I sneaked down the centuries old wooden staircase, careful to place my naked feet as close to the wall as I could to keep the wood from creaking, stopping every few steps to make sure that everything stayed silent. It was the fifth time I made this trip in the middle of the night, and I was getting familiar with the layout and small pitfalls that waited in the dark hallway, so it took me barely a minute to reach the entrance. At least the door was well oiled. I slipped outside of Aunt Amelia’s house and pattered across the huge yard, wincing a little with every barefoot step across the small gravel. The moon was brighter tonight, and a sliver of fear of getting caught made my heart thump, but Aunt and her staff were all asleep at this time. They had been up until nearly midnight and would have to get up before six again. I was safe.

I paused in front of the side door to the stables. It was mostly silent. The sound of a soft whinny, probably uttered in dream, was the only indication that the stables weren’t empty. I entered slowly and tip-toed to my destination, box number nine, the name “Flower” engraved on the door, where I let myself in and switched on the light.

She was awake, as if she had been waiting for me, sitting naked on the straw with her back again the wooden back wall, her wrists in fingerless mitts and locked to the wide belt around her midriff as they always had to be so she couldn’t open the lever for her door that was placed at a height of six feet next to the frame. She also wore the light harness, like a hood made of thin leather straps linked to a wide leather collar, the harness holding a wide, spongy bit between her teeth.

She whinnied softly.

“Hey, Flower,” I said just as softly and knelt down next to her. I still didn’t know what drew me to her. Maybe that her body was so similar to mine, if you ignored her smallish breasts, all thin legs and narrow waist and whitish-blond hair down to her pert ass. I gently brushed my thumb over her cheek and got two quiet, short whinnies. “Would you like some kibble?”

This time, her whinny was needy, so I got up and took a handful from the wooden bucket that hung out of her reach. I held it in front of her face, and she leaned forward and began to snatch the kibble up with her tongue, an awkward task with the bit in her mouth. The first time I had sneaked down, I had tried to feed the kibble bits to her with my fingers, but she had shied away and stomped her foot.

My hand was quite a mess when she was done. I poured some water into her tiny trough and watched her lap it up while she stood there bent over at the waist, her legs shoulder width apart, her back arched a little, her plum swollen with arousal.

My aunt kept going on and on how important that arousal was. A pony had to be aroused every minute of the day, ready to be bred on a whimsy. She complained that it was such a lot of work to instill the constant horniness in new ponies first, only to have to work through their brain fog that made it difficult to teach them all the tricks.

Flower was done drinking and stood straight with a graceful twirl on the spot. Her large, crystal blue eyes stared at me. I knew what she wanted.

On that first night, I had only meant to hug her, to offer her a little compassion after I had seen how my aunt had treated the poor girl all day long, making her trot and gallop and jump in the summer heat with mean looking clamps on her nipples and labia that held small bells, spurring her on with cruelly hard slaps from her riding crop until her whole body was covered with red, angry welts, not even sparing her soft breasts and sensitive vulva.

It had been an eye opener. The true brutality of pony girl training hit me then, and I felt helplessly compassionate for Flower. I sneaked down in the night and tried to offer whatever comforts I could. I only meant to give her a hug, but Flower had been insistent and aggressive. Despite her hobbled state and inability to talk, she had somehow managed to get me on my back and take off my clothes, and then she had shuffled over me and pushed her pussy into my face.

I almost shoved her off in shock and disgust when that happened, but she resisted my first feeble attempts, and then I felt her wet mouth on my vulva and the tip of her tongue wiggled through my slit. It was wrong on so many levels. I wasn’t a lesbian. She wasn’t in a position to refuse anything I did. And what should have been the most important thing, she was a pony, and my summer job was to clean the stables and polish the leather equipment. Aunt Amelia had told me a million times that I was not allowed to interact with the ponies unless she gave me explicit permission.

Flower’s pussy slid over my mouth and painted my face with her copious juices. I only needed to stick out my tongue, and she rubbed herself greedily on it.

It started out of compassion, and I had tried to tell myself that was my only motive do allow this since it was the only way of taking comfort that Flower knew, but as the passion between my thighs rose, the illusion became harder and harder to uphold. After less than two minutes, we were both whimpering with delight, and the scent of sex in the small box became heady.

