It is early evening when Alice and I lead Gingerbread out of the training paddock and back into the stable yard. I don’t think our charge has very much idea where she is, or what is happening to her. She’s deep in pony-space, something like sub-space, but even more zoned out and disconnected from reality.
The yard is busy now, some ponies in full regalia coming back in from the show rings, others that have been further afield in the grounds, with their masters and mistresses. There are sulkies, traps and carts, the sound of hooves and wheels on concrete, the voices of owners and grooms, the occasional crack of a whip. It’s a lot to take in when you’re not fully in control of your emotions and even quite experienced ponies can become anxious and aggressive.
Gingerbread, however, remains docile and allows us to lead her to empty space by a hitching rail, where Alice ties her with a rope around her neck, so she won’t wander off if we have to leave her. We’re about to start getting all the tack off her, when she stamps urgently on the ground.
“Wait!” Alice says sternly. “You can pee when you’re undressed.”
Gingerbread looks a little uncomfortable, but stands obediently while we begin removing the bit, the bridle, the harness and the boots. Alice has the job of taking it all back to the tack room while I stay with the pony. She’s completely naked, but shows no sign of anxiety, or embarrassment, just stands, quietly watching everything going on around her.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “You can pee now. Just move your feet apart and let it go.”
This is quite a test, to pee in full view of everyone in the open stable yard, but Gingerbread carries it off without hesitation or drama. When she’s finished and moved away from the pool she’d created on the concrete, I stroke her face, feed her a lump or two of sugar and tell her how well she’s doing and how pleased I am with her.
At last Alice and another groom come back with two large buckets of warm water and sponges, brushes and towels. They start by washing Gingerbread down with soap to remove the dust, grime and oil from her body, then they rinse her down with clean water and dry her with the towels. The other groom takes the buckets back to the tack room.
“You can take her in, now,” I tell Alice, “and get her settled in her stall. She’ll need a really good massage, she’s done a lot of work this afternoon and we don’t want her to be stiff in the morning.”
Alice grins and says “Yes, Sir, thank you. Shall I stay with her all night?”
“I think that would be wise, don’t you?” I reply. “As it’s her first time.”
I head off to my quarters, knowing I’ve left Gingerbread in very capable hands. She’ll be put in soft leather hooves on her hands and feet and then expertly massaged. She’ll be encouraged to feed herself from a tray of chopped raw vegetables and fruit, as well as being spoon-fed a kind of oatmeal porridge.
Alice will be brought a human meal to eat in the stall, which makes some ponies a bit tetchy. After that, I know Alice likes to spend the quiet time stroking her charge with a very soft brush and mitts made of fur. She knows all about the stresses and frustrations Ponygirls are prone to after a few hours in harness, but by the time the lights go out, Gingerbread will be thoroughly relaxed and ready for sleep.
In the morning I book a sulky for the day and go to meet Alice and Gingerbread in the tack room. “Do we have a full body latex suit that would fit her?” I ask Alice and she thinks we do. Several minutes and a lot of talc later, our gallant Ponygirl has been squeezed into a black, shiny suit, complete with thigh length hoof boots and hard hoof mitts on her hands. Alice fastens a leather harness around the pony’s hips and pulls the strap tight through her crotch, adding a striking flame-haired tail at the back. I think Gingerbread will be grateful not to have to take a butt plug tail today.
Next comes a latex hood, complete with ears. It leaves her face uncovered and there’s a hole at the top that Alice pulls Gingerbread’s hair through. Then she adds a long matching hairpiece that creates the effect of a magnificent copper mane. Gingerbread swishes her tail and shakes her mane, pawing the ground and making whinnying sounds. I think she likes this. Alice fits the bridle and bit, then we’re ready to go.
Outside, the sulky has been brought into the yard and we just have to hitch the pony up to it. There’s a basket on the back with food and drink for the day. Alice hands me a top hat and a whip, though it’s little more than symbolic with a pony covered in latex. “Have a good day, Master,” Alice grins. “I wish I was coming with you.”
I climb up, settle myself in the seat and order Gingerbread to “walk on”. We make our way cautiously across the yard and out through the gates onto the show course. I order a trot and settle back, enjoying some admiring stares from the Sunday crowd lining the rail. The course goes round in a loop, but after one circuit I take us on a fork that leads away from the event and out into the grounds around the house.
