by Penny Birch
followed, which she snapped together behind my back to make me helpless. The bridle followed, the bit going in my mouth and the straps enfolding my head with the long leather rein hanging down my back and tickling the bare skin of my buttocks. The ribbons went into my hair, Ginny tying four in bows down the back of my head; my hair stuck out from the hair rings in little tufts. The boots completed my outfit, leaving me standing helpless and feeling more turned on than I ever had in my life.
Ginny had stood back and was smiling at me, a wicked look in her eyes. Up until then, my experience of sex with other women had been confined to my fantasies and a couple of drunken fumbles at college. From the look in Ginny’s eyes, I didn’t think things were going to be staying that way for long.
‘You look very pretty,’ she was saying. ‘Stamp once, if you may.’
I stamped without hesitation and saw her smile broaden to a grin as she reached out and touched one of my nipples. As her fingers closed on the little bud of flesh, a shiver went through me and I gulped involuntarily. She stroked, her eyes locked on mine as she explored my breasts. Long fingernails traced lines across my skin, too gently to mark. She tweaked each nipple and then began to trace a slow line down the centre of my tummy, crossing the harness to touch my belly-button. I shivered again as she reached my pubic hair, then squeaked out loud as her finger burrowed in between my pussy lips and found my clit, rubbing gently. It wouldn’t have taken much to make me come, and I was pushing my hips out for it, but she withdrew, stepping back to leave me in an agony of wanting.
‘We mustn’t spoil it for the boys, must we?’ she taunted and then popped her finger into her mouth and made a great show of sucking my juice off it. ‘Now, run along to the stable yard and we’ll get you hitched up.’
Walking down the drive to the stable yard, I began to realise just how strong the experience of being a pony-girl was. I’m still not sure why, but it’s a far more intense experience than the other exotic sexual practices that I’ve tried. Maybe it’s because it combines so many things that are normally separate: bondage, control, physical punishment, exhibitionism, leather, heels… It really doesn’t leave much out. In any case, by the time I reached the stable yard I was well into my role and ready for just about anything.
The last instruction on the note had been to attach my reins to a hitching ring and wait. This was impossible with my hands fastened behind my back and I supposed that that had been an addition of Ginny’s. I found the hitching ring and stood next to it, waiting as ordered. It was hot, my position leaving me in the full sun. As I stood waiting to be used, the last thing Ginny had said came back to me. ‘The boys,’ she had said, quite distinctly. Presumably that meant that Michael was around as well as Matthew. That didn’t altogether surprise me; and, after all, it had been Michael Scott who had first attracted me. Could she mean more than just Matthew and Michael? I began to wonder just how many people were going to have the use of my body that day. Was I going to be pawed by half a dozen farm-hands? Made to perform in front of a crowd? The idea was rather more than I had expected but intensely exciting. I was already wondering how much truth there was in stories about girls taking an entire gang of bikers or something, one after the other, when Matthew and Michael walked into the yard.
Both were in full riding gear: shiny black boots, jodhpurs, hard hats, white shirts and scarlet jackets, these last thrown across their shoulders in the heat of the day. Each also carried a riding whip, Michael’s the black length of plaited leather he had used before, and Matthew’s an elegant bone-handled affair. Matthew was drawing the cart and set it standing in the very centre of the yard. To my mingled relief and disappointment, nobody else appeared, but neither of the men paid me the slightest attention.
Instead they stood and chatted, discussing the state of the tack and whether it would be pleasant to bathe in the lake after they had driven me. Their casual indifference to my presence was beginning to annoy me when I realised that they were behaving exactly as they should. After all, I was there as a pony-girl for their use; why should they worry what I thought?
I stamped and shook my head to draw their attention, at which Matthew turned and began to walk over to me. He stood over me, looking straight into my eyes and then reaching out to stroke my cheek. I shivered and he smiled, taking my reins and turning to walk back towards Michael, the reins slung casually over his shoulder. I walked behind, relishing the feeling of complete subjection to him.
