by Johnny Stone
“And one more thing, you might be the Mistress’ new toy for now, but in time she’ll tire of the freakish novelty of riding you. Don’t think for a minute that you’re taking my job on a permanent basis; she’ll come back to me, she always does.”
I cursed under my breath as Cirus stalked away. I’d just made an enemy that I was apparently going to fuck whether I wanted to or not.
I finished my meal in somber silence. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Cirus had brushed his dick up against my arm while taking his seat. I don’t know how, but I could smell him on my skin. The bastards marked my ass as his all ready. I guess maybe I did belong to him in a way, I was only a mare, and he was the alpha stallion. I still had a lot to learn about how things worked around here, and until then, I just needed to keep my mouth shut and eyes open.
After dinner I was shown to my stall for the night. Much to my relief it was actually a very well furnished, but relatively small room. It had all the basic necessities I would need, and of course it was all decorated in an explosion of fluffy pink. Just my luck, I sighed. I guess it does go with my skin and hair color now. Maybe pink isn’t so bad.
I gave my new quarters a cursory exploration before staring down apprehensively at the sea of billowing, squishy pillows that made up my bed. This would be the first time I’ve slept alone in years, I mean really alone, and it felt odd, but I was too tired to fight it. I wish John were here. I missed him.
Surprisingly, I slept like a rock, passing out within minutes despite my unfamiliar surroundings. I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t completely worn out from the hectic experience of my first day as a pony slave. That suited me just fine, because the sooner I fell asleep, the sooner morning would come. And the sooner I would get to see Burke again.
***
It was well past one in the morning standard time, when Burke trudged through his front door. On some occasions, as with tonight if his job demanded late hours, Donna would wait up for him regardless of the time. She just wouldn’t understand the reason why, given her current mental state, if he didn’t stop by and see her at least briefly.
Burke set his sunglasses on a ledge by the door, stripping off his shirt encrusted with the white residue of excessive sweat. It went into a small bin along with the remainder of his clothes to await washing. Naked, he entered the kitchen taking a liter-sized bottle of enhanced water from the fridge, emptying it in a series of deep gulps. “Damn that’s good,” he gasped wearily.
He wound his way effortlessly through the black interior of his home with a new bottle in hand. The optical enhancement package implanted in his eyes and visual cortex automatically compensated, dilating his pupils while amplifying what little ambient light there was, turning total darkness into daylight. Unfortunately, a glitch had developed in the system shortly after implantation. The hardware reacted inadequately to surface glare occasionally and extremely bright light more often than not. It was new technology at the time he’d been augmented, and due to the pressing course of the war, there hadn’t been time for it to go through a complete series of field-testing. Sometimes you had to take the good with the bad; it was an outstanding and highly versatile combat system, regardless of the unexpected design flaw. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only problem with the slew of radical and groundbreaking cybernetic upgrades inhabiting his body. It had taken a year and the sacrifice of 100,000 guinea pigs to figure them out before the entire project was scrapped.
Burke had seen the classified numbers. Margo, as well as himself, were members of a rare and diminishing breed, a fraternity of the damned in a way. Only a measly six percent of the Wolverine II augmented troops survived the Seth war. Officially, the numbers were much higher. Of that six percent only two percent of those were still currently alive, most dying from enhancement-related illness and side effects, according to the Federation Census Bureau. Actually, there were even fewer like Burke, maybe only a handful if he dared to guess. We’d served our purpose though, if it hadn’t have been for us the war may have been lost.
He eased into his favorite C.O.C, or chill out chair, taking another long pull of water, nearly choking with an involuntary chuckle. “Fucking, Venom, I don’t believe it,” he whispered to the darkness. “After all these years, right out of the blue, one of the legendary heroes of that shitty war gets dropped in my lap as a slave.”
Going through her service record had been a sad, eye-opening experience to say the least. I probably know more about her than she knows herself. He’d already visually scanned and uploaded her entire personnel record into the 200-terabyte hard drive of his Command and Control CPU.
Home of record was Hattiesburg, Mississippi, American Confederation. I wouldn’t have tagged her as an Earther, especially from the South; she hid her accent pretty well. Next of kin was one Shea Lynn, mother, and Aurora Ann, younger sister. Father’s deceased, killed in an industrial accident. Her mother was currently receiving the monthly disability stipend she’d earned thanks to Fleet’s Research and Development screw-up.
Margo had spent three years at a teen counseling and rehab institution, and never graduated high school. Strange, the vocational aptitude battery she’d taken to gain Fleet admission indicated an above average intelligence regardless, 76.7 percentile in fact. She’d later earned her GED followed by a minor degree in Astro-Mechanics while at the academy.
A few problems with the authorities after leaving the group home at the age of 17 – drug possession, public intoxication, drunk and disorderly and indecent exposure. She also had six counts of intention to solicit prostitution in her record. Jeez Margo, what the hell were you thinking? She’d done a short stay at a government detox facility before joining Fleet. This is where her service record really started to get interesting.
