Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition

BOOK: Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition
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Summer
School & After School
The
Ponygirl
Omnibus Edition
by
Jurgen
von
Stuka
ISBN: 978-1-939916-19-8
 

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Author Note

 

After
nearly four decades of exposure to the equestrian community at local and
Olympic levels, I am still astonished at the overpowering competitive nature of
the sport. It seems to me that there should be schools like the one young Dori
encounters here. The objective of the school is to teach spoiled and elitist
young women what it’s like to be a horse or pony. A few months or years spent
under this kind of environmental control can bring about some astonishing
changes….

Some
of them physical and others psychological.

This
story is fiction, but remember that what we create in our minds is often a
precursor of something that may actually happen…

 
 

Jurgen von Stuka

Boston,
Massachusetts, 2010

SUMMER
SCHOOL
 
by
 

Jurgen
von
Stuka

Chapter One

To The Casual Observer

 
 

The car was from
Boston and the three youthful tourists inside had been enjoying the picturesque
roadside scenery when someone observed that they were no longer on a main road
and that they were, most likely, lost. At that moment, they were passing a
series of hilly pastures surrounded by a double wire fence. One tourist
observed that the fence had small signs every fifty feet or so stating that
trespassing was forbidden, that the land was posted and that the fence was
electrified.

“Guess they
don’t want anyone going in there,” one of the two young men in the car said.

“Or anyone
getting out,” the driver said with a laugh as he finished off his second beer
and tossed the can out the window toward the fence. (He had no idea how true
his off-hand remark really was). The aluminum beer can arched through the air
and hit the fence, sending off a fury of sparks and a loud popping sound as the
sports car cruised by. In the distance, behind the fence, small horses grazed,
and they all looked up suddenly at the noise. They then focused as one on the
red BMW convertible and it three occupants.

“I’ll be
damned,” the girl in the right front seat said as she studied the horses from a
distance.

“What? Where?”
chorused the two males.

“I’d swear those
horses, or whatever they are, were waving at us. Weird,” said the girl. “They
kind of raised their front feet towards us. Didn’t you see that?”

“I didn’t see
anything except a fried beer can,” said the driver, who had slowed and was
looking for a place to stop and take a pee.

“They waved,”
the girl insisted, but her companions ignored her and began to search for a
place to stop.

 

***

 

As the sports
car moved on, each horse suddenly started and then trotted awkwardly off in the
opposite direction, while thoughts of being rescued faded as the vehicle moved
over the hill and their individual internal electronic probes registered
disapproval at the group attempting to signal the car’s occupants with a wave
of their feet. Dori Alexander and her companion ponies knew they were going to
pay for the indiscretion of the single, futile attempt to signal.

If the tourists
had been sober, or if they had been using binoculars, they would have noted
that the waving horses were unlike other horses they might have seen in the Vermont
countryside. These horses had unusual front legs and the rear legs were
strangely bent with different joints between shoulder and hoof. They were
smaller than most horses and had very short necks. Their coats were more like
rough buckskin than a real horse’s hair and had shorter heads. They moved
slowly and stiffly on their odd-shaped legs and could only graze on shrubs or
bushes above the ground because their mouths could not reach the earth. They
wore bands for hobbles on their hind and forefeet and each wore a locked
leather and steel harness and bit. These horses were not of the equine species.
They were human. They were female and from the elite New England Mountain
School for Equestrians. They would each have dearly liked to be freed. Bound in
the head and body of a young horse, gagged and harnessed, the four had been
turned out to
pasture for some
exercise. To make sure they didn’t wander too far, each wore a set of control
plugs. Inside each ponygirl were three remote controlled electronic plugs that,
when activated, motivated each pony to do exactly as she was told and trained
to do. Their sweeping tails attached to the rear plug, buried well up inside
the rear aperture. A vaginal plug and an oral one completed the control trio.
As soon as they carried
out the
seemingly innocent move of raising one front foot a few inches off the ground,
(which was all the harnesses permitted), their monitoring guard pressed several
buttons on the control panel in the nearby watchtower silo. The ponies
instantly received electrical shocks and buzzes in all three plug/probes. At
the same time, they heard in their ears the orders to return immediately. They
turned and trotted slowly and awkwardly toward the barn.

“We’re in for it
now,” thought Dori. She knew that the school would have some terrible
punishment waiting for them and she was both fearful and annoyed that a mere
wave to a couple to guys would bring such harsh penalties. Dori thought about
the decision she had made to come to the summer session of the school and she
wondered if she’d ever get back home to Virginia. She recalled briefly, as she
trotted with the odd gait of a stiff-legged pony, the day she’d left home for
Vermont.

Chapter Two

Escape

 

 

“Hey,
Dori
. Where are you going?”

“Riding school.
I’ll be back in the fall. Have a nice summer, you guys…you poor slobs,” she
added softly as she closed the car door and started the engine.

