Sabel Ch 07 10

Chapter Seven: Between the shafts of a cart

The hands of her watch showed a square angle when Cathy entered the courtyard: nine o'clock sharp. The sun was shining above Charissa, as it usually did in the month of Rose. The New State had changed the names of the months: instead of Roman gods and imperators, they were now named after the nicest Auronian flowers. A light breeze made the ponytail swish over the Lady's shoulders as she stood under the archway, her hands on her hips and the crop sticking out from her black bikini bottom. The thirty-seven girls, huddled in the shade of the building and already without their clothes, stopped chatting at once: the teacher's face showed that she was very upset.

"Why aren't you dressed in harness and bits?" she shouted.

"Because Mr. Anderson said that we had to wait for you, Miss Cathy", Desiree said in a frightened voice.

"We have no time to waste! You know how to fasten buckles, don't you? Or you have to be taught that too? MR. ANDERSON! Come here, NOW!"

The man walked out from the workers' room.

"What were you thinking? They need to be ready before I get here. ARE WE CLEAR?"

"Yes, Miss Cathy! The other teachers don't allow the ponies to meddle with their tacks, so I thought..." He turned to the shed: "Hey, Chico! Raymond! Matt! Bring the stuff here!"

Three men pushing carts with the outfits appeared as by magic and unloaded them in the middle of the yard, near the central pole.

"Fetch your harness, collar and bit, and form pairs! The same as yesterday!" Cathy commanded. Her voice trembled, so angry she was. The crop smacked on one of the walls, producing a very eloquent, dry sound.

The girls moved quickly to adjust the straps on their partners' body and head. The teacher's face was still red, her breath heavy on her nose. Sabel had never seen her so angry, not even when Jenny had tried to undo her bit. She felt the leather straps almost cutting into her skin as Cathy buckled them one notch too tight; the bit was pushed into her mouth and the headstall fitted tight on her head.

"Do you think your owner will be waiting for you to be ready when they need you? Who thinks that?"

Silence. No hands were raised.

"You will learn to be ready or face the consequences! Mr. Anderson - bring the wrist cuffs!"

The fat man distributed them. The cuffs were wide and had long leather tails on each one in the same color as each girl's outfit.

"Now face the wall, all of you, and cross your hands behind your back!"

Cathy encased all the wrists in the metal cuffs and ordered the class to turn around. Moving briskly along the line, she tied the tails with a tight knot in front of each girl's tummy, so that her hands were firmly secured on the small of her back. She stepped back and glanced at her herd: with their bits in place and their arms forming a nice angle beside their bodies, the girls looked splendid -- and conveniently helpless.

"We'll march for ten minutes now! Knees high and tushie pushed out! Breasts forward, heads high! Off you go!"

The line moved on, Sabel leading as she had done the previous day. Cathy felt her anger melting down at the sight of her pony wearing her green harness and marching so elegantly. Sabel lifted her kneels high, feeling the cement against the pads of her bare feet.

"Why is the Lady so upset?" she was asking herself. "Yesterday she said nothing about harnesses -- she told us to wait for her, "naked and ready". How could we have guessed that ready for the class meant harnessed?"

Cathy let the girls make a few turns around the yard to warm up. Suddenly she remembered that she had forgotten to ask the Ponygirl Department to deliver the carts for today's lesson. Only one was available -- her mother's -- as she had sent for it the first day of the course.

"We will have carts for all of you next Monday", she said angrily. "Today, we have only one. Sabel, come here -- the rest of you, MARCH!"

The ebony moved up to where Cathy was standing. The teacher took a leash from her vest pocket and hooked it to the ring in front of her collar. Sabel felt a tug on her neck and followed the teacher into the shed. A cart painted in black was parked there. Its rails came out from the spikes holding the wheels and curved up from the foot holder in a very elegant way.

"Her mother's sulky", Sabel thought as she saw the name Caroline Magnusson engraved just below the seat. Cathy dropped the leash and it fell down to the girl's ankle. She gulped and looked at the teacher.

"Stand between the rails, near the rings."