From what I saw yesterday, Gingerbread is fit and has plenty of stamina. I hope so, because the track we’re on winds slightly uphill. It’s turning out to be a lovely day, sunny and warm, but with a light cooling breeze. There are times when I wonder why I do this - it often seems the pony gets more out of it than I do - but on a day like today, being pulled along by a young, submissive woman in an impossibly sexy outfit, the sun, the fields and trees, the tranquillity, it suddenly becomes utterly fulfilling and worthwhile.
We stop every fifteen minutes or so. Gingerbread gets relief from the bit while she takes on a high energy drink and sometimes an oat bar. Her breathing gets heavier and I know she must be hot and sweating under the latex, because I’m having to wipe sweat from her face, especially around her eyes. There’s method in the madness, though. She’ll be so grateful when we get to the common at the top of the ridge.
Which we do, after a little more than an hour. I unhitch her from the cart and unstrap the harness and bit, but leave her with the bridle and mane. She steadies herself against the wheel while I pull off her boots and then peel the latex suit off her. I was right, her body is glistening with sweat, but that’s okay, because it’s my job to pat her down, paying particular attention to her buttocks and breasts. Even through a towel, I like the feel of her under my hands, she’s utterly wasted on that Steve guy. I wonder what I can do about that.
I make her stand away from the cart and put the harness back on, pulling the strap tight between her legs. Now she has her pony tail back. “You’re a pony,” I say. “You should enjoy your freedom, run in the grass, feel the breeze, off you go.” She runs bare foot across the field to where the grass is longer, canters round in a circle, punching the air with her hoofed fists, shaking her tail and mane. Now she’s on her back, rolling in the grass with her legs in the air, completely carried away and abandoned.
There’s a picnic basket at the back of the sulky and a big travel rug which I lay out on the grass. I sit and watch as Gingerbread lets off steam, while I munch my way through some sandwiches and a flask of tea.
In the basket is a plastic box which I open and put down on the rug. “Come here, Gingerbread,” I call, “your lunch is ready.”
She comes trotting up, covered in burrs and bits of grass, and hesitates at the edge of the rug until I say, “Come,” patting the space beside me. Her lunch is more chopped up fruit and vegetables, but she seems happy enough, getting down on hands and knees, pushing her face into the box.
When she kneels back up she’s chewing and there’s fruit juice running from the corners of her mouth. She licks her lips suggestively, goes back to the box and comes back up with juice running everywhere, letting it drip onto her breasts and thighs. If this display isn’t an invitation to fuck her, I don’t know what is.
“Stop that!” I rebuke her sharply. She tilts her head to one side, questioning. “It’s not your place to play sex games with me. Get on with your food and then I’ll clean you up for the drive back.”
When she’s finished eating, I stand her up and brush all the grass and other bits out of her mane and tail. She gets washed with cold water from a bottle, dried and sprayed with sunblock. Then the hoof boots go back on, along with the bit, and I hitch her back up to the sulky. It’s as I’m clearing things back into the picnic basket that I notice Alice has thoughtfully packed an accessory that will be very helpful in teaching Gingerbread an important lesson.
“I’m not going to put you back in the suit,” I tell her, “you can pull me naked, apart from the boots and the harness. And, since you’re so obviously horny, you can have this inside you for the journey.” I show her the large black dildo I found in the basket and see a look of consternation on her face. I don’t need lube to get the thing in place and the crotch strap holds it so she will feel it moving up and down as she trots.
The drive back is gently downhill, and I can now use the whip more effectively to keep up the pace. We stop a couple of times so Gingerbread can drink and she seems flushed and agitated, so I guess the dildo is working, though if it gets her to an orgasm, she controls it very discretely.
We’re on the show ground, on our way back to the yard, when I hear a shout from behind us. “Jenny! Oi, you, what do you think you’re doing? That’s my girlfriend, my pony, you bring her back here this minute!”
I feel Gingerbread start and quicken her pace, so I order her into a gallop and encourage her with the whip. Looking behind, I can see a man I recognise as Steve has climbed over the rail and is trying to get to us, but we’re already going through the advanced paddock gate and the stewards are closing it behind us. They’ll hold him off, with any luck. I get out my phone and call Karla.
