Sabel Ch. 04-06

Chapter Four: Responding to touches with the crop

It was the third day of the Ponygirl Instruction course. All the girls stood up as Miss Cathy walked into class right after the nine o'clock bell. As the rule prescribed, they had stripped out of their tops. The teacher glanced at Sabel, sitting so shiny and pretty on the first row, and smiled at the thought of what she had planned for this class. The girls had already had some basic information about what expected them in their new life; now they had to begin their training in two essential aspects – immediate obedience and sensitivity to non-verbal commands.

Sabel's eyes followed the sleek, blonde figure as she walked towards the desk: those shining boots, the black vest, the ponytail waving behind her back, simply fascinated her. She had attended basic school in the Farm she was born, but none of her teachers had ever impressed her so much. And the memory of that strange vision in the first day of the course still lingered in her mind. Sabel looked furtively at the blackboard and sighed, relieved - no mysterious words were written there.

The teacher took her crop from her waistband, laid it on the desk and looked at the class:

"Good morning to all. I am sure you all know that our lovely city is named for Charissa Magnusson. What you probably don't know is that she is my grandmother. My mother Caroline is going to take her place as Head of the Council, and someday I may follow; but no one can just be doing nothing because their Mother or Grandmother is of a high station. So I became a ponygirl instructor."

"Oh!" , the class exclaimed in unison. Charissa Magnusson was a legend in Auronia. Sabel closed her eyes. It would be so nice if such a distinguished Lady chose her as her filly, she thought.

Miss Cathy looked around the room, pausing on her pretty ebony choice.

"Today you will learn several important things. Sabel, come up now and close your eyes."

The girl did as she was told. There was a whistle of the crop in the air, and it smacked loudly in the teacher's hand, but all Sabel felt was a faint breeze on her rounded bottom, followed by a light caress on the back of her thigh as the tip lifted the hem of tight shorts that covered her buttocks.

"Keep your eyes shut, Sabel."

The girl stayed motionless. The steel-blue eyes of the teacher wandered over the class.

"After you have your implants, even the faintest touch of a crop on your skin will be powerfully felt. Some of you may begin to get wet at the mere sight of one. And in the latter part of this course you will come to love it, because it will help you to learn faster."

Robin crossed her legs and leaned on her elbow. She was very interested by this part of the paper Sabel had held out. The mulatto girl was endowed with the quick responsiveness of her African descent, and her strong sexual drives had to be satisfied several times every day. Sometimes, just contracting and relaxing her pussy muscles while she held the broom could bring out a mild orgasm, alleviating the long hours of street sweeping she was obliged to do.

Sabel's eyes were closed, so she could not see her friend's reaction to the teacher's information. She nodded, wondering why Miss Cathy's voice seemed to have a fuller ring. The item about "learning to listen"! How true that was, she said to herself. She would have to pay more attention to what came to her ears: during her long years as a floor scrubber, she had learned to disconnect from the ambient sounds, which were for the most part steps and voices saying things miles away from her daily interests.

The class was following the demonstration in complete silence, broken only by the gentle breeze that came from the open windows.

The tip of Cathy's crop touched Sabel's right areola; the cool leather didn't reach the nipple, but the ebony felt it beginning to perk. "Oh my God", she thought, "there we go again..." She held her hands firmly behind her back, preparing for another session of nipple teasing like the one had been given the day before.

Without interrupting her movements, Cathy glanced around and saw Robin's foot moving back and forth over her crossed leg. She was unaware of what she was doing, her eyes glued to the crop moving in small circles over her friend's breast.

"Robin, come up here, sweetie."

The pretty mulatto approached the desk. Sabel's senses were in complete alert now: she could smell her friend's scent, a mixture of cheap colony and something that could only be called "pussy musk".

"You will close your eyes, stand in front of Sabel and circle her nipples with your fingertips. Very slowly, very lightly, do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Cathy."

Robin began to caress Sabel's nipples, making them pop up like two black mushrooms. The teacher watched them for a moment and commanded:

"Everyone, stand up! Today you will be assigned partners. So the first, third and fifth girls turn around and face the person behind you. NOW!"

Grinning at the promptness with which the future ponies sprang to their feet and took the required position, Miss Cathy went on:

"Close your eyes and circle the nipples of your new partner. Do it while she caresses yours, so that you can feel both sensations, touching and being touched."

