeper into the jungle, and eventually up on a clearing on a plateau where the trees were replaced by bushes, and I had some view back down on the beach when I climbed the small cliff that raised from the center of the clearing.

I could see most of the northern part of the island from here. Several ponies were running on the beach. I could see some on the path to the airstrip. A few were around the stables – but wait! I counted. Then I counted again. Counting the ponies, I could see I came to forty-two. When I left the island to pick up the four last arrivals there had been twenty-five ponies on the island. That was odd. And those were just the ponies I could see. I would have to ask – eh – strike that: I could not ask.

I had found this place when I was roaming the island in my period as a captured ponygirl. I would go here whenever I had a chance and only stay until summoned in some way. It was my happy place, amidst all the tortures and degradation.

I sighed. Back then, each day was a fight, a fight to not be whipped, a fight to not be raped. Now my pony-life was a fight against monotony and boredom. I never wished the old days back, and I would rather have a month of boredom than the old abuse. But pony life was boring, no doubt. Because it was late in the season, the handler staff had mostly gone home. The competitions, the intensive training, the fight to be a better pony, I missed it all. This is just why I insisted that all handlers spent time in pony gear. The ponies rarely tell. They just trot on and on and on. I could easily see some of them getting bored.

The ones playing on the beach seemed to have at least some fun. I envied them. If I had joined them, they would all become careful and guided. I could not join them. I wished I could.

I heard sounds from the path and froze. If I moved an inch my bells would alert the ones approaching. There was no way I could move without setting off the bells. As they approached, I was deafened and blinded. I stood perfectly still, waiting for what might happen next.

After some minutes, my hearing and sight returned. They were the same men and women I had carted a week earlier. They had passed under the cliff I was on and were now continuing with their backs towards me. They had clearly not seen me. Not all look up when walking on a jungle path. That meant that my deafening and blinding must have been triggered by something they carried, some sort of beacon. I was tempted to test that theory, but my bells discouraged that. I had bells attached all over my harness. Brian has taken great pleasure in attaching a lot of extra bells on my gear. The loudest ones were the ones attached to my nipple rings. I absolutely hated those.

I waited until I could no longer hear them before I moved. I kept pushing further into the jungle in the direction they had come from, and soon emerged in a clearing. At first it seemed empty, but then I noted some trodden down plants. The tracks lead straight into a cliff side. Being aware of my GPS tracker, I did not look further, but instead exited the clearing as if I had seen nothing. I was soon back on the paved paths and followed them back towards the stable. As soon as I approached the stables, a handler emerged, leashed me, and took me out on the lawn of humiliation as I had named it for myself. I spent the rest of the day there, deaf, and blind.

The next week, they kept me hobbled with a one-foot hobble. Not enough to keep me from walking, but certainly enough to keep me from roaming far. I was starting to get bored out of my mind and tried to signal to the handlers that I had a lot of unused energy. That just earned me a swat on my butt. It must have had some effect though because the next morning they took me down to the whip circle. I spent half the day there, turning, stopping, starting at the command of the whip. Mind you, the whip never touched my body, but the crack of the whip sure kept me attentive. Any failure in posture was rewarded with a cane strike to my thighs or chest. It hurt, but it was far from what we had defined as “excessive force.”

They sure got the energy out of me, and after spending the afternoon as usual leashed on the green, I found out next morning that they no longer saw the need to hobble me. I was thrilled but decided not to test my newfound freedom. But something strange was going on here, and I was dead set on finding out. I just had no clue on how.

Chapter 5: The Hidden Island

I was getting energy out of me by running a lot – or galloping as it may be more appropriately named. I became faster and faster, and enjoyed the odd freedom of taking all my energy out on the paths. One day I noticed that a house previously occupied was now put in good order and had inhabitants. And I could of course not approach it without being shocked. Frustrated, I set off on the path, faster and faster. Then disaster struck. There must have been an unevenness in the path, and I fell forward. Unable to cushion the fall with my bound hands, I banged my bridled head into the ground. I did not pass out, but the blow knocked the wind out of me, and it took me a while to get back on my feet.