Sabel obeyed. The shafts reached out about a foot beyond her; they were provided with rings from which dangled little chains-- and in no time they were hitched to her hip belt. Sabel closed her eyes, listening to the thumping of naked feet outside. She was grateful when Miss Cathy slackened by one hole the buckles on her harness-- it felt much more comfortable that way. The crotch strap still adhered to her slit, and Sabel shuddered: the sheer movements of her thighs would turn that mild itching into a desperate craving for relief -- and with her hands tied behind her back, none would come until the teacher decided to end the class.

Cathy covered the ebony's breast with her hand and whispered into her ear:

"Are you ready to serve me for the first time, my pretty Sabel?"

"Yeff, ...iff ....a...ffy."

"Your skin is such a pretty shade of black, dear! The showiest pony I have ever taught! Now push out your bum and suck in your tummy."

Sabel did as she was told. Cathy smiled and squatted down to check her choice's pussy: the leather was already darker on that spot. From between Sabel's legs wafted a delicious odor of sweat and of something juicier than mere water. Cathy felt an urge to brush the strap aside, finger her to bring out some cream and lap it, but didn't do that. She rose up and slapped Sabel's tushie with her open hand, making a loud noise that echoed in the ample shed. The girl contracted her buttocks, surprised, but kept looking straight ahead.

If Sabel passed her exam - and the teacher was pretty sure that she would -- her registration number would be tattooed on her left rump. A more personal mark could be added to the girl's body, though -- Cathy's blue eyes flashed as the thought of a capital C tattooed on the top of her arm, colored in red to match her collar and contrasting so nicely with the sheen of her black skin. "A few weeks", she said to herself. "Just a few weeks..."

She took the reins from the box by the seat and let them slide down the girl's bare back, making her tingle with their touch. Knotting them to the wide O-shaped rings at the ends of her bit, she made a movement to climb into the sulky, but something made her change her mind. Sabel's head had slightly turned away from her hand, as if she was offering some resistance to being yoked. An imperceptible movement -, but the teacher was too experienced to let it go unacknowledged. She frowned, annoyed: obstinacy and disobedience were the last things she would expect from such a docile creature.

Sabel was not aware of what she had done. It had been a kind of reflex, a tiny sign that something in her still rebelled against the inviolable rule she was nonetheless so familiar with -- ponygirls were property, and for life. She was not sophisticated enough to realize that; her conscious wish was to become a ponygirl, but deep in her soul the idea of losing her liberty was frightening her.

As a Sixth Station girl, she could be designated to work anywhere, even transferred from Charissa to another town -- but she lived in an apartment, however crowded; she was free to go wherever she pleased after her shift; she could go jogging when she wanted to, or take a nap if she felt tired... As a ponygirl, she would be at her owner's mercy -- and the fury the blonde Lady was capable of had scared Sabel. All that was implied in her reflex, even if she would not be able to explain her feelings if someone asked her to. But Cathy had noticed: the ebony was not ready to pull her around, period.

"Mr. Anderson!"

The fat chief of the workers rushed into the shed. Cathy handed him the reins:

"Take her out for some exercise with the sulky."

The teacher was careful not to pronounce the girl's name. She was still in the first phases of her "conversion process", and had to learn that people would often talk about her as if she was not there. Some owners even referred to their ponies using the neutral pronoun "it", as for any other animal. Cathy didn't favor that, but in her opinion not naming a hitched pony while speaking to someone else was a subtle way to foster submission and self-effacement. The conversion process depended much more on psychology than on physical exercises, she believed.

Sabel felt a yank at the reins and began to walk. The chains on her hips stretched to full length as she trained the vehicle into the yard. The sulky was made of bamboo and very light; she discovered that no particular effort was needed to pull it.

"Trotting now, little ponies!"

Cathy leaned against the wall, watching the girls. All shades of black and brown were represented, from Desiree's charcoal hue to Robin's warm mulatto color. That was not surprising: in colonial times, large quantities of African slaves had been brought to Auronia, and even if many of their descendants had dramatically improved their condition under the New State, they were still numerous in the lower Stations. The rest was composed of girls coming from the provinces and from the neighboring countries, Asian immigrants' daughters, and a few Caucasians. The teacher's steel-blue eyes fell on Charra, who was leading the file. Her bronze skin shone so nicely against her red harness!

"Circle the pole! Trotting! One, two, one, two!" she shouted, hitting the palm of her hand with the crop.

