EXTRACT FOR
The New Pony
(Miranda Birch)

One rather chilly evening, not long after his first introduction to life on the Estate, Rob found himself standing naked before the head of the stables, Margie. Margie was a big old bird, and the skin-tight riding breeches she wore did nothing to flatter her figure. Her fat, lined, heavily made-up face was cruel. She was strong and experienced, and all the ponies under her charge were quite simply terrified of her. 



The big woman looked at Rob appreciatively. The new boy, she saw, was shivering with apprehension, and had been crying; was trying not to cry now. Nothing unusual about that. None of the slaves on Mistress Lucy's Estate relished the idea of being sent to the Stables. And that was very understandable indeed! The life of a pony-boy was a hard one, even harder than that for the run-of-the-mill slaves. And for a novice slave, well... Margie gave a cruel smile. She didn't often get to break in a boy new to the whole world of slavery. This was going to be a lot of fun! 



Her orders came thick and fast: 



"Stand up!" 



"Legs well astride!" 



"Hands on top of your head!" 



Rob obeyed without hesitation. Despite his inexperience, he was already well used to that, and only too well aware of the consequences of hesitating even slightly before carrying out an order. Podgy hands ran over hmm. Fondled and mauled him. His bottom was suddenly smacked. 



"Stop snivelling, boy." 



"I . . . I'm so sorry, Mistress . . . but . . . I . . . I'm s-so . . . frightened ..." 



Two more smacks. 



"Silence, boy!" 



Rob gritted his teeth and endured the examination. 



"Not bad at all," he heard Margie saying, almost to herself. "Good build ... fine muscular thighs ... nice solid chest. I reckon we'll make a first-rate Pony out of you." 



The hand then squeezed Rob's buttocks hard. 



"Good bottom, too. That'll look well in motion." 



Rob shuddered uncontrollably and a sob burst from him. Margie appeared quite unconcerned. 



"What stall is he to go to?" asked Daphne, one of Margie's two female assistants. 



"Number Four is vacant. That's one of Lisa's isn't it?" 



"Yes ... her other Pony's Highlander." 



"Fine." Margie turned back to Rob. "Bend over and touch your toes," she ordered. 



Rob did so. Margie took a long look at the muscular body at full stretch. She liked them young and shy and frightened. She reckoned she'd pay a visit to Number Four a little later on! Then she un-looped the riding crop from her belt and waved it before Rob's face. 



"Now," she said, "Ponies do not ever talk. They just neigh and then either nod or shake their head. If they DO talk, they feel this." 



The crop whip-lashed down and a shriek of agony erupted from Rob at the unexpected cut which raised a vivid red-purple welt across his bottom. He twisted this way and that, clasping at his buttocks. Just in time, he found strength and will to bend over again. 



"Understand?" asked Margie. 



"Yes, Mistress," replied Rob automatically. Only a few days on the Estate, and already he knew the right answer. But here it was the WRONG answer! 



Again the crop fell, even harder this time. Another weal was raised, another agonised shriek was forced out. Rob squirmed in pain. 



"Didn't you hear me?" bellowed Margie. 



Rob almost spoke again. Then, bitterly feeling the utter degradation of it, he nodded his head and made the best 'neighing' noise he could instead. 



"Louder!" said Margie. 



Rob neighed louder, again nodding his head. It was his very first lesson in the cruel world of the Stables! 



Margie nodded smugly. The poor lad looked utterly humiliated. Marvellous! What fun she was going to have with this one! But there was plenty of time for that...