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The characters and situations of this story are entirely imaginary. It is intended for adults who take pleasure in ponygirl and interracial lesbian fantasies. If this subject offends you, please don’t start reading.
Chapter One: A course for ponygirls
Her dark skin would look perfect in a pink or green harness. Cathy couldn’t help imagining what it might feel like. Would it be hot or cool? Would it be soft to the touch or more like leather? She had to know, that was all there was to it! And her lips! Oh God! Cathy could see them spread by a pink nylon bit, with the corners pulled back to show the lovely white teeth. Naked and harnessed, that ebony would be the talk of the town.
At first, Sabel wasn’t aware that the teacher was watching her, but when her eyes caught Cathy’s for the first time, the black girl blinked at the intensity of that gaze. It was the first day of the course, and the teacher was sitting on a high stool, with her legs crossed.
Like the majority of the girls in that classroom, Sabel came from the lower layers of Auronian society. Since the foundation of the New State fifty-seven years ago, that Central America country had gone through profound changes. The Old Order, based as everywhere on greed and on the fight for money, had produced misery and suffering for the people, while a few enjoyed the privileges and pleasures brought by richness. At the turn of the century, however, the situation had become intolerable because of the natural catastrophes that shook the planet. Famine and illnesses ensued and, as in many other countries, in Auronia the Old Order was brought to an end by a series of popular upheavals. A more enlightened regime took over, under the wise supervision of intelligent and socially minded women, and in a few decades the country progressed more than in three hundred years of male rule.
The system was an original combination of rigid hierarchy and efficient mechanisms of social mobility, based on merit and hard work. Everyone was expected to take pride in his or her “Station In Life”, as the various levels were called, and perform the tasks associated with it to the best of their capabilities. From the First Station Ladies, who owned the farms and were responsible for growing food – this being the reason for the consideration everybody paid to them – to the last Breeder in the Seventh Station, every citizen was respected and his or her work honored as essential to the well-being of the entire nation.
Sabel was nineteen years old. Her mother, a former member of the Fourth Station – which included moderately skilled people working in all sorts of small companies – had lost her position because of sloppy work that had caused damage to the clients of the firm. In spite of repeated admonishments, she had not mended her ways and had been sent to a Breeding Farm, where Sabel was born. These Farms had been instituted in the first days of the New State to give a useful function to female members of the former élite, not used to work and who of course hated the New State and all it stood for. The Council had decided that even so they deserved a place in society: they would procreate, and in this way help to increase the number of workers, sorely depleted after the enormous devastation that marked the end of the Old Order.
The children to which these women gave birth, however, were citizens of Auronia, and had the same rights as everybody else. According to the new laws, they had to begin their productive life either in the Sixth or in the Fifth Station. Those in the Sixth were charged with cleaning – sanitation, street sweeping, garbage collecting and processing, and similar tasks. The Fifth Station – about half of the country’s population – comprised activities not requiring special skills, such as farm labor, house building, road conservation and so on. Although employed in manual services, these men and women were as respected as those holding positions in the upper Stations: every job, however humble, was seen as essential to the prosperity of the nation.
The destiny of children born from Breeders was decided according to the needs in each type of work. After three years of basic schooling, Sabel had been designated for the sanitation services. A steel circlet was welded on her left ankle, showing her identification number – 6 SL 4.760.442 – and the date – 25 G (for Geranium) 50 (meaning the fiftieth year of the New Era). The law required her to spend seven years in the Sixth Station before being allowed to take exams leading into other Stations. If she succeeded, she would receive a position in the Station she had been tested for. Otherwise she would stay in the Sixth, but could apply for more interesting jobs anytime she wanted to, as examinations were regularly offered.
For six years, Sabel scrubbed diligently the floors of a hospital in a provincial town. As she excelled in her tasks, she received a “Very Worthy” mention and was transferred to a post kartal escort bayan in Charissa, the beautiful capital of Auronia. Five months ago, she had completed her mandatory seven years and got a license to present herself for upgrading examinations. Her dream was to jump into the Fourth Station, which housed moderately skilled workers of all sorts, and become a salesgirl – or even a secretary, like her mother had been.