Sabel stretched her arms and felt Robin's berries already hard under her fingertips. A few moments elapsed before a sudden loud crack of the crop on skin was heard. Was it on someone's bottom, or just in Miss Cathy's hand? Sabel thought of opening her eyes a little bit to check, but refrained from doing so. She had no intention of feeling the taste of that leathered rod on her buttocks. She was beginning to feel damp between her legs, and as in the previous day feared that it could show on her white shorts.

Miss Cathy's high heels clicked as she walked slowly down the aisles, watching carefully each couple for closed eyes and perfect circling, touching lightly the shapely bottoms and breasts, taking her time to feel the girl's reaction. Suddenly, another loud crack of the crop and a surprised whimper from Chi Ling, who was not expecting it.

Sabel could not help it and opened her eyes. The Chinese girl's face was contorted in a grimace and she was holding her rear with her hands.

"Did I order anyone to stop circling?" The question was followed by a smack on each cheek of the Asian girl. "Do as you are told! NOW! Ponygirls must listen, always, always, always!"

Sabel quickly closed her eyes and went on circling Robin's nipples, feeling every grain on them and eliciting a low moan from her friend. She was dying to see if her shorts were already stained, as she could feel a thin film of juice forming on her labia. She calmed down, however, at the thought that her thong would prevent Miss Cathy from noticing. Unless the blonde lady had a powerful nose... Sabel shivered at the idea and kept touching Robin. Her own nipples were responding fully to her friend's caresses: she thought of whispering to her to be less enthusiastic but refrained from doing so: Chi Ling's example was very effective.

"Listen, class! I want you to drag your nails across the top of your partner's nipples. Keep your thumbnail straight down. Do it over and over while I check."

Sabel jerked as Robin's nails touched her swollen plums and instinctively moved a step back.

Miss Cathy realized that the girls were very aroused, and that feeling nails on their sensitive berries was driving many mad. Several were stopping the exercise as their partners moved back.

"Stop! Everyone! This is the rule: no matter how much you are touched, you may not move. This kind of touch is for learning self-control. Now start again, and be warned that your bottom will burn if you move even half an inch away from your place."

She waited for a minute to check if everybody was obeying her command, told the girls to sit down and began to walk again between the aisles, looking each student carefully in the eyes. Some held her gaze, while others lowered their eyelids; glancing at their ankles, the teacher noticed that not all the upper Station girls sustained her look, and that not all that looked down wore anklets. "Submissiveness has nothing to do with social standing", Cathy said to herself. "A Sixth Station girl can be much tougher to tame than one coming from the Second."

That was one more reason for picking Sabel among all the students of that class: the ebony seemed to bend quite easily to a firm pulse. She had not protested against being kept after class and although visibly wishing to leave had allowed the teacher to tease her as much as she wanted. Being born into one of the families that most supported the New State, Cathy held no prejudices against lower Station persons. But after years of teaching experience she had reached a conclusion: even with good muscles and enough stamina, a pony would give trouble to her owner if she balked at obeying orders. The capacity to awake obedience in reluctant girls was the secret of Cathy's success in her craft.

Cathy reached out to touch Desiree's nipple, using her curled finger to lift it and clamping her thumbnail tightly down on the topside. The Haitian emitted a low sound, but kept immobile. As Sabel was sitting near Desiree, she could see clearly the contrast between the teacher's white hand and the glowing black skin of her colleague. It reminded her of a part of her vision, when the ivory foot of Miss Cathy had landed on her dark breast, and she touched furtively its bottom.

The teacher had arrived back at her desk and was asking:

"How many of you have felt a crop smack on your naked bottom? Hands, please."

No hands were raised. Sixth Station girls were never punished that way, and even less so those belonging to upper Stations.

Cathy's eyes went straight into Chi Ling's. The girl slowly raised her hand and ducked her head, as she was reminded of the crop on her bottom only moments ago.

"Come up and show us what crop marks look like on such a sweet rump, Chi Ling."

The Chinese did as told. The teacher ran her fingertips on it and went on:

"Does it hurt?"

Chi Ling seemed as surprised as everyone else as she shook her head in wonder.