Her psychological profile was a nightmare: acute Bi-polar disorder with self-destructive inclinations and a hyper-sexuality disorder, resulting in stage three Nymphomania and sexual dependency. Well, that at least explains her sexual promiscuity. In addition to being diagnosed with acute depression, she also has a severe separation anxiety towards male authority figures that resulted in an abandonment phobia, and a sleeping disorder. A result of losing her father maybe? Burke leaned back closing his eyes, remembering how she’d acted after the little scare those two jackass’s had played on her with the branding iron. He’d been stunned by the utter ferocity of her hold on him.
What a fucking mess, and most of it could have been taken care of with medication and a little psychotherapy if anyone had bothered to give a shit about her. It didn’t help matters that Margo’s Delmark gene analysis had placed her in the lower band, indicating a ninety-five percent likelihood of inter-family gene spreading on her mother’s side. She’d had the cards stacked against her before she was even born.
Fleet should have never taken her in that condition. She should have been admitted for some serious psychiatric help not dropped into a war zone. Fucking bureaucrat dickheads. Burke had seen troops under his command with half her problems redlined, removed from active duty, and sent on convalescent leave until they got their heads back on straight. At the time though, no one was exempt from the call of duty; Fleet was taking everyone from underage runaway’s with false identification to convicted felons that were offered amnesty in exchange for four years of military service. All it had taken for Margo to bypass the red tape of recruitment guidelines were three medical waivers she probably didn’t even know about.
As Burke read further into Margo’s file, he knew exactly why they’d taken her. She had some of the fastest hand-eye reaction and coordination time on record in over forty years of Fleet aviation history. She happened to be the recipient of a rare neurological condition resulting in nearly double the synaptic receptors of a normal person. What made her all the more deadly, and that was exactly what she was, was her epinephrine levels shot off the chart when placed in a fight or flight situation. Problem was there was no telling which one would win out over the other. And, despite Margo’s i
nherently strong passive-submissive personality, which explains her taking to the pony training so well, she had an extremely high Combat and Aggression Quotient when her brain finally kicked into what Burke liked to call ‘machine mode’. Her brain patterns shifted to such an extreme it was like she became a totally different person, making Burke look like a peace activist in comparison. Yet another result of the bipolarism maybe? When you combined that with her abnormally high reaction speed, the massive adrenaline dump to her system, and a reflex booster enhancement on top of that. She’s a goddamn one-woman slaughterhouse when the shit hits the fan. No wonder she was one of the best pilots in Fleet.
Things made a lot more sense now, he thought sadly, and why’d she’d given up what would have normally been an outstanding career on the fast track within the military hierarchy. Margo had been decorated “for valor above and beyond”, nearly as many times as he had in a fraction of the time. She was only one of three surviving recipients of the Fleet Opal Starburst for Heroism after the Target fiasco. Burke already knew she was tough, you had to be to survive as long as she did, but if you stop to consider all the other shit she had to deal with on top of that? She’s as tough as nails when it comes down to it.
Burke took another sip of water as visions of Margo danced pleasantly through his dimming mind. Well, she’s still my hero at least; I’d be dead if not for her, and now she’s a slave, even worse than that, a fucking freak of nature, he fumed bitterly. That son of a bitch Michael, it just wasn’t right what he’d done to her, or any of the other slaves for that matter. Burke knew all too well the fate that awaited his newest charge, due mainly in fact because of that damn remote. Besides that, she’s beautiful now; she’ll become Michael’s favorite, no doubt about it. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it!
The plastic bottle in his hand shattered, spraying water in an explosion of helpless rage. Burke fought to contain the surge of emotion threatening to burst forth like a volcanic eruption. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he felt the longing pull of rare attraction. After learning her identity and what she’d had to contend with in her screwed up life…
All he wanted to do was hold her in his arms again as he did in the hallway, and tell her everything would be all right for a change, but that wasn’t where his desire for her stopped. Tonight, during her training, it had been a constant battle of diminishing willpower to hide his feelings from her. His professional façade had grown weaker, nearly collapsing in broken shards, when he’d removed her gear for turn in. It was a new and frightening experience for someone that valued personal control and self-restraint above all else.
It was pointless to even think that something would come to pass between them. She belonged to Michael, and Burke couldn’t take the chance of being forcibly booted off Slave World for Donna’s sake. He couldn’t leave her unprotected to Michael’s cruel and twisted sexual exploit ever again. So I have to leave Margo to it, instead? Where’s the fucking justice in that?
It didn’t help matters that Margo was attracted to him as well; a blind man could have spotted it in a minute. It swirled in the depths of her eyes when she looked at him, resonating through the air itself as her body called out to him. Burke slowly brought the fingers of his left hand to his nose, sniffing lightly. They’d inadvertently slid across the steaming slit between her legs while removing her harness. Just the faint, lingering residue of her sex made his cock swell in forlorn hope. How long has it been since I’ve been with a woman? Five years at least, not since coming here at any rate.
“It figures,” Burke growled with ironic despondency. “I finally find a woman I actually like, that I enjoy being around, and I’m attracted to, and I can’t have her.” At least I can call her mine during training time, if nothing else.