My head hurt, the front of my body was scratched up, my harness stained, and it felt like I had some blood in my face. I needed some help and tender loving care. I stumbled my way to the stables, where a genuinely concerned groom met me and helped me to the handling frame where she first secured me before she started removing my armbinder and harness. She left the head cage on though, to my bewilderment and started cleaning my scratches. Brian appeared with a key he used to unlock my head harness after warning me to not say a word. I guessed that it was the only key. It made me warm inside to know that Brian personally held on to that.

All my bruises turned out to be superficial. The head harness had taken off for the blow to my head and was a little bent, something Brian rapidly corrected. The island doctor turned up, examined me, and gave me an all clear. Soon thereafter I was back in the tack again and the fixed head harness locked my tongue immobile. I was told to take things easy and not run. They then released me from the frame and with a firm slap on my butt Brian sent me out of the stable. The slap stung and stayed with me as a burning sensation for the rest of the day. For some reason, it made me feel really aroused. Thankfully, they left me alone for the rest of the day.

The next morning was like all other mornings. Brian came while I was secured on the handling frame, examining the bruises of the day before. He had some news that I did not appreciate.

“Dear, it is low season. You, me, and all handlers must, as you originally insisted, spend each 12th month in tack. You really enjoyed it six months ago when I was in tack. It makes sense to extend your stay by another month, that way you have done next year’s ponying ahead of time. The board voted on it and that is how it is going to be. So dear, you are not halfway this time. You can thank me when you are ungagged in – oh I will not tell how many days remain. By now you have lost count of the days. That adds to the experience. And let us face it, you are enjoying yourself. You mostly roam the island and participate in the pony work. You hide out in inaccessible places. You are in great shape – apart from some bruises. In short, you behave the way a semi-wild pony would. So, you can thank me later for the extended pony life.”

The frame released me, I got a stinging slap on my butt and was sent out of the stables. Had I been able to say anything coherent, my words would not have been very lady-like.

Later that day, I was summoned for carriage duty. Like last time, my vision was blocked as I approached the people waiting by the carriage. But unlike last time, my hearing remained intact.

“You are sure she can’t hear us,” a lady’s voice asked.

“The head harness blocks all sound with noise reduction. It is automatic. When she is closer to this box than fifteen meters, the blocking functions kick in. That is why you should always carry your boxes with you.”

But I could hear. It dawned on me: The fall and the thump must have destroyed something in the bridle. The ear muffling no longer worked. They did not know, and I could not tell, blinded, and restrained as I was.

They attached me to the shackles and flicked my reins. A gentle right pull had me turn as I walked forwards. Soon we were going straight forward, and the reins flicked again. I could hear them talking behind me.

“I wonder what she thinks in her dark and silent world?”

“Most ponies do not think, they enter some sort of subspace where they just exist. They love being used.”

“I mean – she looks really hot the way she is restrained.”

“Well, if you think it is hot, why don’t you enlist for a month?”

I heard giggles.

“Nah, you would not dare, dear. We both know that.”

“I dare – it is just that I do not want to. Not like that. Not being treated like an … an … well animal.”

The other female voice spoke:” I have heard that they are in a state of sexual arousal all the time. I mean, well – with the chastity belt I guess they cannot get any relief until their time is over?”

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” said the other male voice.

Then there were some giggles, some pleasure shrieks, more giggling and I felt the cart rock before things settled down.

“Attack of the tickle monster,” I thought.

A firm pull on my reins brought me to a full stop. I felt one person disembark. Then there was the sound of hydraulics. As I was waiting, I dug one of my hooved feet into the ground, creating a mark. I was sure where we were, but I wanted to be able to be sure if I got back later. I was pulled forward by the reins and felt the sun disappear. We were inside something, hidden by a hydraulic door large enough to let a full dog cart with a pony pass through.

My passengers were silent as I pulled the cart further into the mountain. It was a long walk. I felt the sun on my body again. We must have passed right through the mountain. There were distant voices, the sound of hooved feet against cobblestone. An engine running. I was pulled to a stop. Someone disembarked the cart and hobbled my feet tightly. I heard the handbrake on the cart activated. Three more people disembarked.