"You will learn that it does no harm. It serves just for teaching. The people you will be assigned to will do it sometimes. And even if it may be somewhat painful at first, it will cease to disturb you once you see that it is your mind that is afraid."

A few loud gulps were distinctly heard. The teacher didn't seem impressed and went on:

"Your body won't mind it that much. Desiree, come forward please and hold your palm out to me."

The black girl complied, stretching out a deep-lined pink palm. There was a shade of fear on her glowing black eyes.

"Class, tell me: if I hit my own palm with the crop, will it hurt?"

"No, Miss Cathy", all said almost in unison.

The teacher smacked her own hand so loud that many girls jumped on their seats.

"And if I hit Desiree's palm the same way, will that hurt her?"

"Yes! No! Perhaps! Depending on the force..."

The answers popped up all mixed. Miss Cathy suddenly did what she had just announced. Desiree jumped back and automatically pulled her hand back to her body.

"Miss Cathy, that hurt!" she said in a somewhat angered voice.

The blonde lady just smiled: the first phases of taming a prospective pony always excited her. She decided not to chastise the girl for what could seem a fit of insolence. The question she had asked the previous day came back to her mind:

"Desiree, you asked me yesterday about getting old and not being able to work anymore. But now you are young and fresh, and surely can take a few smacks on your hand. Stretch it out again. You will see how much of your pain is only in your mind."

The black girl hesitated, but a stern look from the teacher made her hold out her other palm. This time Miss Cathy used her open hand instead of the crop, clapping it loudly against Desiree's hand. The ebony winked, but did not flinch.

"Good, very good! I see that it will not be difficult for you to learn how to obey ANY order. Now go to your seat."

As the sturdy Haitian walked back to her seat, Cathy imagined her pulling some obese gentleman and had to repress her wish to laugh. She turned her face to the other side and asked:

"Who will volunteer for a smack of the crop on her palm?"

Sabel quivered at the idea. "If I ever become a ponygirl", she thought for herself, "I will do my best to avoid being whipped! It must hurt a lot! Being a granddaughter of Charissa Magnusson, I am sure that Miss Cathy has never felt her own bum aching from a lash!"

She was amazed at the audacity of that thought, and lifted her eyes to see if the teacher had noticed. Miss Cathy was looking at her, and suddenly hit her own palm very loud. That magnetic gaze had such an effect on the ebony that she rose slowly from her seat and walked forward, so slowly that the stepping of her sandals could be heard on the wooden planks. The teacher smiled gently at her:

"Close your eyes again, Sabel."

Both her hands clapped at the same time on the stretched hand, on top and underneath it. Sabel felt a quiver down her spine, as the teacher didn't let her hand go after the demonstration, but kept it between hers while she spoke again.

"Tell us what you have just felt, Sabel."

"It didn't hurt, Miss Cathy." The girl's voice trembled a bit. "I... I don't know how to describe this..."

In fact, Sabel was very embarrassed. What she had felt was not pain at all – it was a kind of sensual feeling, something she had never experienced except when touched by a man. Her face went hot and she thanked the Good Lord for making her kind in such a way that they never blushed.

Miss Cathy looked at the class, still holding the warm hand between hers.

"We are so used to not being touched that we don't know what touching can do to us and for us. But as ponygirls, you will have to rely very much on this neglected sense."

Sabel felt the teacher's manicured nail tickling the lines of her palm. She gulped: her pussy had involuntarily contracted. Goosebumps were showing on her arm. The teacher was a bit surprised to feel how soft that palm was, in spite of years of scrubbing. "She must use lots of cream", she thought. "Good sign... the girl likes to take care of herself."

"Now listen, you all. Your owners will have your whole body at their disposal, including your little ponygirl tushies. And they will not talk that much with you, because of the bit in your mouth, which will make it difficult for you to reply."

Sabel licked her teeth within her closed mouth, imagining how a bit would taste. Jenny already knew that, and with the corner of her eye Sabel saw her licking her lips as if to brush away an imaginary bar. The girls from the upper stations took their hands to their mouths, visibly frightened.

Miss Cathy caressed Sabel's wrist and went on:

"They will talk to you with orders, but also using crops and reins. This is why you must become sensitive to the lightest touch: otherwise, strong ones will be necessary for you to do what the driver requires. Sabel, put your finger in my mouth."

