Gromet's PlazaPonyGirl/PetGirl Stories

The Pony Revolution

by Daxter

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© Copyright 2021 - Daxter - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; M+F+/f; fpov; ponygirl; gag; bit; collar; electro; outdoors; training; cons; X

Continues from

Chapter 4: Life at Nowhere Island

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

“New routine, the 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 have to 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 awoken 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 sounds 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. This was normal. The GPS-es in our armbinders would give away our location, and we could be easily summoned with the buzzers inside the corset and in the collar. 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. You never knew who was watching.

I rounded a sharp corner on the path and entered a clearing. I had been to the 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 south 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 towards the south point. 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 dog cart 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, the earphones shut out all sound. It was therefore impossible for me to hear what they were talking about. 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 brunette. 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 electric 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 got on the cart. My blinders closed, so 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 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.

One week had passed, three 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 light 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. 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 to not 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.


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