I heard my passengers moving. They were facing away from me and there was a slight breeze blowing. I could only hear fragments of what they were saying: “… does not matter, what can she do if…,” “… not getting out…,” “the SEAL guy can be a problem…,” “… getting another pilot.” Then I heard no more voices for a long time. The sun warmed my skin, and soon I was covered in sweat from the heat. The breeze was welcome when it blew, but the time between the wind gusts was long.

My mind was running through feasible options, explanations, and solutions. I was looking at strengths and weaknesses. Weaknesses: I was in pony gear, unable to speak, blinded at the will of others when it suited them, no use of my hands. I had a GPS tracker in my harness. I was willing to bet that I had enough voltage packed in the harness to fry my body if my controllers so decided. On the strength side: I could hear but the controllers did not know.

In military terms: I was outgunned and outnumbered. Now by the words of Master Sun, the author of “Art of war,” all I needed to do was to find a way to turn my opponents’ strength against them, then apply my greatest strength against their weakest point. Thank you so much Master Sun. You could not have been a bit more specific?

Ideas came and left my head. They all stranded on the fact that I could not use my hands, nor speak. I kept going in circles and failed to notice that my passengers had come back. My hobble was untied, the reins snapped. The bit was pulled back with more pull on the left side. I sidestepped until the pressure eased. Without sight it was hard to tell, but it was a simple guess that we had turned 180 degrees.

We left the sunlight again. The air of the cavern was cool against my body. Hoof sounds echoed from the walls. After a while we stopped again, I heard hydraulics operate, I was moved forward a bit, then I was out in the sunlight. Behind me the hydraulics were operating again.

The reins flicked, and I started moving forward. They kept me at walking speed. In between I had direction corrections from the reins. Nobody in the cart spoke on what I later learned was the return to the pickup point.

I did not sleep that night. There had to be a way to firstly get out of the tack, secondly to communicate with what seemed like my only ally, Brian – that I assumed was the one they referred to when mentioning “the SEAL.”

It was when I was on the handling frame that it dawned on me: I could not speak, but I could communicate. The trick was to communicate in a way that only Brian would understand. The answer was simple: Morse code. I knew Brian liked watching me on the “lawn of humiliation” and I knew a former SEAL would know Morse code. The question was just if I remembered enough of it to make sense. Using SOS would be too obvious. Almost anyone knows that sequence. Besides, as I was blinded when put on the lawn, I had no idea who may be watching. I had to make a simple message, one that could be repeated many times. One that did not have me look like I was having a seizure. And most important: One that let Brian understand that this was not just a trick for me to get out of tack.

“911” would be a good start. Nine is four dashes and one dot. One is one dot and four dashes. Phew, I still remembered that. What else? “Hidden plot”? I remembered “H,” simple – four dots. “I,” also simple: Two dots. I was unsure about the “D.” One dash and two dots or two dots and one dash? I had no clue. But hey, I remember “U” and that was two dots and a dash. So “D” had to be a dash and two dots. “E” was simple, one dot. But what was “N”?

It was lucky that I spent the day out on the lawn. It gave me time to reconstruct the morse alphabet in my head. I ended up with a simple message: “911 must talk no tricks” or as they say in Morse: “Dash dash dash dash dot - dot dash dash dash dash – dash dash dot – dot dot dash – dot dot dot – dash – dash – dot dash – dot dash dot dot – dash dot dash – dash dot – dash dash dash – dash – dot dash dot – dot dot – dash dot dash dot – dot dash dot – dot dot dot.” And I even found the perfect transmitter: My nipple bells. I could shake my breasts and use that as a morse signal. All onlookers unskilled in Morse code would simply believe I was bored and was putting on a show of sorts.

I could feel the sun low on the horizon. It was showtime. I had no clue if anyone were watching, so I just had to keep on repeating the message. If not this day, eventually Brian would notice. He was not stupid. I just hoped nobody else would understand the message.

The evening ritual went as normal. No sign of Brian. I fell asleep cursing him for only looking at my breasts and not listening to the sound the bells made.

I was very groggy when I was woken up. As if I had only slept a short while. I was taken to the handling frame and secured there. When my blindfold was deactivated, I realized that it was pitch dark outside. Brian slapped my butt.

“This better be good, pony, or I will give you a whipping like none you have ever had,” said Brian as he unlocked my bit. I tried to speak, but it was hard to form words.