She tried very hard, going to the public library after her shift and burying herself in the books. But she had stopped studying seven years ago, and didn’t pass the test. She wept bitter tears, but raised her head and decided that she would prepare for an easier test. After all, jobs in the Fifth Station didn’t require any special skills.
Among the functions in the Fifth Station, one had captured Sabel’s imagination since she had discovered its existence: ponygirls. In her childhood she had known ponyboys, as all the transport of produce from the fields was done by human equines, but until she began working in a town she had never imagined that girls could pull carts. Sabel weighed her options and realized that it was almost impossible for her to reach the Fourth Station. But becoming a ponygirl was perfectly possible. She read carefully the old posters on the public ad boards and discovered that candidates had to pass a preliminary interview to evaluate their physical fitness; if approved, they were offered a free six-week course to prepare for the examinations. So she took to jogging to improve her stamina, and day after day she screened the ads, looking out for those offering ponygirl courses.
A few months later, one was announced. Sabel’s persistence was rewarded: she was approved in the interview, and waited eagerly for the first class, which was scheduled for next Monday. Sabel’s heart had beaten quicker as she took her place in the front row of the classroom. She breathed deeply and opened the notebook she had bought especially for that class.
The blonde lady waited until five minutes after starting time and wrote her name on the board: “Miss Cathy”. There were gasps in the room because of her clothing. She was wearing a shiny black leather bikini bottom and a matching leather vest, with a silver clip holding it closed just below her bust line. Her skin was such a contrast to Sabel’s, revealed so strikingly against the black of the costume. Her ponytail spread out and waved over her back as she wrote.
Cathy’s bottom was firm and round, with strong white thighs going down into tall black boots. A crop hung from the side of her bikini and waved as she wrote the name of the class: PONYGIRL INSTRUCTION. She turned to the students and noticed that a very attractive black girl was looking intently at her. Sabel suddenly looked up, embarrassed to be caught staring. The blonde woman just smiled and looked around the room at the other students. She unhooked the riding crop, tapped into her hand and began to call names.
A small pale-looking girl said something in a barely audible voice. Cathy clapped the riding crop loudly on her desk.
Jenny squirmed, raised her hand and said, “Here!” The teacher clapped louder on the desk – “It is Here, Miss Cathy!” – and stared at Jenny.
“Here, Miss Cathy!” the pale girl repeated. Cathy smiled and went on down the list. She guessed that the lovely dark-skinned girl must be Sabel. She looked into her eyes very directly and almost whispered her name, waiting for the right answer.
“Yes, Miss Cathy!” Sabel said softly, making the way they looked into each other’s eyes even more sensual while the rest of the class leaned to hear.
“Thank you, Sabel!”
Something had passed between them, a kind of electric current. Cathy finished calling the names, took a small stack of papers in her hands and motioned for Sabel to come forward. The ebony was wearing the regulation shorts that curved out more than usual over her high full booty and tapered halfway down her muscular thighs. Her sandals were white like her shorts, and her white halter-top was cropped very prettily below her breasts. It was clear she had no bra and didn’t need one. Cathy felt her heart beating quicker as she saw how long and curly Sabel’s hair was, pulled back in a bushy ponytail that left bare a pair of lovely tiny ears.
“Sabel, would you please hand these out for me?”
“Yes, Miss Cathy.”
She watched as the girl moved down the narrow rows of seats. Her ponytail swished with her motions, and her legs flashed and gleamed where they showed out of her shorts like two strong black vees. The work Sabel had been doing for so many years had made her legs and rear very attractive. Cathy’s eyes went down to Sabel’s left ankle: the circlet on it had good chances of being replaced by a locked collar on her neck. The girl looked perfect to become a ponygirl.
