“Truly?” asked Sybil, losing her reserve. “But what do you mean?”

“That they passed as men here, as grooms, dressing as men, living as men, right here in our midst, until the late queen discovered them!”

Sybil was fascinated.

“They were caught in the woods one day outside the village. They’d gone together to bathe in a little creek there and thought they were all alone, when a soldier stumbled on them. When Lord Gregory heard, he had them dragged before the Queen. He was furious at their fraudulent behavior; their bold deceit.”

Neshi again shook his head. “I tell you, what a shock. I’d lived, dined, worked with all three of them. And they turned out to be women! And I never even guessed! Yes, they had beautiful skin, and yes, their voices weren’t all that deep, but still, there are plenty of young grooms around here with sweet faces. The kingdom likes sweet faces. But all grooms are men. Men. That is how it’s always been. Well, to give the Captain of the Guard credit, he pleaded for mercy, saying they’d never harmed anyone, and that they’d been excellent grooms in the Lord Mayor’s female pony stable. They were as strong as any other groom, said the Captain. Well, that’s hard to believe!”

“What happened to them?”

“The old queen listened to Lord Gregory. She had them stripped of their male clothes and dressed in ragged dirty cast-off women’s clothing and then exiled from the kingdom. Well, they’ve come back, and dressed as men! Same as before. Same bobbed hair. Dressed as men, and begging the new queen to allow them to serve once more. And the new queen has allowed it. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘Why should they not live as men if they choose?’ Lord Gregory was steaming. But the Court thought it amusing. So did the King. The Queen said the same thing the Captain had said years ago. What harm had they done? So let them do as they like. Besides, they were skilled grooms of remarkable accomplishment. And off the Queen sent them—to be liveried for her service. It’s said she’s taken Charlotte into her own quarters.”

Sybil gasped. “Why, I saw her last night! Charles, that’s what the Queen called her. It was Charlotte who turned me out as a pet kitten last night. I thought she was a tall youth. I had no idea. Why, she was my groom last night in the garden! She was quite strong, quite dexterous.”

“There, you see what I mean about the Queen’s will? So please the Queen! Never take her kindness for lack of will. And Sybil, I don’t want to see you here again.”

“Yes, Neshi,” said Sybil. “I want only to please.”

“Yes, well, to be a pony is one of the most demanding forms of slavery,” said Neshi, “but I can assure you that once you’ve been perfected in the stables, you’ll be perfect for anything.”

Was that really true? Sybil didn’t think so.

“Goodbye, little dearest,” said Neshi as he helped her up off the table. A husky attendant had arrived to take her to the stables. At once he pitched her up over his shoulder, and started off at a brisk walk.

“Wait, now,” said Neshi. “Not so fast.” He gathered Sybil’s hair up and placed her hands on top of it on the back of her neck. “There now, that’s how that’s done!” he said. “When you carry a slave with long hair, he or she is to hold it to the back of the neck. Oh, so many new ones to train.” He gave Sybil’s bottom two hard spanks. “Do well, my girl,” he said. “You can’t imagine how many other little sugar babies wish they had the chance you’ve been given.”

ii

It was as all else, thought Sybil. The stables were infinitely larger than she had ever imagined, and the full trappings of the place enthralled her. Never in the world beyond the realm had she seen such a stable whose doors, rafters, and stalls were all built of high-polished wood with gleaming brass fittings, and in which the harnesses were gilded or painted crimson.

But the most breathtaking sight was of the ponies themselves in the stalls, a long row on either side of the stable, of shapely posteriors and long legs—each girl bent over a beam from the waist, her wrists strapped tight to the small of her back.

Into a vacant stall, Sybil was rushed at once by an able-bodied and boyish groom with huge muscles, and a round handsome face sprinkled with freckles.

“Ah, little Sybil, the Queen’s new pet,” said the groom. “Well, my name’s Oweyn, dearest, and you’ll be in good strong hands with me, never fear it. I’ve been training little girl ponies for years. And Lady Lucinda has told me to pay special attention to you. Now, in you go, and bend over the beam. It’s smooth enough, lacquered and polished, there, that’s it, see? Your breasts hang quite free and your little chin can rest on the pillow there. Now plant your feet firmly on the ground. That’s it. You’re going to be booted immediately.”