“Speak up pony, stop mumbling,” he said and gave my butt another stinging slap.

Once my voice was working again, I started to give him the full story. It was the first time I spoke in over a month, so the words flowed like a busy spring river. Brian stopped me after the first few sentences.

“It is time we gag you again, pony,” he said and quickly attached the gag. I cried out in protest, but the frame held me steady and there was little I could do but snort and try to stamp my foot.

Brian disappeared for a bit. I was totally puzzled, absolutely raving angry and tried to make sense of things. When he returned, he held up a piece of paper with the text:

”Microphone in the harness, let me play this. Follow my lead.” I nodded. He started speaking again:

“Poor you, more than a month in tack has made you delusional. I will take you to the psych ward. Please do not make this harder on yourself.”

He unstrapped my corset and harness, freed my arms, but quickly put them into a very sturdy leather straight-jacket. He then undid my boots and replaced them with connected ankle cuffs. I only now noticed that the straight jacket had a hood, attached to the chest. He pulled it over my head and laced it in the back.

Before he released me from the handling frame, he tightened all the straps. The hood was already getting quite claustrophobic even before the tightening. He leashed me and led me out of the stable, blindfolded, and helpless. My bare feet could only take baby steps. I was obviously too slow for Brian’s liking, so he effortlessly picked me up and carried me over his shoulder.

As he started walking, he said: “Listen – we must do things this way, sorry. I was not really thinking you had anything important, but I admired your morsing. Quite brilliant. People were applauding the concert you made with your nipple bells. You started to blurt out everything you knew – with an open microphone nearby. I had to react like I was part of the plot you described. So now I am taking you to the psych ward. You may not enjoy that, but at least it is time out of pony gear. After a day or two of “treatment” you will be returned to the herd as a fully locked down pony. You must believe me when I say I am on the case regarding the things here that are not right, like the rigged vote to give you two straight months in pony-gear, the activities on the other side of the mountain and the new people that have arrived. But I am severely outgunned here so I must play my cards right. And now I must shut up as we approach the psych ward.”

“Hi, here she is, easy pickup,” said Brian. “I assume you listened to that little talk in the stable,” Brian said and set me down. Some hands grabbed me, placed me on something, tightened a load of straps and left me for a while. I was kneeling with something between my legs. I felt an injection in my thigh. Two vibrating dildos pressed themselves into me. I screamed inside my hood. Soon vibrations rushed through my body, and I felt the first orgasm in over a month start building. Just as I was about to peak, strong shocks pulsed from the dildos and brought me down, crashing the orgasm. At the same time, I started seeing abstract patterns and strange colors, even if I was still hooded.

The vibrators sped up again, and soon I was on my way to orgasm heaven once more in a firework of colors and shapes, only to be stopped just short by painful shocks. Then the procedure repeated. I was so sore, I was nauseated, I screamed and pleaded for mercy. I cursed. I threatened. I screamed. But there was no mercy. I went up and down again in a frenzy of feelings and impressions. Things started blurring. I felt myself hanging from the shoulder straps. Freezing water jets hit me, bringing me back from the brink of merciful unconsciousness.

I have no idea how long I was in there. The next thing I remember was being back in the stall. I gradually woke up feeling the all too familiar straw beneath me. My head was in something, I had no idea of what. I later learned that it was a leather horse’s head. I could not see anything. I heard nothing. My arms were back in the armbinder, my feet in boot hooves. My vagina and rectum felt like they were on fire. The worst was that I could not form any coherent thoughts. Images kept flashing in and out my field of vision.

I somehow managed to get on my feet. I was later told that getting up had taken me most of a day. I had tried, stumbled, laid down, got back on my side, like a newborn calf with motoric disabilities. Yes, the sadists had been watching my struggles without even attempting to help me.

When I finally managed to get up, I was drenched in sweat. Standing was difficult, so I pressed my back against a wall. I heard the rattling of a chain. The chain brought me to a stop before I could fully stand up. I cursed and passed out.

