Chapter 1: The Events That Led To The Revolution
The revolution happened about a year after I arrived at pony island. The operation was far from legitimate. 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.
As you may guess, there were two ways to get to 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 the 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. 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 off to allow enough space for the huge building. Lush gardens surrounded the buildings.
The airstrip was another 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. It took about 10 minutes to ready the air strip for landing.
The strip 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, each with its own theme and attraction. I will get back to these later.
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. 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 was extensively belled, so any 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.
Somewhere in our gear there was a GPS tracker. If we did not follow orders, we were shocked. If we were not fast enough, we were shocked. We were left free to roam the island but 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 really 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 retained 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.
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 then, but after a year of exercise and diet, I had become stunning. They took good care of us physically, lotions, sunscreen, taking care of any scratches from jungle plants. There was a daily routine. We slept with headphones that prevented us from communicating even if the bits were removed for sleeping. So 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. But I am rambling, and you are probably bored by now. Let us talk about the rebellion.
It all started when 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 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: “20 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 was really thrilled. 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 have 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. This 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 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 bit, Thumper could speak, 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, if the bells had not already given him away. He also knew that he could be incapacitated at any time with 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, the rest of the bridle was cut off, 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. He spent time watching the house before he picked his first target. 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 lessens, 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: Blocking the door.
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. I guessed that they needed time to get used to their newfound freedom. I later learned that guessing can be a very dangerous activity.
We found a small tractor digger 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 sound track kept looping.