‘What do you think?’ he asked Michael as we reached the cart.
‘Hmm,’ Michael replied, walking forward and giving me an appraising glance. ‘Pretty, definitely pretty. Small, of course, I don’t imagine she has much pulling power.’
He had walked around me and, the next moment, I felt a large, male hand cup one of my buttocks and begin to fondle, quite casually.
‘I don’t know, she has quite a muscular little behind,’ he continued. ‘Yes, better for shows than races, I dare say, but not bad… not bad.’
He finished his exploration of my bottom with a firm smack that made me start, spent a moment idly stroking one of my breasts, and then stood back.
‘We’ll see how she does on the circuit, shall we?’ Matthew said. ‘I think you’ll be surprised.’
Michael nodded and took my reins from Matthew, leading me over and placing me between the shafts of the cart. Matthew unfastened my wrists and attached each strap to the steel eye at the tip of the shaft, allowing me to take hold of the leather grips that covered the last six inches or so of each shaft. Michael completed my harnessing by running the rope from my ring to the shaft eyes and then stood back, admiring me with that cool detached arrogance that had so excited me in the first place.
‘Kneel,’ Matthew said.
I was a fraction slow to realise that he was ordering me and the tip of his whip caught the left cheek of my bum. It stung and I knelt hastily on the smooth cobbles of the yard.
‘Moderate,’ Michael remarked, from where he was leaning against the wall in the shade.
‘Knees apart, bottom stuck out,’ Matthew ordered tersely.
I obeyed, opening my legs and pulling my back in. Matthew adjusted my pose with gentle taps of the whip. This put me in a completely obscene position that left my cheeks parted and gave anyone behind me a fine view of my pussy and bum-hole.
‘Better,’ Michael commented with little apparent interest, but I noted that he had moved round to get a better view between my legs.
‘Stay still,’ Matthew said as he began to trace a line down my spine with the tip of his whip. I knew where the whip end was going, down between my buttocks. It touched my anus and I whimpered as he moved it up and down, then squeaked as he flicked the tip against my exposed pussy lips.
‘Much better,’ Michael said from behind me.
I wiggled my bottom, drawing a laugh from Michael and another smack from Matthew, this time across the fleshy part of my cheeks. It stung and I knew that it would have left a red line across the plumpest part of my bottom, making me wish I had a mirror.
I waited while Matthew stepped over the shafts. I responded to the order to rise fast enough to avoid any further punishment. I braced myself for the added strain as he lowered himself onto the seat but it made surprisingly little difference.
‘Walk,’ he ordered and I started forward, finding pulling the cart and his not inconsiderable weight a lot easier than I had expected. I felt the tug of the bit in my mouth and responded to it, allowing him to angle me towards the stable gates. I quickened my pace in response to an unexpected flick of the whip and crossed in front of the house at what I hoped was a smart trot. Ginny Scott was seated on the stone balustrade that flanked the carriage sweep. She clapped as I passed, laughing with pleasure at the sight of me pulling her cart.
Beyond the carriage sweep, the path crossed an area of long-neglected lawn and then entered the woods, all at a slight downhill incline which made the going easy. I passed the point where I had seen Ginny before, after which
the track began to climb again. This was much harder and I was soon running with sweat. Matthew said nothing, using the reins on corners and occasionally applying the whip if I slowed. The smacks were fairly hard, if infrequent, and quickly began to smart, making me very aware of my naked bottom and my vulnerability to the whip.
I trotted on, paying attention to my surroundings but with my mind focused on my throbbing bottom. The experience was bliss, better even than it had been in my imagination. I felt completely controlled and completely without restraint, only wishing I had a tail plugged into my bottom to complete the sensation.
It was halfway through the second lap that Matthew ordered me to slow and steered me on to an area of soft grass in the shade of a vast oak. I came to rest facing the tree, panting, muscles burning, wet with sweat and very much on heat.
