Concentration of wealth had reached a tipping point. The computer revolution, world wide information sharing, and overpopulation were all part of it. In the developed countries unemployment reached forty percent. Seventy percent of the employed did not make enough to live on and depended on government aid. Every government was in deep debt.
The one percenters realized that this could not go on. Their lives were literally at risk. The solution was The Economic Adjustment (EA). It took a while to work.
That was thirty years ago. "Work" and "Human worth" were completely re defined. The very rich are still very rich, but they only have forty percent of the world's wealth. Less than one tenth of one percent are without adequate food, housing and education to the best of their mental ability.
Our story begins.
I rush to her office because when an E3 is summoned by their employer, they get there pronto. I knew I was in trouble because the message in my SonyEar was not her voice but a generated one. "Lorraine's Office. Immediately."
Since the 'Adjustment' everyone had an "E" number (Economic Number). Thank fuck I'm not an E1, they don't even have communicator implants. Who knows what my boss is, E15, E18? Cathy and I are for all intents her slaves and sex toys. Must be PC, her 'companions'. Actually not a bad job.
"Ah Sharon, come in and have a seat." Cathy is already here, sitting on the low couch. A bad sign. It's covered in sticky vinyl and the seat is only seventy cm off the floor. I swear it's heated so we sweat and stick more.
"Well, Girls, How are you today?"
"Fine Mam." we say in unison, as if there was any other acceptable answer.
"Good." Pause. "Now as you know yesterday was the security sweep of our home. The security folks wanted to demonstrate a new service that can raise the monthly fee."
Where was this going?
"They did a DNA sweep."
I'm still lost here. Did she think we'd brought some boys or girls home to fuck when she wasn't looking?
"Interestingly they found both of your DNAs on the inside of my lingerie. I asked how that could get there."
Danger! Danger! I know where this is going.
"Cathy, Dear, what do you think she said to me?"
I've heard E7s and above have communicators that allow thoughts to be sent. Wish I could send a thought to tell Cathy to shut the fuck up.
"I guess that we've been trying on your things when you're out Mam?"
"Oh Cathy" Lorraine said like she was praising a smart child "You are so smart." Turning her stare onto me "She got the right answer right away, now, Sharon, what do you have to say."
"I'm sorry Mam, we just wanted to try it on, Mam, that's all I'm sorry."
"Haven't I told you 'If you want something, ask?' But instead you sneak around behind my back. I'm so very disappointed in the both of you."
That cut to the quick. Tears were running down my cheek, I felt terrible. Cathy was blubbering beside me.
"Maybe I'll have to send Cathy to a monastery and you back to the ashram for some more religious education."
Part of the EA was the buying of the major religions by the E20s, the richest of the rich. This ended most of the wars in less than a decade, then they became 'learning centers' a euphemism for 'mind and body control and modification centers'.
When I first came to Lorraine's home she sent me to an ashram for my 'Religious Education' (RE), where the Buddhists taught me that she was the most wonderful, kind, smart, beautiful person in the world, and I wanted to please her with all my heart. That's why I'm crying like a baby now.
When Cathy came she was homophobic and any physical touch would make her body go rigid. Lorraine sent her to a Baptist Bible College in Georgia, and she returned seventy thirty lesbian bias and very touchy feely. A Catholic Monastery with it's no physical contact rules would be hell with a capital 'H' for Cathy.
Lorraine knows our conditioning has made just knowing we've disappointed her a more terrible punishment than a physical beating ever could. We're both blubbering how sorry we are.
"Oh my Darlings, I love you, and I forgive you, but next time you get an idea, ask me. Now come here and give me a kiss."
She hugs and kisses our tears away. Suddenly I'm indescribably happy. Intellectually I know it's because of my 'Religious Education' (RE) but the feeling is so real.
"Mrs. Mac I'll go to my club now. Harness the girls to the two wheel open cart please."
Mrs. Mac appears to do her bidding. We follow her to the 'stable' where we strip off our clothes and Mr. and Mrs. Mac harness us. She does Cathy, he does me.
He's big and solid and has a face that always looks like he's mad, but in fact he's friendly gentle and kind.
He starts with my bridle. Gentle soothing talk as he works. "Open up Sharon, that's a good girl, you'll be a pretty pony for Madam Lorraine won't you." He slides the bit into my mouth and snugs the bridle straps so it just pulls at the corners of my mouth.
He strokes me and tells me what a good pony I am as he dresses me in my ox blood red harness with the satin lining for it's half cup bra and at the chafe points.
"Steady there, you're a pretty pony" he says as he pushes the lubed butt plug that holds my seventy cm brown pony tail into my ass hole.
"That's my pretty pony" he says, pulling the strap down between my legs and pulling it tight across my pussy lips and up my back and buckling it. Next is the belt that goes around my hips and holds my butt plug in. Walking and trotting with it tight gives a very erotic sensation.