Mr. Anderson quickened his pace and pulled Sabel into a light trot around the yard. Cathy watched her, admiring her athletic figure and the way she raised her knees even while trotting. She wanted to take Sabel with her for the weekend, which she was to spend at the Magnusson farm just outside Charissa. But was that wise? The girl was not ready... What if she failed to obey a command in the presence of other people? That would be embarrassing for both of them.

Cathy didn't mind teaching again and again the gaits or disciplining reluctant candidates, but this was a special case. She had picked that African gem to be her personal pony, and wanted her to be perfect. She could become perfect -- with those long legs and firm muscles, her body seemed sculpted by a skillful craftsman specifically for that job - and she was so pretty! Perhaps she should hold back her expectations and give the Nubian a little more time to adapt to her new condition. Girls like her had a long way ahead of them - but once they became fully conditioned, nothing surpassed the pleasure of controlling a pony with just a faint touch of the crop or a slight flick of the reins,

Cathy shrugged and bit her lower lip. She was not happy; she had counted on tasting that black pussy in the warm stall, feeling the bristles of the straw on her knees. She had counted on Sabel to pull her along the road by the lake and let her feel the wind kissing her cheeks as she sprinted after a hearty smack on those splendid haunches. Cathy felt her pussy tingling as an image formed in her mind: Sabel under the shadow of a tree, covered in sweat, hitched to the cart and breathing deeply as she undid her crotch strap and lapped avidly between her legs...

"Mr. Anderson! Bring her here!"

Sabel knew that the girls' eyes were on her as she pulled the cart around the yard. Her heart leaped in her chest: would Miss Cathy lead her for her first ride? But the teacher had other plans. She went to Sabel and unhooked the arms of the sulky from her hips.

"She is not ready", she whispered to the head of the leather workers, then turned to Sabel:

"Take your place at the head of the line and lead the girls to the trough. You all, listen -- you are going to learn how to drink without using your hands."

The trough was welded onto one of the walls about one foot above ground, and was long enough to accommodate the whole class. The girls approached it and stopped: how could one drink that way? Cathy smiled as Chi Ling knelt down and put her face into the trough; one by one, her colleagues imitated her. Water splashed out as they sucked it into their mouths, making the teacher and Mr. Anderson smile at their clumsiness. Cathy gazed approvingly at the line of naked bottoms, which soon would be wiggling between the shafts of sulkies and chariots, and observed with pleasure that the dark patches on the girls' foot pads and toes offered a sharp contrast to the light layer of dust on their heels - a sure sign that they had assimilated the standard gait.

"Charra! Come here!"

The teacher hitched the leash she had taken off from Sabel onto the Mexican's collar:

"Come, girl", she said, leading her between the arms of the cart.

Charra winked at Sabel as the ebony lifted her head from the trough. Her face was beaming with pride; she had overcome her doubts about being in that class, and was taking very seriously the opportunity to leave forever the stench of the garbage plant. When the teacher showed her the nipple clamps, however, she stepped back, visibly afraid.

"These go on your nipples, Charra. Don't worry, I won't tighten them too much."

The bronze-skinned girl made a grimace while Cathy placed the clamps around her nipples. It was uncomfortable to have those things so near such a sensitive part of her body, and her eyes showed some confusion behind their long, dark lashes. The teacher smiled and pulled the reins though the bit's rings, connecting them to the clamps. Charra's breasts were heavier than Sabel's, her nipples fairer and bigger. Cathy felt no urge to lick them: the sturdy Mexican was better suited to pull a taxi than to serve a Lady in the upper Stations, she thought.

Cathy glanced at Sabel as she hitched the chariot to the girl's belt. Her pony-to-be was still kneeling by the trough, clearly scared at the sight of the nipple clamps. Her mouth was open and some spittle was drooling over her chin. The teacher smiled wryly and walked around the cart onto the seat.

"Mr. Anderson, I want them trotting fast now, almost cantering. Twenty complete laps around the yard -- we have to increase their stamina."

As the girls stood up and the line formed again, ready to follow Mr. Anderson's lead, she accommodated her body on the seat and held firmly the reins:

"Charra, can you hear me?"

The girl nodded.

"If you pay attention and follow the reins, you will never feel any tug on your nipples. But if you don't ... Now, giddy up!"