‘Kneel,’ he ordered and I sank to my knees, spreading my legs and thrusting out my bottom as I had been taught.
‘Head to the ground,’ he added and, as I obeyed, I found myself with my bottom the highest part of my body, feeling utterly vulnerable and helpless with my wrists strapped to the shafts. My breasts were touching the ground, the nipples rubbing against the grass, which produced an exquisite tickling sensation. My position left my bottom completely available, either for beating or rear entry. I imagined he’d probably want to whip me first and was waiting for the first stroke.
I could only see his boots from my position, but I heard the rasp of his zip and other noises as he prepared his cock. I realised that I was not going to get my anticipated punishment but was going to be entered without preamble. He was humming to himself, quite casually, as he stepped between the shafts and out of my vision. I expected to be immediately filled with his prick, but nothing happened and I found myself whimpering in anticipation. I could hear him behind me, his breathing heavy despite his pose of complete cool. I knew he’d be drinking in the details of my sex, probably stroking his erection so that it would be rock-solid when he chose to fill my vagina.
He put his hands on my sore bottom, moulding the cheeks and pulling them further open. His thumbs were on either side of my anus, stretching it open, and I wondered if he was about to bugger me. I braced myself, preparing to yell, ‘Red,’ if he didn’t open me up properly first, but instead I felt his cock touch my pussy, nestling in the wet folds. One hand left my bottom and he began to rub himself against my clit. It was unbearably sensitive and I screamed and wriggled, only to have his hands go to my hips. He held me firmly, his cock prodding my pussy and searching for the opening. Then it was in, sliding up me in one easy motion and pulling out a little as he began to fuck me with slow, powerful strokes. His hips would smack against my bottom with each stroke, his balls banging on my vulva, the weight of each shove sending a shock through my entire body. His strokes began to quicken and I was soon panting, then gasping as he fucked me.
Despite the ecstasy of intercourse, my frustration at not being able to get at my clit was unbearable. I knew I’d never come without it being touched, but I was being held constantly on the edge of orgasm. He slowed his pace for a moment and I found myself begging him, my voice muffled through the bit. All I got for my pains was a hard smack on my bottom and a renewal of his pace. Once more, his hands locked hard on my hips and his front began to slam against my buttocks. He was grunting and I knew he was about to come. I stuck my bottom out as his cock exploded inside me, a final thrust knocking the breath out of me as he came.
Then he was pulling out and I was left kneeling on the ground, in absolute ecstasy, naked but for my harness, sodden with sweat and with my pussy gaping for attention. I squirmed my bottom, praying he’d put a finger to my clit and let me rub myself against him. He didn’t, and I heard him laugh, presumably at the exhibition I was making of myself.
For a horrible moment, I thought he was going to leave me like that, but then I felt the delicious sensation of his tongue on my pussy as he buried his face between my legs and began to lick me. The muscular firmness of his tongue found my clit almost immediately and I began to squirm myself against his face, immediately feeling the first tingle of orgasm. It went right up my spine, exploding in my head and making me scream, then clench my teeth hard on the leather bit. Suddenly I could feel every bit of rope and leather that secured me in place, my limbs straining against them as I came again.
I’m not sure how long my orgasm lasted but, by the time I was finished, I had collapsed in a sobbing heap on the grass. I finally looked up to find Matthew standing beside me with a knowing grin on his face. He had tidied himself up and looked quite at ease, certainly infinitely more than I did. I managed to pull myself into a kneeling position but my legs felt too weak to rise and I was trembling with the after-effects of sex. My bottom was smarting and my pussy felt sore and sensitive. I also knew that there would be bruises on my hips where he had held me, but I didn’t care; it would just be a nice reminder of what we had done.
‘Would you like to come out of role?’ he was saying, again showing the change in his manner that came after orgasm.
I nodded my head and then changed my mind, shaking it and indicating the direction of the stables with a nod.
‘Lead me back, please,’ I managed through the bit, drawing a big grin from Matthew.