Sybil was forced over the beam, and her toes barely touched the hay-strewn floor, but to her amazement, the beam was suddenly adjusted in height for her by means of a crank. Oweyn’s hand forced her face down on the pillow, and she felt the nudge of his boot forcing her legs apart.

A panic rose in her along with a sudden heat between her legs, and the feeling of her vagina thrumming and almost gasping. I can’t escape now, she thought as she had countless times. I’ve given up my will entirely, and what if, what if I can’t bear it all, what if? But her mind went blank.

“Now, let’s understand pony behavior from the beginning,” said Oweyn in his rapid cheerful voice. “No talking of any kind ever from a pony unless I say speak. When I ask you a direct question, you’re to nod. Now, nod for me, Sybil.”

Why did nodding to this simple command bring the tears to her eyes? She felt a sob in her throat but her sex was burning. Oweyn was strapping her wrists together, and that too made her feel more utterly defenseless. That all power over her fate was gone from her took her breath away.

Then with a shock, she felt his hand under her sex, lifting her pubis, stroking it and fondling it as if he were weighing it. “Nice little pelt!” he said. “Needs no trimming at all. Pretty black curling hair, and pretty red pubic lips, very visible, very plump. I like that.”

Sybil blushed hot and the tears washed down her cheeks. But she thought desperately that she must be happy the anticipation was over. She was here now, plunged into it, as Brenn might have said, a part of it all, and she had surrendered the right to do or say anything.

A great languid ease came over her. She lay on the beam and on the pillow, and she did not jump as Oweyn felt of her breasts, patted them, and pinched her nipples. All she could see before her was the curve of the pillow and the polished back wall of the stall.

“Fine little filly,” he said. “Now, stop shivering and crying. Do you want to be a good filly, or end up a dreary little pack horse pulling a cart?”

Sybil nodded. What else could she do?

“That’s not a nod. I want a real nod,” said Oweyn. “I want to see all these ringlets shake!”

She nodded more vigorously.

“Now, here’s Georgette with the boots.”

Sybil felt the left boot going on, and well fitted it was for her foot. Now someone, Georgette, presumably, was lacing it up tight to her calf. The boot was heavy and she realized with another blush and flood of tears that it was fitted with a heavy horseshoe. On came the second boot. The leather of the boots felt delicious over her ankles.

Hands lifted Sybil’s head and she felt the soft titillating tug of a hairbrush, and a voice in her ear.

“Now, I’m Georgette, little Sybil,” said the voice. “And I’m grooming your hair to match the hair of all the other young pony ladies. Two combs to hold it back from your face and jeweled clips to see it’s gathered to hang down the back of your neck. And you do have the loveliest raven hair. So curly. So bouncy. So full. This will keep it out of your face when you’re in harness.”

Sybil nodded as vigorously as she could.

“Good girl,” said Georgette. Surely this was the Georgette that Neshi had described. Her voice was a low purring alto, and her hands were as quick and deft as those of Oweyn. She didn’t know which one stirred the desire in her the most.

“Now you’re going to live in this stall, sugarplum,” said Georgette. “You’ll sleep in it and eat in it and rest in it when you’re not tethered or harnessed, and if the Queen approves you, your name will be above on the beam, for the Queen likes to see names, and has them made of brass letters. She frequently selects her teams herself, and whenever you’re under the Queen’s eye, you stamp your little feet to show your willingness, your eagerness to serve, you understand me?”

Again, Sybil nodded, but the tears were flowing helplessly. She sobbed deeply in her throat. And her sex was so plumped with desire and wetness that she could scarcely endure it. Panic seized her and she tensed all over suddenly and felt her leg muscles quivering as though she would suddenly try to run, to escape.

Hands pressed down on her—Oweyn’s hands which she knew, and then the hands of Georgette who spoke.

“Nothing is going to settle this lady down but a good spanking,” said Georgette.

“But the Queen might want her fresh—” Oweyn started.