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 can’t 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 have to 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 on and on. 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 gag 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 can’t 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 can not hold firearms and 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 judgement 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 can’t 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,l 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…