Again, my memory fails me. At one point, I started forming coherent thoughts. Brian told me later that it had taken five days. During those days they had fed and watered me through hoses from the outside of the horse’s head. Wastes had been cleared. I realized that the horse head had no eye openings. I had no idea how to get it off. I was later told that it had a titanium skeleton that was riveted to a posture collar around my neck. It was not made for removal without some serious tools.

Since I could not see, I could not roam either. Sometimes they led me by my bridle outside. Sometimes they shackled me to a cart and drove me around the island. I had no idea where we went. I felt the chill of the tunnel a few times, but I really existed in a big, black void where my only connection with the outer world was through my reins and corrections with a cane.

Chapter 5, revelations

One morning I woke up to the sound of power tools. Someone was cutting off the metal frame of my horse’s head. As I regained sight, I struggled to focus. The sunlight hurt my eyes. I was on a handling frame, but the stable doors were all open, letting the tropical sun in without any filtering.

With the horse head skeleton removed, all that was left was my collar and iron bands that had gone up to the horse’s head but now were cut about halfway. I sensed a man near me but could not get my eyes to focus. There was little fight left in me.

A large tool was put to the side, and a smaller one brought out. Whoever was handling me used the small tool to cut off a hinge from the collar, allowing it to be completely removed. I still could not see any details in the person close to me, but the overall body size indicated a woman.

I was left alone, still attached to the frame, still with the bit in my mouth. I drifted in and out of some sleep-like state.

“Wakey, wakey sleeping beauty!” It was Brian. He accentuated his words with a stinging slap to my buttocks. He took off the corset and quickly released me from the frame, put a leash on my bit and pulled me out of the stable. He did not say a word, and I could not say a word. We walked on sand along the coast. My vision was gradually getting better. After a while, he turned into the jungle, following a path that I had never seen before. I assumed the start of it must have been well hidden. After minutes, we came to a clearing with a small house like the other houses I had seen on the island. He pulled me inside and removed my bit.

“Coffee?” he asked. Oh, did I want coffee? You bet! But first I wanted to strangle Brian to a slow death for the treatment he had given me and the days he waited to come free me.

“Before you kill me, you may want to listen a bit,” he said. I granted him a stay of execution, as I also wanted to know what was going on. And who knew? There might be mitigating circumstances.

“First of all – when you blurted out your findings with the microphone in your tack still on, I had to react the way I did. You see, there are fractions in the big house: I am trying to navigate in that mess of agreements, betrayal and lies. You have not spoken in days, so I suggest you shut up and listen by the way.”

Brian removed my bit and held a cup of freshly brewed coffee to my lips. It smelled heavenly and I drank, enjoying every sip. I decided to let Brian live a little longer.

“The finances of the island are in shambles. There still is money in the funds, but that will not last many years at the current spending rate. An initiative was taken to correct that. The initiative caused a split, about half wanted to cut costs and tough it through the tough times, the other half were thrilled with the new business proposition, which they guessed you would be strongly opposed to. They timed it to coincide with your yearly time in tack and even had that extended to the second month as you noticed. It is the pro prisoner fraction that has now taken over the island. The short version of the suggested initiative is that they offered keeping long term prisoners, lifers, here – in tack – as an alternative to an expensive cell on the continent.”

I tried to scream “What,” but it sounded more like something spoken by a Dutch baby that had not learned to speak properly but was imitating sounds.

“Exactly. There was an old harbor south of the southern mountain. They upgraded this harbor. It is too far from the main area for anyone to notice. They also blinded the radar on that side of the mountain. And they already knew that a plane approach would not fly over the harbor because of the height of the mountain to the north. They started this about half a year ago. That is when the fractions started. It has been political hell in the large house since then.

The tunnel through the mountain was already there. Most of it is natural, the rest was built and used as a bomb shelter during WW2, so they just cleaned that up a bit. They put all prisoners that arrive here in the horses’ heads with the titanium alloy frame in addition to the normal tack. You really can not recognize them once they are rigged. A few of them protest, but eventually they all break and adapt to life as unspeaking horses. You can yourself vouch for the security of that head. They never get to use their hands, they are kept mostly blind, they cannot speak. After the initial conditioning, they are free to roam the island. It can be debated how free they are though. They all have shockers on them, and those shockers leave burn marks if used at the highest voltage settings. They quickly learn to obey.