“Karla? We have a problem with Gingerbread, her owner has come looking for her. I’m bringing her into the yard now, can you and Alice get her into her own clothes as quickly as you can …. Thanks, I owe you.”
Alice is waiting as we reach the stable block and she’s unhitching Gingerbread before I’m out of my seat. As I set off back towards the gate, an agitated looking steward is striding towards me.
“I’m sorry, Master Philip,” he says, “there’s a man at the gate says you’ve kidnapped his pony. He’s very upset, it’s all we can do to keep him out of the yard.”
“Okay,” I reply, “I’m coming to deal with it. Leave him to me.”
“Steve!” I call cordially as I reach the paddock gate, “Philip Campion, I’m the club secretary, we exchanged a few emails when you joined, but I’ve been trying to get a chance to meet you in person.”
Steve rebuffs my offer of a handshake. “Never mind all that, Mr Campion, I’ve just seen you with my Jenny, pulling your cart stark naked. What the hell’s going on? I want to see her right now, let me in here.” I think he’s squaring up to hit me, but the stewards hold him back.
“Steve, Steve, please just calm down and give me a chance to explain. Making a scene here won’t do any good at all. Jenny’s just going to have a shower and get back into her own clothes and then I’ll bring her out to you. While you’re waiting, why don’t I buy you a drink and we can talk.”
To my surprise, Steve agrees to my plan, so we go to the clubhouse bar and I order a couple of beers. We take them to a table away from the other patrons.
“I want to know what’s going on,” Steve says again, once he’s had a couple of swigs of beer. “I was trying to phone her all last night, but there was no reply. So I had to come all the way back home and, when she wasn’t there, I thought this was the most likely place she’d be.”
“Well, Steve,” I say, “I saw Jenny yesterday afternoon, at the rail watching one of the elite dressage events. I’ve been wanting to chat to you both since you joined, but you’ve been very elusive, so I took my chance.”
“It looks like you took your chance for more than a chat.”
“I’m sorry you see it that way. She said the two of you had discussed her wish for a more, er, complete Ponygirl experience. I thought it would do no harm to let her try it out over the weekend, since she was here on her own. We were just on our way back to the yard when you saw us. I was going to suggest, after that, she should go home and talk to you about what she wants to do next.”
“She was pulling a cart naked!”
“She was in a harness, headdress and boots, pulling a sulky. We went out this morning with her in a rubber suit, but it turned out to be too hot a day for her to wear it on the way back. That obviously upsets you, so I’m sorry, but it was the best thing to do in the circumstances.”
My phone beeps and I can see a text from Karla. “She’s ready.”
“Stay here and finish your drink,” I tell Steve. “I’ll go and get Jenny.”
Jenny is with Karla and Alice in the tack room. It looks like she’s been crying and Alice has her arm round her shoulders. “You’d better come,” I say, “Steve’s waiting.”
She gets up, says a final goodbye to Alice and Karla, then it’s just the two of us walking out into the yard.
“How is he?” Jenny asks.
“He was upset. I think he’s better now. He was worried because you didn’t answer your phone, so he came home early.”
“I don’t know what to do,” she sighs. “This weekend has been so wonderful, really, I just never imagined … I can’t go back … the tat I’ve been wearing …”
I stop and turn her to face me. “I can’t tell you what to do, Jenny, that’s between you and Steve. What I can say is, I think you have real potential, you could be a star, in Ponygirl circles at least. The question is whether you’re prepared to make the commitment.”
“If I could persuade Steve to get the right gear, put in the time for practice …”
“It would make no difference, I’m afraid. If you were my pony, you’d get the best gear, the best training, and I’d be working you up to the really big shows ‑ Nice, Monte Carlo, Barcelona, Venice. Steve can’t get you into those places, he doesn’t have the background, the contacts, the class.”
“But if I’m good enough, surely …”
“It’s not really about you, I’m afraid. You have to be good enough, obviously, but you also have to have the right owner. The only reason ambitious girls come to places like this is to get themselves noticed by someone who can take them higher. So you’ve got yourself into that position, now are you ready to make the jump?”
“What would I have to do?”
