Trial by Pony
Regular duty as a pony may not be every girl's cup of tea, but for me it is the ultimate in bondage. And since bondage is the center of my life, I am thankful that my Master is so willing to keep me in pony bondage.
A word of background is probably in order here. My name is Frill, my hair is jet-black, I am 28 years old, and I measure 38-21-35. I've known ever since I was in my teens that B&D, especially when it includes sex, provides all the pleasure I could possibly want in this world. But I actually became a fulltime slavegirl only after graduating from an Ivy League college. I first entered service as the slave of an older woman, learning most of the ropes (literally!) from her and becoming steadily more devoted to submission as a way of life.
One of the worst (and yet best) things about this period of my life was having my breasts pierced. Mistress had a surgeon friend who agreed to perform the operation, and when he was finished, I was equipped with two silver D-rings whose flat sides went horizontally through my breasts a bit below and well back of my nipples. They served to announce my lifetime commitment to bondage, and gave me a new appreciation of the meaning of total submission. As time went on, I thought of them as part of my everyday life.
Then I was sold to a man who kept a dozen girls in his Manhattan "Bondage Bazaar" for his customers to use. The customer paid a huge amount of money and then got to put one of us into whatever form of bondage he (or she) thought most satisfying. I remember one old guy, very rich, who would rent me for two days at a time. Forty-eight hours of being introduced to one new position after the other, and to lots of special equipment as well, made for a marathon I will never forget. Too bad he could only get it up every six hours or so!
It was during my time in the Bazaar that I learned about pony bondage. At first, I was wary of being harnessed like a horse and hitched to a two-wheeled sulky, but after my first introduction to it, I was sold. I began to hope that my customers would use me in that fashion, and before long it became common knowledge that I was a real "pony-pussy." Pulling a carriage while decked out in an ornate harness and other restraints gives me a stronger sense of being in bondage than anything else I've ever experienced. Shortly afterwards, Master Simon Burk arranged to buy me, and I learned that he wanted me precisely because of my newfound addiction.
Well, I couldn't have been happier! Since joining Master Simon, I have learned that pony bondage is much more complex and rewarding than I had ever imagined. Why, if I have to go more than a single day without spending some time bridled and in harness and reins, I get downright testy!
"Burk's Broncs" is the name of Master's place, which is located in a secluded valley in the hills well north of the City. Surrounded by a high stone wall, it consists of a large central mansion that includes cells for the girls and rooms for the staff, a great barnlike show-hall in which we ponies are exercised and displayed, and a workshop where we design and manufacture most of our equipment.
Master Simon has two female assistants, Gash Garson and Dyl Anderville, who oversee his stable of eight ponygirls and another four slavegirls who see to the cooking and cleaning. Master Simon, Gash, and Dyl together know just about everything there is to know about human ponies, from bridles to boots to bindings and everything in between. The money to support the outfit comes from Master's private wealth, and also from the sale of pictures and videos of us girls in action. And once in a while we sell pony equipment as well. Since the market for our products is inexhaustible, we stay busy almost all the time.
Harness is very important, of course, and we girls have had to learn a lot about leathercraft in order to expand our supply. By now, I can measure, cut, sew, polish, and otherwise do everything necessary to produce a decent new harness. Some of our harnesses get very complicated, too, which makes them more fun to wear. Whenever someone comes up with a new idea and turns it into a working harness, I become downright jealous if another girl gets to try it out first.
Take last week. Daneen, my gorgeous friend and also a dedicated ponygirl, had come up with a design that will enforce high-stepping through the addition of an electrical device fastened at the rear of the basic corset. A rod fastened along the outside of each thigh is connected to the gadget strapped against that asscheek, something like a small fanny-pack, and if that thigh isn't raised high enough, the punishment is automatic. If the wearer's knee isn't raised to the proper height with each pace, a brief but sharp shock is inflicted on that leg's asscheek, informing the pony of her error through what Daneen calls "educational pain." It took a lot of thought and experiment to make it work.
Since we girls are always in bondage, with just enough freedom to do whatever job has been assigned us, I was pretty well restrained that afternoon. Not only was there a long leash snapped to the rings at the tips of my breast-rings, I was equipped with a tongue-clamp gag, a 12-inch hobble, and had my arms strapped wrist-to-elbow behind me. This meant that I had to use what we call "head-language" to let Gash know that I wanted to be the first to wear the new harness. Since I had done a particularly good job on a new bridle that morning, she agreed. So I was led out to the show hall to be fitted with the new outfit.
Such trials are run in full regalia, which means that I got a complete bridle and bit and a racing gig to pull as well. Gash didn't have to worry about any resistance from me, for I was eager to get started and almost skipping along behind her on my leash. Daneen came with us, in bondage much like mine except that her hands were chained in front so she could bring the new harness and its "educational" apparatus.