They have mixed prisoners, pony tourists and resident ponies. None of the ponies have any clue as to the status of other ponies. But as some of the prisoners are violent criminals, it increases the need for good handling procedures and extremely high security.

An unexpected problem arose that caused and causes practical problems. Prisoners tend to have prison or gang tattoos. If the prisoner arrives too heavily covered in tattoos, they have those removed by laser – to the protests of the soon-to-be ponies. Otherwise, it would be too easy to spot them. Anyhow – any flight risk is before they are “ponified” – and there have been incidents already. Nothing that could not be managed. It is still a cause for concern.”

“Who was that idiot that thought it was a clever idea to mix innocent ponies with hardened criminals?” My voice was hoarse and rasping, but at least I could speak a little.

“I am not sure who got the idea, but it quickly turned out to be profitable. You get paid a lot to keep a prisoner in a maximal security facility, which by the way this has been rated as. Not all prisoners are suitable for this form of imprisonment, and some have relatives that absolutely would object to the treatment. But of the prisoners that get here, almost all prefer the island to a traditional cell, and those that do not, can always be sent back. They have no clue where they have been, and if they start talking about this place, most just see them as having turned insane. Besides, the pre-screening they have introduced is effective in weeding out those that will not fit here.

The horse’s heads were an idea to make sure they remained anonymous here, but the titanium frame with the riveting turned out to be a bit problematic. So, we made an updated version that has secure locks instead. You will try that later.” Brian smirked. “Still a few days left of your term. They are not letting you go easier, despite being the boss.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Now – do not make gestures like that. They may extend your stay as a pony. One of the fractions inside the pro-prisoner fraction is totally against releasing you at all. Do not give them arguments for keeping you in tack. Anyhow – this is where I live. For now, none of the fractions know where I stand, which gives me some freedom here. I agree with you that having hard core criminals here is at best risky. But then there is the question about money. There is a meeting – well actually two – going on now. That is what gave me a window of opportunity to take you for a walk. I also want to prepare you for the battles you will be dropped in the middle of when you are released – if you are released.” Brian smirked while saying that. “Any questions?”

“Yes, please free my hands so I can strangle you!” It did not sound like a threat.

“Your hands stay in the armbinder. That is best for all. Now I am going to put one of the new models of the horse’s head on you. I have modified it so I can communicate securely with you if needed, however your ability to speak will still be limited by the bit. That stays, so open wide!”

Before I could protest, the spoon bit was in my mouth, the head straps tight and I was unable to speak. Next came the horse’s head. Inside there was a view screen in front of my eyes. Brian had carefully gathered my hair in a ponytail and fed it through a vent in the back of the helmet. It now hung down my back, and I was sure it would become a constant annoyance to me. Heavily padded muffs pressed against my ears, shutting out the sounds of the jungle. I heard a click, a hiss and the insides of the head inflated to keep my head in a tight grip. I felt a rush of panic, but quickly calmed down once it became clear that the helmet was not going to crush my head.

“Can you hear me? Please stomp once if you can,” I heard Brian say clearly. The viewscreen came to life and I could see him standing in front of me. As I turned my head the picture changed too. Great, I was in VR goggles. With all the possibilities that offered to mess with me. I stomped twice.

“Yeah, right, you clever little minx. You heard me. You may be thinking that the goggles are of the virtual reality type, but they are in fact augmented reality or AR goggles. As you can see you have text in your field of view. If you run, you will see the speed and directions and sometimes even a map overlay. But when you approach the mountain and the harbor, it will show a solid brick wall. If you pass the wall, you will get serious shocks, shocks that increase in intensity until you go back. You will also see nothing beyond the wall. You have been warned.”

I was back on the lawn of shame, tethered to the bolt in the middle, but I could no longer see the house, just a solid brick wall. Obviously more than the mountain was masked out in the AR system. Someone came into my field of vision through the brick wall and untethered me. As they went back through the brick wall, I was suddenly surrounded by brick walls on all sides. The walls started where the lawn ended. I remembered what Brian had said and refrained from testing the shocking functionality. Then the walls started moving in on me. They stopped when I had just enough space to kneel on the lawn, but if my upper body swayed, I heard a warning tone that I assumed would be followed by a shock. I decided to keep a perfect posture. No doubt people were watching from the area I could not see beyond the wall. I knew how straining perfect kneeling can be and was not looking forward to the rest of the day.