There was always hope though, something may present itself, and Burke wasn’t one to give up without a fight. The fleeting idea of trying to purchase her from Michael, of winning her freedom briefly came to mind. There was no way in hell Michael would part with her for any amount of money though, not after getting a taste of her willing surrender to his sexual perversion. Burke had seen the auction footage, the same as Michael had.
He gazed down at his throbbing erection in the darkness, leaking with seldom-felt want after so long. He knew what he’d have to do now despite his shameful aversion to it. He wouldn’t be able to sleep otherwise. With a resigned breath he stood, going to his bedroom accepting the inevitable. The model K Ultra-Vag, manufactured by Bio-Pleasure Industries, lay nestled under an assortment of precisely folded clothes in one of his dresser drawers. It had been his only form of release for years now, when the urge became too strong to ignore any longer. It still made Burke feel dirty whenever he used it to relieve the physical weakness of his body.
He propped himself up in bed with the foot long oval masturbator, switching it on, setting the controls for minimum stimulation. He didn’t want it to end too quickly, not this time. With a shallow breath and a muted gulp, he slid the rippled vagina-like opening down the length of his hungry cock. It was tight and moist, gripping him with warm synthetic flesh that made him jerk euphorically in response.
I wonder if this is what Margo feels like. No, nothing could ever hope to rival that sensation. Why didn’t I have the courage to speak with you in the service? He said sadly to the image of Margo’s smiling face that quickly grew into a vision of imaginary, yet passionate lovemaking. Not surprisingly it was the old Margo, the real Margo, before she became a genetically altered pony, that he held in his arms. He kissed her imperfect lips while his hands roamed unhindered across her all natural body, painstakingly exploring it inch by delectable inch. The internal workings of the machine stroked Burke hesitantly, shyly, building into a slow steady rhythm of simulated embrace. Despite the lowest setting on his masturbator, Burke came within minutes.
Chapter Five
It was only six pitifully short hours later that the lights came on and my door opened. A chime rang somewhere in the recess of my consciousness. According to the guard last night, I only had fifteen minutes to get cleaned up and report to the dining room for breakfast. After that, our assignments, if any, would be handed out. Other than that I had no idea what to expect. Surprisingly, I found the whole concept comforting and familiar; Burke ran the stables with the same Fleet discipline and efficiency I remembered from long ago.
I had no lack of company while I ate this time. The Master did have a lot of ponies; at least forty of them filled the dining room this morning, and after Cirus’ confrontation last night, it was everyone else’s turn to take a crack at me. Most of them asked the exact same question he had. How was I able to carry the Overseer so effortlessly, for so long? Duh… It was like none of them had any idea that people could be cybernetically augmented as well as cosmetically.
I was quickly getting the impression that most of the other ponies had either lived on planet for most of their lives or were born here. I don’t know, maybe it was the simplicity of their mannerisms and their total lack of knowledge in regards to the outside world; they reminded me of a bunch of kids that had been home schooled, secluded from mainstream society their whole lives. I managed to steer the questions away, not wanting to divulge the reason behind my hidden abilities just yet. I always believed in keeping a trump card hidden, if possible.
They asked me a lot of other questions too, which I answered vaguely or with half-truths. I mainly just wanted to eat in peace, feeling self-conscious about being the center of so much uncommon attention.
“Where are you from?”
“How were you captured?”
“Do you like it here; it’s very pretty, isn’t it?” What! Did I like it here? Hello, I’m a slave, remember?
“You’re to be the Mistress’s new mare; you’re so lucky.”
“Do you like the Overseer? He’s a hard and demanding man, but treats us well.” That one I intentionally left unanswered, and prayed none of them noticed the flare of heat in my snow-w
hite cheeks.
One of the guards finally broke up the swarm of buzzing questions that hovered around me like mayflies. It was then that I saw Cirus and his team, as he called them. They were sitting together across the room, brooding, watching me with borderline anger. That was fine with me, let them pout all they want, shit happens.
After things settled down a little, I found the show ponies rather pleasant to talk with, being very well mannered and polite. There were three of them seated around the table with me in a small cliché of cosmetic flawlessness. The difference between them and the hulking brutes that made up the chariot teams was like night and day. If I didn’t know that they’d all undergone the same body modification as I had, I would have sworn that I sat among a group of beauty pageant contestants. Of course normal people didn’t have horse ears or a tail.
Crystal sat to my left. She was a small little thing, white skinned and blond like myself. She was only 5’0” or so and very petite. In contrast, her breasts were large and definitely fake like mine, with the same hard, round look that defied nature. Come to think of it, we all looked like a group of big-breasted peas in a pod. The delicate caress of Crystal’s slim fingers touched my forearm, and she leaned closer, whispering in my ear.
“Cirus doesn’t seem to like you, 18.” Her voice was as soft and light as a gossamer butterfly dancing on my skin. “You need to be careful around him. He can be…mean at times.” She looked nervous and slightly fearful even saying his name. “He’s the Mistress’ prize stallion and sometimes is allowed to come and…and breed with us, even on days outside of the scheduled times. He holds the Mistress’ favor and is rewarded for it.”
I looked back slightly surprised. “What about the guards?”
“They’re the ones that let him in. The Mistress must allow it for some reason. Normally no one other than the Master may breed us outside of normally scheduled days.”