A few years after the beginning of the New State escort maltepe in Auronia, terrorists had exploded the Middle East oil fields and put an end to the era of motorized transportation. All over the world, ships had had to reconvert into sailing boats, and land transportation had had to rely on manpower. In Auronia the system had been implanted several decades ago and by that time was well established: on the farms run by First Station Ladies, thousands of ponyboys harnessed to small wagons transported everything, and in the cities healthy girls pulled either sulkies for members of the upper Stations or the lightweight carts that crisscrossed the streets of every Auronian city.
Taxi companies constantly needed fresh ponygirls; others served in hospitals, schools and private companies, delivering all sorts of goods or transporting their staff. For girls like Sabel, who toiled day after day scrubbing and washing and mopping, becoming a pony meant a substantial step upward: work was heavy and hours long, but it was widely known that ponies were well taken care of, and those belonging to Ladies in the upper Stations took great pride in pulling their carts.
That class was composed of forty girls. Most of them came from the Sixth Station, but a few were there because they had not shown enough dedication in their former jobs. They were being offered pony positions as a last chance; if they failed the midterm examination, they would be sent to a Breeding Farm, and probably never recuperate their former Station. It was easy to tell which girls were in each category: those being “downstationed” wore no anklets.
The teacher felt that both groups would be strongly motivated to take the harsh course that awaited them, one by the hope of ascending one Station, the other for fear of spending the best years of their lives as Breeders. Even if the females in this Station were well treated and respected as a necessary part of the System, it was understandable that any girl would prefer not to become a Breeder if she could avoid it.
Cathy’s professional eye glanced at the girls, evaluating them for strength and fitness. She had run many classes of that kind and her experience told her that some would not pass the demanding proofs. Not all candidates had the psychological profile needed to become an obedient ponygirl, who would take pride in being owned (and sometimes punished) by someone holding a superior Station. But she had a warm feeling that Sabel would be one of them. The degree of her submissiveness had of course to be ascertained, but it was evident that she had all the physical qualities required from a pony. Looking intently at her shapely bum, Cathy imagined it exposed and wiggling between the shafts of her cart, while that lovely ebony pulled her around the lakes that encircled Charissa.
As the instructor of the class, she had the right to pick one of the girls for her personal service – and she had decided already which. Cathy’s smile illuminated her pretty face. A smile that Sabel was starting to enjoy.
Chapter Two: Sabel’s vision
I was very curious about that new course, because I wanted so much to improve my Station in Life. I was born at a Breeding Farm, received the basic instruction and at twelve got my anklet and was sent to work as a sanitation agent. Our country is blessed with a very wise system. I don’t know how it is abroad, but here we like it because it gives everybody an opportunity to have a Station in Life and work for the happiness of the entire country.
The seven silver stars on our Flag represent the seven Stations. If your parents are in a Station, you can learn the skills pertaining to it and remain in it for the duration of your life, but this depends on performing all the tasks that go with that Station with care and pride. If you are sloppy or lazy, and don’t amend your ways, you are “downstationed” and someone coming from a lower Station can occupy your place. Also, people from other ones can fill new vacancies in any Station. This is done through public examinations where the best are selected. I think it is a wise system, much better than the old ways, although I don’t have a very clear idea of what those were. I have heard stories of men and women coming from very low Stations who progressed to be honored and respected in the upper ones because of their abilities.
Being born from a Breeder, I could start life either as a Sixth or as a Fifth Station worker. That year they needed fresh girls in the Sixth, and I was sent to learn how to clean, scrub, wash, disinfect and take care of cleanliness in public buildings. Anybody in this Station must give seven years of work, from twelve to nineteen, before being allowed to take any test. I knew that with my poor schooling it would be almost impossible for me to become a Secretary, but I wanted to try and take the exam. However, I failed and had to stay in the cleaning branch.
But still I can receive further pendik escort instruction and become a member of the Fifth Station. I am not condemned to scrub floors for the rest of my life, and this I owe to our wise system! It depends only on my personal dedication and effort. Of course, if I am lazy and willfully don’t meet the standards expected from a Sixth Station girl, I can be sent to a Breeding Farm, be fucked by stallions to get pregnant and bear children one after another until my breasts reach down to my waist, like it happened to my mother. Brrrrrr! I don’t want that!