I had feared that the helmet would be warm and stuffy like the previous horse head, but there was air circulation inside, and it felt nice and cool. They must have put in ventilation pipes in the padding. As I learned the limits of my movements, I was getting aroused. Being so extremely tightly controlled turned me on in a big way. It took an increasingly harder effort to keep still. I suspected my thighs were glistering from moisture. I pushed those thoughts away. I had to concentrate on keeping very still. The warning tone kept reminding me of that. Besides, there was no way I could get the additional stimulation needed to have an orgasm. I had to sit still and stew.

Judging by the shadows on the lawn, it was evening when a hole opened in the wall, and I could see the paths to the stables. I wasted no time in getting to my feet. I was stiff from holding the kneeling pose so long, my knees hurt, and I was shocked at how easily I was now controlled. The walls let me enter my box before I got a ceiling that prevented me from anything but to lay flat down. OK, I got it. I am sure even a hardened criminal could be easily controlled when wearing the upgraded pony gear. I wanted to sit up but decided to stay down. Soon my ears were filled with white noise. Time for a nap. Or not. I heard Brian’s voice:

“As you can see, security is well maintained even on violent prisoners that are locked up. There is no escape. Moving the virtual walls around the prisoners can force them to go where we want them. Now you have experienced this for yourself and will feel it over the next weeks before you are released.”

I tried to protest but could not form words thanks to the bit.

“My concern is not about those criminals that are on the island, but on those that are not. Many criminals belong to groups, most of them have families. This island is not defended as a prison. There are no armed guards. Hell – they even have disabled the ship radar at times and in zones to work undetected. What if someone comes to free their group or family member? They sure will come prepared. There are commercial and updated satellite images available for the island. There are two excellent points of entry: The hidden harbor and the one in front of the main building. We barely can defend one against even a lightly armed group.

Let us for a moment forget the international conventions that we violate, let us ignore the US constitution and its amendments – let us just look at defense:

One: We need air space protection. Modern air space protection. That will cost a lot of money. Two: We need good sea protection. I mean artillery and torpedoes. That will cost even more money. Three: We need surveillance equipment with enough range to see an enemy before they can see us. Again, that costs a lot. Four: We need ground forces with training, equipment, and ammunition. Add up the costs of all this, and the prisoners end up costing us money.

Are the members of that fraction stupid? I would say no. They just do not know what it takes to defend this island. They think that a guard or two plus a few alarm systems and in their ignorance, they put innocent lives at stake. They think we can stay hidden forever here. We cannot, not if someone really tries to find us. Some prisoners are sent back. Last week we had one that had his case reopened and had his conviction overthrown. There will soon be talks about this place. There will be people looking for us. And they will eventually find us.”

Brian paused. I contemplated what he had said, I was aware that running the island was expensive. I knew our financial resources were limited. I fully accepted that keeping people here with violent friends was highly risky, which is why I had reacted when I heard about it in Brian’s cottage.

Brian continued: “The alternative is simple: We must market the island better towards BDSM and D/s groups. There are people in these groups that have the means to pay as well as the desire to try out pony life. It requires more work but is true to the spirit of the island. Now think about this while you sleep. See you tomorrow. You need exercise, and I will personally take you on the great carted tour of the entire island.”

The box closed around me. I had to lay down flat. Tossing and turning in my sleep was not a clever idea. Still, it felt safe. I was fully controlled by others. Life was simple. All I had to do was keep inside the walls, pull a cart when ordered – and that was the end of my worries. Or it could have been, had I not known of the threats brought to the island by the reluctant guests, the ponies that had to always stay fully under control. They ruined the island. I was absolutely going to stop this when I was back as a human again. If I was ever allowed out.

I realized that the concerns I had were not shared by the voluntary visitors. They existed in blissful ignorance. Life was simple for them. Some wanted to stay here forever. Some wanted to just experience being heavily controlled for a while, like the feeling I had experienced. If I exploded once I was out of my pony gear, would I destroy the island? If we sent back our reluctant guests, how long would it take before the island became widely known? What if our reluctant guests did not want to go back to a normal prison life? I assumed that would be a problem in the USA, but at the same time I suspected that most of them were not from the USA. One question was really: What contracts had we signed, and with which governments or institutions?