I yelped into her pussy when the stall door suddenly banged open. “I knew it!” my aunt’s voice thundered, and Flower started trembling madly.

She was yanked off me, and my aunt in her nightgown and knee high leather boots stared down at my lewdly exposed body, a riding crop clutched in her hand, her eyes blazing with fury. “Peri!” she growled while she pushed poor Flower against the box wall and clipped a leather strap to her harness that made it impossible to move more than a few inches. Then she was back, glowering at my naked body.

“I’m - I’m sorry, Aunt Amelia,” I stammered and tried to cover my pubes and breasts as good as possible. “I didn’t mean to! It just happened!”

“It just happened?” she asked snidely. “Like the last few times? Do you think I’m a fool and don’t recognize it when my newest pony’s box smells like a lesbian whorehouse in the morning and it’s behaving as if I had never taught it a thing?” She stepped between my legs, her leather boot just inches from my glistening pussy.

“I really didn’t meant to,” I whined and crawled backwards. “I just wanted to comfort her.”

“Comfort her?” She followed me until I bumped against the wall. “You ruined weeks of intense, expensive training!”

I yelped when the sole of her boot pressed down on my heated pussy, and shame nearly made me faint. I felt so frightened and exposed.

“You set back the training, you put the auction appointment in question, and worst of all, you’re risking my reputation, my business! If you weren’t my niece, I would already be calling your father and demanding a hundred thousand in compensation! I might do that anyway.”

My guts suddenly clenched, and real fear struck me. “Please don’t!” I begged. We would never be able to pay that much. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do all that! I’ll - I’ll make it up to you! I’ll work the summer for free!”

She paused her rant and looked thoughtfully at me, allowing my heart to make a few hopeful beats that didn’t try to crash through my ribs.

“Working for free is a start,” she finally said evenly. “It’s still going to take a lot of effort to bring Flower back into the right condition in time. There might be just enough time. But that still doesn’t give me the confidence that you won’t do something that foolish again.”

“I won’t, Aunt Amelia. I swear!”

“Empty promises aren’t enough. Not after this shocking display I found. You’ll spend the next two weeks in the stables and will receive basic pony training, so you will feel and learn to understand just how much effort and how delicate this is.”

“But,” I stammered, horror flowing through my veins. “I’m not a slave. You can’t-”

“Are you really going to tell me what I can or can’t do? Do I have to remind you that I can very well call your parents and tell them how you almost ruined my business doing things I have been warning you off of, day in, day out?”

“No!” I sobbed in panic.

“Then you agree? Two weeks, the same basic training all my ponies get, just to make you understand what it takes?”

I was caught between a rock and a hard place. The thought of prancing around naked with these cruel clamps while the riding crop rained down swats on my defenseless body was terrifying, but the other option was even more horrible. “Family is family, but business is business. You’ll be a model employee first and foremost. I do not want to hear a single complaint from your aunt.” Those had been my father’s words when he sent me off.

“I - I agree,” I said in defeat. But then a terrifying thought crossed my mind. Aunt Amelia’s daughter, my cousin, visited at least every few days. “But - but what if Angela sees me? What if-”

“Be quiet! Of course I have already thought of that. We regularly train ponies whose identity needs to stay hidden for one reason or another - daughters of wealthy families who ended up in a legal bind, or talented slaves whose owners who want their pony’s performances on the circuits be a surprise. You’ll be kept anonymous.”

Despite the terrifying reality I was facing, I felt a weight fall off my shoulders. Having to explain things to my cousin would be bad, and I just knew she would go running to my parents.

“Wait or me in the tackle room one,” Aunt Amelia said, finally removing her foot from my pussy. “Leave your clothes here. You won’t need them for a while.”