With that, Dori
left her little group of former high school friends and drove off for six weeks
at a crack riding academy in New England. She had told only a few people about
this and actually wanted no one to know because she was sure that her horsy
friends would bug her about going to school for something that they all thought
they were perfect at already. Dori knew better. She had been riding for some
years, mostly western style, and she secretly yearned for the more exacting and
sophisticated disciplines of the English seat. When she received a small,
personally addressed brochure inviting her to attend the New England Mountain
School for Equestrians, she hounded her father mercilessly until he agreed to
come up with the tuition for the full summer session. Dori was 19 and had
graduated from high school. She’s spent a year at the local community college
getting reasonable grades, but she dropped out, bored with the freshman
subjects and ho-hum classes.

“I’ll go to the
University next year,” she told her single parent Dad. He accepted this,
knowing in his mind that she was unlikely to return to college. In any case, he
thought, the summer school would keep Dori from getting into trouble with the
local riff-raff – half were well-heeled society types, the rest were trailer
trash from the other side of town. Both groups rode, albeit at different levels
of skill and with somewhat different financing. The little Virginia community
had the luxury of having lots of horses and plenty of space for riding.

So, with her
little white car packed to the roof with her clothes and gear, Dori said
goodbye to her buddies and headed for the interstate and the distant mountains
of Vermont.

On the map,
Green River Center, VT, was the nearest town to the school. They told her to
phone when she got that far and someone would come and pick her up. Because she
was too early, she drove on through the quaint New England town and tried to
guess where the school might be. By three o’clock, she had given up and called
the school from the Howard Johnson’s Motel. An hour later, she was met by a
woman and a man in a bright red four-wheel drive Range Rover. They were both
well turned out in what Dori could tell was expensive and fashionable riding
attire: white turtleneck shirts under dark blue down vests, perfectly fitted
beige breeches, black boots that Dori thought were probably Hermes, and black
leather gloves. They introduced themselves as Karen and Greg. They formally
shook hands, the couple using the typical German quick grip, once up, once
down, then a quick release motion that Dori had encountered during her visits
to the Continent. She thought it was a rather curt way to meet and greet
someone, but she was used to it.

“You are
expected,” said Greg with a thin smile. Dori thought he looked about two or
three years older than she was and that Karen could easily have been his
sister. She had the same sandy blond hair, carefully cut and cared for to give
her the “carelessly cool” look.

“Follow us in
your car and we’ll show you where to park,” Karen said and she turned and got
back into the driver’s seat of the Rover.

Dori got back in
her car and followed as they turned north on the road out of town and drove for
about ten miles. They made another turn and ended up on a dirt road that wound
up through the hills and into the pine forest. The road was marked with deep
ruts, large rocks and washouts where rain run-off had dug near trenches across
the road. The little Ford had a hard time on the hilly track and twenty minutes
of rough road later, they were at an impressively massive iron gate that Karen
unlocked and relocked once the two cars passed through.

“We have
arrived. Welcome to the school,” Greg said as he got out of the Rover and
walked over to Dori, who had lowered her window. “Park your car there and come
with us. We’ll get your luggage later.”

Dori pulled into
a small clearing next to the road, locked her car and jumped into the high
right seat of the SUV. Karen, Dori observed, had a very nice figure. She was
perhaps a few years older and exhibited an attitude that Dori found somewhat
condescending, as she drove expertly, if not a bit too fast, over the rutted
Vermont road. Greg sat in the seat behind her, saying nothing. Dori noted the
Rover’s subtle modifications, including seat belts that could be actually
locked, requiring a key to release, and multiple heavy-duty tie-down rings on
the floor. The locks and tie-downs seemed nearly as ominous as the German
handshake.

“Students who
come here for the first time,” Karen said, “tend to find this operation a bit
imposing. As you will see, we are not like other riding schools…except perhaps
for the old Prussian Equestrian Academies of Europe where students often spent
their entire lives.”

“I’ve read about
them,” Dori said with enthusiasm. “Weren’t they very strict, though?”

“Strict is
perhaps too generous a word,” Karen retorted, swinging the Rover completely off
the road and onto the grassy side to avoid a tremendous pot hole. “They put
training of the body and mind above all else. If you didn’t cooperate, you were
fucked.”

“I suppose that
only worked in those times,” Dori added slowly, wondering exactly which of the
two possible meanings Karen had intended to her comment.

“She means that
literally,” Greg piped up from the back seat, as if he had read her mind. “If
you didn’t do as you were told, you found yourself being chained to a bed,
horse whipped and buggered day and night.” He licked his lips unconsciously.

“Well,” said
Dori, not wanting to seem offended by the rough talk, “I think discipline has
its place. We’re too easygoing today and people get away with too much.”

“Correct,”
snapped Karen. “And you, Miss Dori, have you been properly disciplined at
home?”

“My Dad is
pretty tough. He used his belt on me a few times when I really screwed up. The
scars went away, but you can be damned sure I didn’t do it again.”

“What were you
doing?” Greg asked, looking attentively at Dori’s back and seeming to appraise
the rest of her as well.