Charra started walking, her tushie wiggling as she moved her legs. She was surprised to find that even with a driver on it the cart weighed less than she had imagined. Cathy applied some pressure on the rein over her right shoulder and she turned right to avoid a tug on her nipple.

"Very good, Charra! Now pay attention -- if I flick your rump with the crop, that means "go faster." And remember, don't stop until you hear my Whoa!"

A quick tap and the pony sped up, under the keen gaze of the other girls. Cathy pulled on the rein to make her tighten her circle around the pole, and grinned as the Mexican executed the move without mistakes. Like so many of her countrywomen, she had a wide waist; her bottom was large and her strong calves ended in thick ankles. On one of them shone the metal band marking her as a Sixth Station cleaner.

"Strong, healthy", Cathy thought. "And intelligent, too -- she might become she leader of the team in those special taxis."

Charra felt a light tug from the reins and turned toward the archway. It was not hard to pull the sulky -- she had to pay close attention to the reins and to the crop, and the clamps were still a menace to her nipples, but otherwise it was an easy task - except for the itching on her pussy because of the strap between her labia.

As they passed under the arch into the street, a flick of the crop on her buttocks told her that Miss Cathy wanted her to move faster:

"Trotting!"

The Mexican leaned forward to gain impulse and started to trot. From her place on the seat, Cathy could see that she was quite determined to do well what she had to do.

"Charra works well for me, but I wish Sabel had been ready", she muttered to herself.

The street stretched along the school building and ended in a busy thoroughfare. Charra dragged the cart all the way down to the corner and suddenly the bustle of Charissa engulfed her: the peculiar sound of wheels against the pavement, taxi drivers squawking orders to their ponies, a pineapple vendor announcing his fruits, people on foot walking on the sides of the wide road -- there were no sidewalks in the capital, as cars had disappeared long ago.

Cathy kept her charge in the lane reserved for leisure carts. She knew that Charra must be scared at her first ride outside. Her feet were not yet clad in pony boots, but that should not be too much of a problem, Cathy said to herself: the road was paved with a smooth layer of makeshift asphalt. That thought soothed any doubts she might have about working Charra harder.

Charra felt the tip of the crop on her bare buttock:

"Faster! Charra! Chin up, breasts out! Concentrate on what you are doing!"

She bit into the stick between her teeth and giddied up. She was worried about stumbling and kept eyeing her feet, trying to ignore the busy street at her left side. Now it was clear why Miss Cathy had been so emphatic about learning to obey non-verbal orders: it was difficult to understand spoken commands with all that noise around her.

The teacher kept her at that pace until they reached the end of the block, then slowed her down to turn around the corner. Charra seemed to understand easily the "crop language", and sped up again as it landed on her firm rump. But she was beginning to feel tired and towards the middle of the third street she slackened down. She was not a jogger like Sabel: every muscle on her thighs was yelling for a respite.

Cathy would not tolerate that. The crop kissed once more the bronze skin on Charra's butt; thick trickles of perspiration had appeared on her back, her heart thumped like a whole band of drums had decided to rehearse inside her chest, and her arches ached from the strain imposed on them. But she was not going to be accused of laziness: she mustered what remained of her forces and trotted until the reins told her to slow down.

A faint tug on her nipple made her turn into the last side of the block. The dark mass of the school building was already on her right side. She dragged the cart along the wall and felt relieved when the teacher led her through the archway.

She walked into the yard and stuck her breasts out, proud of her accomplishment. Mr. Anderson clapped his hands: it was not usual for a pony to complete a turn around the block -- more than half a mile - before the end of her first week, and in so short a time. "That is an able teacher", he thought as Cathy steered the sulky towards the shed.

Sabel was leading the running line, her breasts bouncing nicely and her butt thrust back. "What a pity that she has not met my expectations", the teacher muttered before emitting a high-pitched "Whoa" to stop Charra. Getting off the cart, she took off the clamps and unhooked the girl:

"Good girl! Now go to the trough and show me that you can drink like a pony."

Charra knelt down and somehow managed to drink without making a mess around her.

"Shall I hose her, Miss Cathy?" Mr. Anderson asked.

"I'll hose her myself, Mr. Anderson. But the rest of them need hosed now. Have they completed the twenty turns?"