Although I know that any work is noble when well done, that sanitation is as essential to Auronia as any other kind of work, and that I can be respected and honored as a member of the Sixth Station, I want more from life. In my squad there are women who have spent all their lives on their knees, with a bucket at their side and a brush in their hands. The prospect of having this anklet attached to my foot for the next forty years is simply bleak, oh my good Lord!
So I was very happy when because of my “Very Worthy” mention I was transferred to Charissa for my last mandatory year as a floor scrubber. What a fine town it is! Wide avenues lined with trees, beautiful houses and public buildings, elegant people on the streets, shops with glowing windows, restaurants who cater to the finest clients, schools where the brightest Auronians learn useful things that they employ to make our life better, and the lakes – ah, the lakes, so blue and calm, with paths all around where people in the upper Stations enjoy a ride in their sulkies!
Our capital is named after Charissa Magnusson, the first woman to have successfully run her farm and fed an entire city after the turmoil that marked the end of the Unfair Order, many years ago. I have heard that she is still alive, at 97, and we all pray that she will hold her place in the Council for many more years.
Sanitation can be an exhausting job. I don’t think I am despising my colleagues when I say that I want more from life. I know that I can do more interesting things and still be useful to my compatriots. So any skills that can take me out of scrubbing and washing and polishing are welcome! Many times, looking from the windows of the government building, I have wondered what the life of a ponygirl is like. They seem so proud, with their colorful outfits, naked breasts and swishing tails! I want to become one, or at least to try for some years that way of life.
My mother is still in the farm I was born on – she no longer delivers, of course, but works there all the same. It would be so nice to have someone to take care of me, to give me affection, to show me the good ways – and if I am lucky, I will find a good Lady in the upper Stations whom I will pull wherever she must go, and she will caress my head and say “Very well, Sabel!”
An incident that happened last week made my wish to quit sanitation even stronger. My boss complained that one of the water closets had not been properly cleaned. He was very angry and said that if I continued to be lazy he would report on me and have me sent to a Breeding Farm. It was so very UNJUST. I had spent an hour polishing those tiles and some careless creature had left muddy footprints on them. I decided that I would apply for the next Ponygirl Instruction Course and try my luck.
As I left his office I was feeling miserable and went into a pharmacy to buy some aspirin. On the wall there was a poster: PONYGIRL INSTRUCTION. It said that a new course was being offered and gave other directions. I applied, passed a preliminary interview and waited eagerly for the first class, which was scheduled for next Monday. My boss looked surprised when I showed him the authorization to leave in order to take the course: “Want to be whipped and walk with a bit in your mouth, eh, Sabel?” he said contemptuously. I thought he was simply envious – he cannot have a private pony, as it does not befit his Station. What is wrong with wanting to become a ponygirl? It is not he who has to scrub miles of floors and feel his whole body aching after ten hours of that!
So today I put on my best shorts and top, grabbed my bag and headed for the classroom. I like to dress in white because it makes my skin glow so nicely. The teacher is a beautiful blonde named Miss Cathy, a Third Station person no doubt. I was somewhat surprised to find a woman teaching this course; I don’t know why, but I expected a man. Anyway, I tried not to show that and took a seat on the front row.
Miss Cathy’s outfit caught my attention. She was clad all in black, with a bikini bottom from which a crop pointed out. I shivered as I imagined it hitting my shoulder if I did something wrong. I could not take my eyes from her – she was so beautiful, and her skin contrasted so strikingly with her black vest and boots!
When she called my name, I said softly “Here, Miss Cathy!” and she smiled at me. I felt a shiver going down my spine: from her blue eyes emanated that sort of assertiveness one finds only in people accustomed to command. I had to lower my eyes and to conceal my embarrassment I hastily opened my notebook and copied her name and the title of the course.
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