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; outdoors; training; cons; X

Continues from

Chapter 5: The Hidden Island

I was beginning to lose track of time, but I think two weeks and a day or two had passed. 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 before I was released 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. I had started losing count of the days. I knew I had done half of my month. But the days were blurring together after that. Brian came while I was secured on the handling frame, and examined 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 will 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 carry your boxes with you at all times.”

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 put to use.”

“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 can’t 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 fairly sure where we were, but I wanted to be able to be absolutely 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 failed 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 directional 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 Morsish: “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. 

This was to last for thirteen days after I first managed to stand up. Each day I felt my mind lose some connection with reality.


To be continued…

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