I stood patiently in the ready room while my hobble was removed and my feet were fitted into tiptoe racing boots-the kind with reinforced insoles that hold my feet pointed straight down so that I can only stand on the balls of my feet. They have horseshoe-shaped soles and no heels at all. Then Gash unstrapped my arms and I bent them obediently so she could slide a shortglove up over each elbow and tighten the straps that would hold the wrist firmly against the shoulder. Shortgloves are a good compromise when you're a pony-no real use of your hands at all, but you can swing your arms to keep your balance while running.
The new harness itself proved a delight. It was smooth everywhere, its buckles and lacings produced just the right degree of snugness, and the new gadget at the rear didn't get in the way of anything. I rolled my hips to get a better feel of the garment and nodded my approval.
My bridle fits in between my jaws and holds my tongue between a roughened upper and a smooth lower plate. The bit is held in place by straps tightened about the back of my head and beneath my chin. The sidepieces pull the corners of my mouth back and their bent-down ends provide anchorage for the reins. A pull on the reins forces the lower plate up, inflicting painful pressure on my tongue that ensures my prompt attention to my driver's intent. The chin-strap is buckled with severe tension under my chin to make sure the nasty thing stays in place. This device is probably the least attractive part of pony bondage, but it is absolutely necessary.
Finally, Gash pulled a short strap up from each of my breast-rings to a ring at the front of my steel collar to keep my breasts from flopping too much. This aspect of pony bondage is not really needed for small-breasted girls, but for me it is just as important as my bridle and reins.
And then I had to be hitched to the racing gig. Instead of having the ponygirl grasp pulling bars or having drawbars fastened at her waist, Master Simon prefers to have the bar simply drawn up between the pony's legs and fastened there with straps to the front and rear of her harness's cinch-belt. So my bodystrap had to come off, leaving me vulnerable to the bar's steady, teasing pressure between my lovelips. I dutifully faced away from the gig and waited while Gash worked the drawbar up tight between my thighs. By the time the retaining straps were tightened to her satisfaction, I thought the bar might split me right up the middle. Having to lean forward to get started would mean even more upward pressure. Luckily, the bar is smoothed and oiled before every use, so the tender flesh there does not get irritated.
Now that I was ready, Gash fixed a pair of reins to my bridle and got up into the rig. "Let's try some high-stepping in place, Frill, just to see if this new gadget is properly adjusted," she ordered.
When I felt the tug at my reins, I began marching in place, lifting each knee up as high as my waist. Wow, already the drawbar was beginning to work its magic on my clit! There was no punitive action by the new "corrector" as long as I brought each knee up to where it should be, but when I purposely failed to lift one high enough, I received a powerful shock to the corresponding buttock. It stung! I grunted at the unexpected pain.
"Seems to be working," Gash commented. "Okay, now let's do three laps around the track and see if it continues to do its job."
Another jerk at my reins, accompanied this time by the biting pain of a thin whiplash across my shoulders, got me started. As I knew it would, urging the racing rig into motion made the drawbar cut more harshly up into my crotch, and also made it more difficult to remember to keep my knees up. As we gained speed, however, the pressure became more stimulating than painful, and I was successful most of the time in maintaining the mandatory high-stepping pace. But every once in a while, Daneen's damned gadget would punish one or the other of my asscheeks.
Approaching the first bend in the track, I felt the familiar tension on one rein and turned my head accordingly. "Faster!" Gash barked, and this time her lash was expertly aimed at my bounding buns. Ouch! I leaned forward, doing my best to avoid further fiery encouragement, and managed to gain more speed. My breasts were swaying rhythmically, tugging at their retaining straps and reminding me that they could be a source of pleasure as well.
On the final lap, gasping for air and really concentrating on raising each knee properly with every thudding stride, I prayed that Gash would let me slow down. But no, she insisted on as much speed as I could muster, and used her whip with sadistic skill to persuade me that only an all-out effort would spare my back and fanny any more pain. By the time we reached the finish line, I was stumbling from exhaustion and the new gadgets were biting at my fanny with almost every step.
Gash's final jerk at my reins forced me to lean back sharply while I came to a halt as quickly as I could. The drawbar cut cruelly up between my buns and I shuddered at the dizzying combination of pain, arousal, and the marvelous sense of being under another's total control.
This is what bondage is all about, I thought happily, and stood there trembling until Gash started to unhitch me. The soft moan that got past my bridle when the drawbar's pressure was relieved brought a chuckle to her lips.
"Always wanting it, eh?" she asked archly. "Well, since you've been such a good pony today, I'll ask Master Simon if I can fix you up with Daneen in a good, tight sixty-nine tonight. You deserve it."
I nodded my delighted approval. To be bound face-to-puss with my sister pony would be reward enough for my labors. With our arms behind us in single-gloves and blinded by discipline helmets (but with our mouth-holes wide open!), we would be belted together at the waist on a cot. Then we should have nothing to do but lick and suck at each other until we finally tired of the fun and dropped off to sleep. No wonder I want to be a ponygirl all my life!