As the girl obeyed, the teacher bit it, surprising the ebony with the edge of the pain. Sabel made a grimace, but did not try to take away her finger. Her hands were now captured in Miss Cathy's fist and mouth; she felt the lady pushing her right wrist behind her back. With her high heel boots, Miss Cathy's breasts almost touched Sabel's now – there was a sizable difference of height between them, the teacher being a head lower. Sabel felt good that she had washed her hands well before coming to the class: it would be horrible if Miss Cathy found her finger distasteful, she thought in a fraction of a second.

The teacher took Sabel's other wrist, letting go with her teeth, and pushed it back too.

"Your skin is so soft and lovely, Sabel."

The girl felt her heart warming at those words. She remembered what the teacher had told her at the end of the previous class: "you could be the pride of your owner." The perfume that wafted from that white body was delicious: a lemony lotion, so fresh and exquisite – and Sabel could not avoid comparing it with Robin's smell, which still lingered on her nostrils. Her friend's scent was not disagreeable, but more acrid, less refined so to say. It told of a healthy girl in whom the voice of Nature spoke very loud, while Miss Cathy smelled completely different – Sabel would have named it "culture", "good taste", "sophistication", had she known these words. But her sensitive nostrils had captured the distance between them.

Suddenly Sabel felt a very strong desire that Miss Cathy would choose her for her private service. She caught herself thinking whether in her more intimate parts the teacher used the same lotion, and her face became very hot at that thought. But she had no time to ponder over that: with a deft movement, the blonde lady took her other wrist and put it behind her back. Knowing that the eyes of the whole class were glued to her, Sabel offered no resistance,

Cathy pushed down a bit Sabel's shoulders, so that their nipples almost touched, and bit her lower lip to hold her close. It felt thick and luscious; the teacher had never tasted any other African lip and wondered why Sabel's had that peculiar taste. Was it because she was black? Or because of the lipstick she used? Her honesty towards herself made Cathy brush aside that attempt at self-deceit: it dawned on her mind that Sabel's lip tasted wonderfully because she was Sabel, the sexiest little thing that had fallen in her hands in a long time, who with proper training could become the best pony she had ever owned.

Sabel's heart was pounding so loud that she feared the teacher would notice. The lady was almost kissing her, and in front of the entire class! She could feel her tiny teeth on her lower lip. Their faces were so close that she had to shut her eyes to prevent the blonde lady's gaze from piercing into her innermost self. Distracted by that thought, Sabel moved forward her tongue and before she could help it touched Miss Cathy's teeth.

She opened her eyes, amazed at what she had done and expecting to be ordered to show her tush for a hearty smack. But the teacher did nothing of the sort: she just let her wrists and lip loose and said, "STAY!" The ebony didn't need such a command: she would never dare to change her position unless the teacher told her to, and stood still, with her hands crossed behind her back and her mouth slightly open.

Cathy smiled: the girl was really ready to learn and obey. It was time to make a further step in her training – and see what she hid beneath those tight shorts.

"Oh my good Lord, what is she going to do...?" Sabel thought anxiously as she felt Miss Cathy unbuttoning her shorts. She was soon to see. The zipper slid down and the loose garment fell down to her sandals, leaving her thighs bare. Only the small triangle of her white lacey regulation slip covered her sex. The rest of the girls held their breath as the teacher slowly turned around Sabel and hit that perfect butt with a hearty swat of her crop. Sabel was astonished to see that she felt almost no pain. Out of sheer habit, however, she contracted her buttocks.

"You see that most of the time the crop is for noise-making and effect, and does not hurt unless one uses it very fast and hard. Step out of your shorts, Sabel: you won't need them any more in your training."

Sabel remembered the rule about nudity and moved forward. Now she was clad only in her thong and her sandals.

"EVERYONE! Take off your shorts!"

There was a rustling of feet as thirty-six garments fell down. One could sense electricity in the air: of course all the girls had been at some time almost naked in front of other girls, but that was different. It was part of their training, and they had seen enough ponies in the streets to know that nakedness was an inviolable rule. According to the status and whims of her owner, a ponygirl could be partially covered by her tack, but many wore just a girdle around their waist and a strap covering their sex. And their breasts were always exposed, often adorned with nipple bells that jingled happily as they trotted between the shafts. Letting their shorts fall down was therefore the first step into permanent nudity.