“He caught me
hanging out with the wrong people in the wrong place at the wrong time. We got
into trouble and all got arrested. But the police let me go when my Dad
intervened. He took me home, told me I had to be punished and kept me in my
room for a week after the whipping.”

“Did he tie you
up?” Karen asked casually, looking straight ahead as she concentrated on her
driving.

“Well, no,” Dori
said cautiously. “He made me hold onto the bed post and told me that if I
didn’t he’d take what he called, ‘sterner measures.’”

“Some people
might think that was child abuse,” Karen muttered, concentrating on keeping the
speeding truck on the road.

“Yeah, well, I
was pretty mad at the time, but by the end of the week, I realized I could have
ended up in jail with a police record. Next to that option, the belt was easy.
I never told anyone about this until now anyway,” Dori added, surprised that
she even shared this information with total strangers.

“Well, unlike
the Prussian Academies, this is only for the summer…” said Karen.

“Except for a
chosen few,” interrupted Greg. “The Head picks a few special students to stay
year round. They have their own quarters and work as grooms and instructors.”

“That’s us,”
Karen added.

“Oh, really? You
guys were students?”

“Of course,”
said Greg. “It’s a pretty good life up here away from it all. I sure like it.”

“I can’t say
that idea doesn’t appeal to me,” Dori said cautiously, considering the usual
options available to well-to-do young women like herself. She had no desire to
become a suburban housewife and the idea of getting married right out of high
school and raising kids simply didn’t appeal to her. Most of her friends were
already engaged or still looking for “Mister Right,” which meant finding an
intelligent, good-looking, well-off career professional who could immediately
afford a nice house or estate and had family money. The idea of spending her
life with horses and people who understood them was pretty appealing as an
alternate life style.

The Rover
climbed further into the hills and soon arrived at a large, comfortable-looking
stone house with several stone barns, silos and outbuildings nearby. Dori could
see two Olympic-size, covered riding arenas, some loafing sheds in nearby white
fenced paddocks and, a few hundred meters to the north, a low, round, stone and
metal shed that looked like a squat fortress. Behind the house was a much
larger stone building that appeared to have been initially designed as a hotel.
Dori assumed this was a dormitory.

It was cool
inside the house and her guides took her immediately up the wide natural wood
staircase and showed her into a small, but beautifully furnished bedroom. There
was an adjoining bathroom, complete with antique steel porcelain bathtub,
washstand and an old-fashioned toilet with the overhead water tank and pull
chain.

“Lovely,” Dori
said. “I can handle this. It’s like an old inn.”

“Quite,” said
Karen, turning on her heel and walking to the door to join her partner. “This
will be your temporary quarters. Dinner will be at six o’clock sharp. Formal
attire is required. Take a bath and use the robe on the bed. Someone will be
back shortly with your proper attire for dinner.”

“Okay, but my
stuff is back in my car,” said Dori absently, as she checked out the elaborate
selection of toiletries on the dresser.

“We will provide
the uniform,” said Greg, rather solemnly.

“Okay,” said
Dori, wondering why she’d brought all her clothes if this was going to end up a
“uniform campus.”

The school
provided her with everything she needed, based on the information she had
written in the eight-page questionnaire she filled out a month before. They had
asked many questions, a lot of them very personal; including the kinds of relationships
she had with boys in school and with girlfriends as well. They insisted on a
long list of her exact measurements, including her neck, wrist, ankle, calf,
bicep and thigh circumferences, as well as the usual bust, waist and hips
figures.

“What the hell
are they going to do with that kind of stuff?” Dori had asked her father. He
shrugged, knowing that the horsy set had some odd habits and social pretensions
that he personally found annoying, but generally harmless. Dori answered most
questions honestly; having been told that any dishonesty that was discovered
would be grounds for immediate dismissal or “strict disciplinary action.”

Dori’s father
seemed a bit reluctant to sign the parental agreement in the school’s contract,
pointing out that she was no longer a minor and that anything she signed was
legally binding for her, not him. “This is pretty detailed, Honey,” he said,
after studying the twelve page document. “You will have to do what you’re told
and I know that’s not your style. They imply that punishment is pretty strict,
but if you sign this, you agree to take whatever they hand out. You just can’t
walk away, you know.”

“I know, Dad. I
read it. But I think I’m ready for this and it can’t be that bad. There are
lots of kids who ride and they are a lot harder-headed than I am. If it’s as
bad as you think, no one would go there.”

Her father shook
his head, but he signed and wrote the large check, remarking that, based on
what he’d read in the contract; “the school will really own you, body and soul,
for as long as you’re there.”

“Like forever,
right?” Dori sassed back.

“Well, if they
wanted to enforce this paragraph,” her lawyer father mused. “Yes, I suppose
forever. But that’s a long, long time and I have no intention of sending them
any more money after the summer is over, so I doubt they’d keep you there
gratis. Just remember that during the next twelve weeks.” Neither of them knew
that in a few weeks, Dori would be in fact, literally owned by the school.

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