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.