I did not sleep quietly but tossed and turned. Each time I moved I heard a beep. So, I kept still. Then I drifted back to sleep, had a dream, and moved again. It would be a long night.

Chapter 6, back to the roots

The next days were really interesting. They used the walls to drive me around the island, sometimes walking at a speed that would cause slugs to overtake, sometimes running as faster than I thought I could. I had several contacts with the walls, contacts that had me screaming in pain and desperately scrambling to get inside the walls again. The pain was way beyond erotic for me. It was just pure agony. When the walls moved, so did I.

Some days I could be stuck in one place most of the day when the walls closed in on me. Other days were spent running around the island at full speed, always running away from the wall that kept closing in from behind. I cursed, pleaded, kicked, screamed – to no avail. If they were listening to the sounds from my helmet, they really did not care.

Then came the day when the walls moved aside, allowing me passage to the mansion. Inside the mansion, the walls kept on moving in on me, forcing me into the big assembly hall. They let me hear, so I could hear many voices around me. But the walls prevented me from seeing the people behind the voices. To add insult to injury, a shadowy figure came through the wall and clipped a leash to my harness. The figure had me kneel, then shortened the leash so I was held with my upper body sloping towards the floor. If I had been able to see through the walls, I would only have seen feet.

“This hearing is now in session. The purpose of the hearing is to decide if Fluffy shall be released from her pony restraints and allowed to resume her duties on the island board. We will hear evidence to her actions as of late. We will hear about her crimes against the island and how she may put the island in danger should she be freed. But first we bring in her fellow accomplice, the one previously known as Brian.”

I heard hooves on the floor and felt and saw in my peripheral vision that Brian was all ponied up and forced to kneel like me. From the guttural sounds he made I could tell that he was not happy.

“As the facts of the hearing are already clear, and as the two accused are restricted from speaking, we will make this session short. Both are found to be conspiring against the Pony Alliance. They are a danger to our lifestyle and will be placed in internal exile. To avoid further conspiracies, they will not be allowed to be closer to each other than two hundred meters. This sentence will last for two years, after which a new hearing will be held and the situation will be reassessed. I do not want any of these two to be conspiring in any way, nor have any contact over the next two years. Now take them away! This hearing is adjourned!”

I was released and brutally pulled to my feet. I got a glimpse of Brian getting the same treatment. What happened next, baffled me: We were chained together with a short chain attached to our harnesses. There was no way we could move away from each other. Then they turned on the enforced distance separation. I heard the beeps and knew what was coming. Brian knew as well. We pulled hard on the chain, but it held. Then the shocking started.

The first shock hit my nipples, I bucked and groaned, but there was no getting away. Brian was much stronger than me and pulled hard to break the chain, but the result was that I was pulled off my feet as I got a shock through my clit. Brian dragged me away by the chain to my head harness, but unless the chain broke, there was no way to get the required distance to stop the shocks.

Around us people were not only cheering but also lashing out on us with whips. We rolled, groaned, got on our feet, were down again – and the mob was enjoying themselves. I eventually passed out but woke up when a bucket of ice water was thrown over me. I was next to Brian. The chain had been disconnected. The shocks were still coming, and I got on my feet, saw an opening in the virtual wall around me, and started running down the offered corridor as fast and far as I could while the shocks got gradually weaker.

Two things were clear to me: I could not even get close to Brian again, and I was helpless in the new pony gear. My hope was now on the next hearing in two years. Meanwhile I would have to be as well behaved as possible if I were to stand any chance of being released.

I tried to sit down but got shocked. I screamed: How was I supposed to sleep when I could not even sit down? Maybe sleep and sitting hours were regulated? I needed to figure that out like so many other things in my new life. I got an idea. I could not approach Brian, but maybe I could somehow leave him a message? I tried writing in the sand with my hoof. While I did this, the walls had closed in on me. As soon as I had written a word, the word was blurred on my viewscreen. This was going to be two very long years.