Midnight - Segment XVIII

Training a Young Midnight

“Always hold her head high, Oliver. You want her looking like a proud pony girl.”   

Mother hands me a long slim pole, my end wrapped in leather to accommodate the grip of my left hand. It slims at the end, some eight to ten feet from where I stand, offering much flexibility. There a short cord dangles with a clasp on the free end.

A naked, nubile Midnight stands in the corral area yoked. Hairless, I have worked for a week to please Mother and remove every stand of hair, attack every follicle with harsh smelling depilatory lotion. She is glum in being made bald, considering herself unsightly. Little does she realize how appealing is her animalistic and vulnerable presentation.

Nipples normal, Mother not yet beginning to elongate, youthful labia somewhat dangle, the stretching there presumably begun in her native Rwanda. Despite the deepness of her black skin, one can quickly ascertain that Midnight is blushing. She is outdoors... made to present herself... fresh air wafting about her oiled naked flesh, the cool breeze awakening every nerve ending, emphasizing her exposure, announcing to the world her demeaning servitude.

With her instruction, Mother moves and clips the clasp to Midnight’s nose loop. She then stoops and removes the short hobbling strap, the use of which I have returned.

“Up, up, Oliver. You want her on her toes.”

I raise my hand slowly and gently, with the past week of handling Midnight, well aware of the extreme sensitivity of the nose binding. Midnight’s face follows of course. And yes, head back, forehead skyward, indeed on toes, the presentation is one of pride.

“Very good. So today some pony girl dressage, Oliver. Tidy up her footwork, acclimate her to a controlling hand and the sting of the whip, melt away some of that youthful baby fat, strengthen the legs, thighs and buttocks...”, my regal Mother in her element.

About the corral area, Mother has set up a half dozen cones and some low wooden bars, not quite knee high. A simple obstacle course, Midnight is to be run through it in a preset pattern... step past left cone, step past right cone, jump, step past left, step past right, jump, etc. It is my role to stand in the middle, the length of the controlling pole such that I need only take modest steps as Midnight circles me, the broad radius dictating much exertion, responding to my commands, tugs on the dressage pole and snaps of the whip.     

Mother has had me practicing with the slim nasty single tail. I am reasonably confident I can apply pain without breaking the skin. Marking a girl, as Mother explained, can be detrimental to her value.

‘Her flesh will keloid, Oliver. Do be circumspect.’

So in my right hand is a threatening long single tail, the crack of the whip more for psychological governance, a tug on the dressage pole more than adequate for dressage and strict instruction.

Mother nods and we begin. I am as much of a dilettante as Midnight. But I soon take to another segment of Mother’s avocation, making a girl, denuded of all covering by my hand, run and jump, run and jump, up on toes, run and jump.

The guided route seems random... over two hurdles, back over one, over the next three, back over two, etc. but we repeat and repeat the same route. Over time, the challenge is to have the pony girl memorize the task such that I can offer slack on the dressage pole and she will exercise herself.

Failure to precisely follow the route brings tug on the pole... a snap of the whip.

I learn that the obstacle course Mother sets will change. Tomorrow will be a different configuration. Midnight’s training will begin anew, to again learn, respond to my directing left hand while she memorizes another seemingly random pattern, my excoriating right hand at the ready. Yes, she will adjust her footwork and her response will conform to the mandates of my hand.  

Thus there is not only a physical challenge but, as we circle for well over an hour, a mental one as well. Discipline, concentration... on me, ingraining a sense of pride and accomplishment in pleasing me.