"Give me your hands Sweetie" he says and straps on the fur mitts that match my hair. They come up to my elbows. He leads me to the rail that's mounted at chest height on the wall and wraps my reins once around it. I grab the bar with my mitts. "Good pony, you know what to do, easy now." He strokes his rough hand gently from my left buttock down my leg and picks up my foot, then puts on my pony boot. It is of the same short fur as my mittens, calf length, high blocked heels, with long white fur trim on the 'hoof'. It has a rubber sole for good traction, with a steel ring in it's middle to give the 'horseshoe' sound when I walk or trot.
Cathy is harnessed and ready too. They lead us over to the cart. Cathy is always on my left. The cart is parked tilted back with it's shafts pointing skyward. They position us and pull the shafts down until the front bar is at waist height. We grab it with our mittened hands and are shackled to it. The traces are shackled to our body harnesses, and the reins are led over the cart's dash board.
This is a good time to describe Cathy and me. We're both in out twenties, 150 cm tall with pretty, natural, faces, no cosmetic sculpting.
I'm of European stock. Brown hair, light skin in winter that tans quickly in summer, and blue eyes.
Cathy is of African and Spanish mix. The most perfect brown skin, long straight black hair and beautiful dark brown eyes.
The only GMs (Genetic Modifications) we got during our 'Religious Education' was the 'no hair below the ears' mod, and the 'chosen weight' mod which burns fat from 'selected areas' if our weight goes over that Lorraine and the priest/doctor have chosen for us. Fifty four kilos for us.
Like all those below E5 we have been reproductivly sterile since birth to try and get earth's population to year 2000 levels by 2160.
Our Lorraine steps out of the elevator, elegance and sophistication personified in her black leather stiletto heeled boots, ankle length grey skirt, and red suede jacket with black velvet collar and cuffs over her white frill front blouse. Her long blond hair is pulled back in a severe bun.
Mr. Mac holds my halter as she climbs into the cart, then lets go as she cracks the buggy whip and guides us up the ramp to the HP (human power only) street, then steers us onto the westbound pony lane.
Cathy and I keep our backs straight, heads up and facing forward. I know people are admiring how beautiful we look as we trot along the street. "Clip clop, clip clop." We are the stars of today's sidewalk show. The cold late September air is refreshing. My nipples are achingly erect. Knees high. "Clip clop clip clop."
When we pull up at the club a pretty redhead groom takes our reins and walks us around to the 'livery' building. As I follow her tight little butt I think "bet I could make her squeals in bed."
As soon as we are clear of the entrance a gilt trimmed four wheel landau pulled by four big breasted blond Amazons heads out, driven by a cute little lady who's a 2/3rd replica of them.
We are maneuvered around until our cart is in line with the rest, then several stable boys come and help unhook us. We are led through the white fence's gate to the paddock area and our bridles removed. The redhead produces a hankie and wipes the drool from our chins, an effect of wearing a bit. She takes a special interest in Cathy, stroking her and dabbing at her lips with the hankie until one of the other grooms makes a rude comment. She blushes, averts her eyes and hustles off.
On the far wall is the row of drinking fountains. We learned early in pony school to drink lots of water even in cool weather.
After we finish drinking, we turn and see Robyn and Dobbin waving and trotting our way. They are owned by a seriously insane woman. She's married to a rich techie. She changed Bill's name to Dobbin because when she was a girl she had a story book about 'Robin and Dobbin, two horses." Then she had their voice centers GMd so they can't talk, just 'nicker' like happy horses.
When we saw them two months ago she's just had them GMd so they could grow their own pony tails. Then it looked like they had Hitler mustaches at the base of their spines. I hope they have a fucking good paying contract with this bitch.
We hugged and kissed. I've had daydreams about stud service from Dobbin. "So,lets see those tails."
They turn and wiggle their asses. Their half meter long silken tails swayed provocatively.
The 'gay team' came over. A matched pair of hairless oiled beefcakes. They are so effeminate that when you first meet them you think they're putting you on. And gossip! Gladys Cravits has nothing on them. Although we don't know most of the people they talk about it's still entertaining to watch their gestures and hear their catty editorials. Cathy whispered to me "I hope they have some good juicy stories about us."
Soon it's time. We're harnessed and led around to the pony entrance where Lorraine is standing arm in arm with the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Long curly black hair, a craigy face that says one hundred percent hetrosexual, and the kind of clothes a mere millionaire couldn't afford. Real pheasant feathers in his hair, a polar bear cape, purple natural mink trimmed kilt, and red slippers. The very leading edge of Edmonton Chic.
They kissed, then he held her hand to steady her as she climbed aboard. We looked straight ahead, backs straight, chins up, breasts thrust forward. Lorraine snapped the whip and we stepped away, knees high, wanting to do her proud as we trotted away from this Adonis.