“Give up everything else and come with me.” I take a card case out of my pocket and hand one to Jenny. “That’s my apartment in London, my email address and my phone numbers. On Friday morning I’m flying out to the villa where I have my own Ponygirl stable. I can get you a seat on the plane if you’re ready to come, but you need to be at the apartment by Thursday evening at the latest. I suggest you go home with Steve and think about what you want to do. It’s a big decision. You need to be sure.”
I kiss her on the cheek and then walk her to the gate where Steve is waiting. He doesn’t seem angry any more, just pleased to have her back. Though for how long will remain to be seen.
Jennifer Harrison written by
The yard is busy with ponies, owners, trainers, grooms, all milling around and, apart from the ponies, talking about the day, or training plans, or what they intend to do this evening when they put their ponies away.
Alice and Master Philip remove all my tack, including my boots and, for a moment, I feel naked and vulnerable, a nude woman amongst a host of strangers. But then I realise that nobody’s looking, nobody cares. As far as they are concerned, I’m still a Ponygirl, even without the trappings, and Alice starts sponging me clean, also still treating me as a pony. I lose all sense of embarrassment as I go back into my pony mentality.
I even have to go to the toilet right there in the yard, in front of everybody! But it seems quite natural for me at this particular time in this particular place - it’s what ponies do. It’s what I do.
Alice takes me into the stable and fits me with hoof-gloves, which strap around my wrists, and ankle hoof-boots which are softer and much less raked than the pony boots I was in earlier, so they are easier on the feet.
She presents me with ‘dinner’, which consists of a plate of raw vegetables and bits of fruit, and I have to eat without cutlery or my hands, as I don’t currently have hands, which is a little awkward and messy. It isn’t very satisfying either, especially when, a little later, Alice tucks into a rather delicious-looking bowl of spaghetti Bolognese, my favourite. There are clearly downsides to the pony life!
Alice cleans my teeth for me, then leads me into a stall, and I watch as she breaks up a bale of straw onto the floor.
“Lie down, Gingerbread,” she says, and I realise that this is my bed for the night. I lie on my front as she indicates, finding the straw to be prickly but quite soft, and then feel her fingers working massage oil into the tight muscles in my legs and shoulders. Mmm, that feels good! I hadn’t realised just how stiff I was. That’s very relaxing.
She massages my calves, thighs, and buttocks… she parts my legs to work on the hamstrings on the insides of my thighs, working her way up, up… That’s not so relaxing, it’s rather stimulating!
Oh! Her fingers slip into my pussy and massage me internally! Oh God, that feels wonderful!
At her prompting, I turn onto my back, my legs and arms spread, and her free hand goes to my breasts, fondling and squeezing delightfully, as she pushes a third finger inside me, delving deeper, exploring. I look up to see her smiling down at me, and I let my feelings run wild in response as she drives me to an amazing orgasm. My body stiffens at the point of climax, and then relaxes completely as I cum back down to earth.
Alice withdraws her hands and then leans down to kiss me full on the lips.
“Try to get to sleep now, Gingerbread,” she murmurs, “you’ve got a big day ahead of you.” She turns me on to my side and, to my surprise and delight, lies down and spoons me. I eventually fall asleep in this position, a big, stupid grin on my face.
When I wake up, Alice has gone but, when I look around, she is just standing above me.
“Rise and shine, pony,” she says cheerfully, “I need to get you ready for Master Philip.”
Breakfast consists of a raw carrot followed by a handful of muesli, eaten directly from Alice’s hand. I’m then taken into the stable yard and washed and dried, along with all the other ponies. Several of them squat along a trough and go to the toilet, both wee and poo, which is hosed away by one of the grooms. I’m not sure I’m quite ready for that but, luckily, I don’t feel the need.
Master Philip is in the tack room, and I’m put into a black latex catsuit, with black leather hoof boots and gloves. The gloves are stiff and lace all the way up to the elbow, just as the boots lace up to the knee, so I really have four legs and hooves today.
The harness and bridle are made of rich, brown leather which contrasts well with the black suit and, once she has me in all my tack, Alice polishes the latex to a gleaming finish, which is quite an erotic experience! As I’m led outside, I’m feeling, quite literally, hot to trot!