With my heart throbbing in my throat and fear rushing in my nerves, I got up and slipped out of the box. The tackle room was at the very end of the stable building, a large room with a drain and water troughs for cleaning the ponies and large cabinets fill with harnesses and equipment. A part of my job had been to refill the water, clean the used equipment and polish the leather. I had never been inside with a pony present. Now I was to be the pony myself.

~~~

I tried to pull away from the bristles of the brush, but Aunt Amelia had of course anticipated that and made it impossible. The harness she had wrapped around my head had black gauze over my eyes so nobody could see them, giving me the promised anonymity, and it also had a different eyelets, one of which was linked to a rope that was fixed to the rafters. Wide leather cuffs encased my ankles and had been clicked into O-rings embedded in the floor, holding my legs three feet apart. I was wearing the same wide leather belt as Flower, which compressed my waist and made breathing hard while it held my hands uselessly to my side.

The bristles slid up and down my sides, scratching and tickling, and I sobbed and drooled around the icky tasting leather bit that prevented me from closing my mouth. Most of my skin was already burning from the rough treatment.

“No!” I cried out around the gag when the bristles touched my poor, sensitive breasts, a sound that came out as a sloppy, “Phow!”

My attempt to talk was instantly met by six sharp slaps of the crop, sending my butt on fire once more and causing fresh tears to soak the gauze.

“If you want to express yourself, you whinny!” my aunt reminded me again and placed the brush on my breasts once more.

I had been so proud of my 32-DD breasts that defied gravity thanks to the hormone injections Mom had gifted me for my birthdays. Now they were a huge target for my aunt’s painful, humiliating treatment, a treatment I would receive at least twice a day for the next two weeks. The brush painted wide lines of fire on my tender skin, and I wanted to scream and rant, but I couldn’t endure another round from the crop, so I tried really hard to whinny in dismay while my aunt scrubbed my breasts and tortured my nipples until the felt like they were seared by flames.

Then, finally, she declared my grooming done. She headed to one of the cabinets and removed a wooden sign and a small, silver badge. I couldn’t read what was written on them when she threaded the badge through an O-ring at the front of my collar, but I knew that she had just assigned me a pony name.

I was devastated and exhausted, and I had no fight left in me, but she still only removed one leg at first, then connected my ankle cuffs with a hobble chain that was barely longer than a foot. Only then did she untie my other leg and unclip the rope from my head harness.

“Go!” she suddenly said and swatted my ass again. I almost yelped, but I caught myself at the last moment and turned it into a poor imitation of a whinny. We left the tackle room, and she swatted my left butt cheek hard. I froze for a second, but she hit it again, and I turned it away from her, which appeared to be what she wanted. “Straight ahead,” she ordered, and I shuffled forward again.

She ordered me to stop in front the box next to Flower’s, where she hung the wooden sign she had brought on a nail on the door, declaring the box’s occupant to be “Petals”.

Aunt Amelia led me inside and put a handful of kibble into the bowl on the wall, then poured a bit of water into the trough.

Then I was left alone in the dark. I crouched down and lay on my side, my knees pulled up. This was not what I had planned at all. I had thought I’d have a fun summer job and earn a healthy amount of spending money for my first term in college. Now I would have to go there with nearly nothing in my checking account. If I survived the next two cruel weeks without falling apart. I wanted to hug my knees to my chest, but the awful bondage prevented even that. I softly cried myself to sleep.

~~~

The morning was mayhem. Doors clanged open, startling me awake, but before I could blink the sleep away, I was already pulled to my feet, reins were clicked to my bit and I was lead out into hallway as one of many ponies lining up for my morning cleanup. The young woman that was handling me, a lithe redhead that I thought was named Kara or Clara, was impatient. Her crop kept tapping my butt and whistled down hard whenever she felt I should be shuffling along faster or that I wasn’t stopping quick enough.

Then we were in the tackle room. The hobble chain was removed, and I was led over the drain once more and put into the same bondage as last night.

“Pee first,” my handler ordered, shocking me to the core.

I hadn’t thought that far. I turned my head to stare at her, but I was quickly dissuaded by a flurry of spanks that set my ass on fire.

“Pee!” she ordered again, even sharper now.

I started trembling. The thought of peeing in front of her was too humiliating, but things got even worse. Martha came in from a side door and stood about six feet in front of me, looking me up and down with interest. I had met her a few times before over the years, when she had accompanied Aunt Amelia when she visited us, and I had developed a bit of a girl crush on the tall, gray haired woman with the intelligent eyes and crude humor. Now she stood in front of me clad in leather from head to toe, looking imposing and dangerous, and a wicked smile danced over her lips.