He helped me to my feet and took the reins, giving my bum the gentlest of pats for speaking and then starting off towards the house. I was exhausted but determined not to come out of my role as a pony-girl until I’d had the full experience. Somehow, stopping just because I’d come seemed not to do justice to the fantasy. Matthew walked me slowly, the cart being easy to pull uphill now that it was empty.
We came into the stable yard to find Michael and Ginny waiting for us, leaning against their car and eating sandwiches. They clapped when I appeared and I saw Ginny run her eyes down my body. She looked up and smiled, obviously guessing what had happened from the dirt on my knees and chest.
Matthew greeted them and stopped, detaching my wrist cuffs and the rope to leave me standing in the centre of the yard. I waited while he filled a zinc bucket from a tap. I knew what was coming, but the bucketful of cold water thrown over me was still a shock. Three more followed, until I was dripping wet and standing in a pool of water.
‘There we are, then,’ Matthew said, the subtle change in his tone telling me that my experience was over.
‘Hang on,’ Ginny called and I looked over to see her digging in her handbag. She found something and walked over to me, pulling the bit from between my teeth and holding out her palm. There was a peppermint on it, a gesture I found at once sweet and deliciously humiliating. I nuzzled it up from her hand, Ginny smiling and stroking my wet hair as I sucked on the delicacy.
They waited until I had finished my peppermint and then undid my straps, grinning and laughing as I sank down in exhaustion.
‘That was… incredible,’ I managed after a while.
‘Thanks.’
‘My pleasure,’ Matthew answered, but it was Ginny who knelt down and hugged me, indifferent to her clothes getting wet.
They had fetched my own clothes from the drive and we talked while I dressed. They had set the day up to leave me with two options. If I had chosen to walk down to the stable yard fully dressed, then Michael and Ginny would have melted quietly into the woods and left Matthew to give me a less ritualised introduction to being a pony-girl. As it was, they had felt that the three of them being there was risking losing me but had taken the chance anyway.
The rest of the day was spent picnicking, swimming in the lake and discussing the fantasy. Michael put Ginny in harness late in the afternoon and took her for a drive around the park. She came back flushed and happy and had obviously been served much the same way as I had. I found myself envying her tail, which looked so beautiful, and also her strength, as she managed three laps with ease when one and a bit had had me close to dropping. I also couldn’t help feeling that while Matthew was attractive, Michael was more so and was definitely the driving force amon
g them. My feelings for Ginny were also disturbingly strong, as I had never felt myself so attracted to another woman. I considered asking to drive her but wasn’t sure if it would be acceptable, so I left my feelings unvoiced. What I really wanted to do was have her kneel between the shafts as I had done, pull her tail aside and lick her pussy. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the courage to ask.
I did ask if I might have my own tail and a set of tack like hers. They were pleased with my enthusiasm and agreed to take me to the saddler who made the tack. I asked how they’d managed to find a saddler prepared to make harness for a human and was told that it had actually worked the other way.
The saddler, apparently, was a woman called Amber Oakley. She had been at school with Ginny and they had stayed friends after leaving school. It was Amber’s enthusiasm for pony-girls that had infected Ginny. Michael, on beginning to date someone he thought was a demure young Englishwoman, had been delighted to discover just how exotic her sexual tastes were. Matthew had always been close to his sister and had known about what she and Amber Oakley got up to long before Michael appeared. He had always been intrigued by the idea but unable to find a partner, hence his delight in meeting me and finally getting a chance to have his own pony-girl.
I left that evening with a warm glow inside me and a very sore bottom for the second week running.
Four
Visiting Amber Oakley wasn’t a simple matter of turning up and selecting a few suitable pieces of pony-girl tack from a rack. During the week, she ran a perfectly ordinary shop in a village in the Hertfordshire green belt. A saddlery, it was true, but for real horses and with no hint of sexual behaviour. As we drove across the countryside on the Sunday morning, I learnt that she had a fair client base for her erotic sideline but that visits were by appointment only and invariably at weekends.