A sulky! I’ve never been this close to one before, let alone harnessed to it. The first thing I notice is that, with the blinkers on either side of my face, I can see nothing behind me. I feel a shift in weight as Master Philip climbs aboard then, with a slap of the reins against my shoulders and a flick of the whip, he walks me out into the main grounds.
At a gentle trot, I move towards a group of Sunday Ponygirls, and realise that it’s my group, going about their normal activities. A couple of them look over at me as I approach, but I can tell that they don’t recognise me in my finery. I feel sorry for them that they can’t experience what I’m feeling right now!
Master Philip steers me with the reins in a circuit around the group and, as we turn towards them, whips me into a gallop, and I fly past them, straining every muscle as I show off. I’m sure they’re impressed by this classy Ponygirl showing them how it’s done, never suspecting that I’m one of them!
I slow down to a trot again, and Master Philip leads me out into the further reaches of the estate, redirecting me with the merest tug on the reins, one side or the other, and I concentrate hard to make sure that I recognise and respond to every subtle instruction, like a good pony should.
This is really physically hard, pulling the sulky and Master Philip as well, but I’m loving it. I go to the gym at least twice a week, and this is far better than that - the scenery is better, I don’t get to wear fetishwear like this at the gym, and you don’t get whipped at the gym either!
Seriously though, the main thing is the total contrast with the rest of my life. I’m a freelance contractor, mainly working as a project manager, so it’s all about high stress, high pressure, managing staff and clients, making a million decisions a day. But, as a Ponygirl, I have no stress, no pressure, and make absolutely no decisions. It’s wonderful, so relaxing!
Someone else decides what I do, what I wear, what I eat, when and where I sleep, even when I cum! Alice dresses me, feeds me, washes me, cleans my teeth, massages me. I feel so pampered! What girl wouldn’t want to be treated like this?!
After a while, I’m brought to a halt, and Master Philip appears in front of me. He takes out my bit and gives me a drink, for which I am very grateful.
“You look magnificent, Gingerbread,” he says, fondling my breasts and buttocks as he does so, “I’m very impressed by your strength and stamina. Any owner worth his salt would be proud to have you in his stable. I’ve been training you for less than a day, and I’m very proud of you.” I stand tall, thrusting out my chest proudly, and whinny in appreciation of his kind words.
He walks behind me, out of sight, and re-mounts the buggy, before starting me at a trot. He steers me off the track and across the grass, up a steep slope. The weight behind me seems to double as I strain to drag it up the hill, my hooves digging into the soft ground to prevent me slipping backwards.
My lungs are bursting and my hamstrings protesting by the time I reach the top, and I’m grateful when he brings me to a halt and unharnesses me. He strips me out of the boots and the latex, and the breeze on my sweat-covered body feels wonderful.
I want to show him how good a pony I can be, and I run around like a foal, neighing and whinnying unselfconsciously, rolling around on the grass and walking around on hooves and knees. When he calls me over to eat, I’m feeling extremely horny, and I shamelessly display myself to him, letting juice and saliva dribble down my chin and drip onto my breasts, and splaying my legs wide in front of him so he can see that my pussy is also dripping.
But he gives me a telling off, like you would a naughty puppy, and I hang my head disconsolately. I’m clearly not allowed to decide when he services me, which is entirely appropriate, of course.
But he has another surprise. He takes an enormous dildo out of the basket and pushes it inside me, before fastening the crotch strap to hold it in place. Then he puts my boots back on and hitches me to the sulky so that we can head back to the stables.
Going fast down the hill is exhilarating, and I run with gay abandon, feeling the wind in my hair, which has been extended into a glorious mane. As the ground levels off, Master Philip reduces my speed to a steady trot, and we make our way towards the stable block.
All the while, the dildo is sliding around inside me, never quite stimulating me enough to bring me to orgasm, but keeping me teetering on the edge. It’s excruciating, immensely frustrating, and deliciously arousing, all at the same time. It seems to sum up my time as an advanced Ponygirl!
The group of Sunday ponies is no longer there, but I see someone crossing the grass heading towards us. Oh no, it’s Steve! What is he doing here? I can hear him calling out, he’s recognised me! What should I do?! I don’t want to confront him like this!
Luckily, Master Philip is in charge, and I feel the reins slapped against my back and the whip strike hard across my buttocks. I spring forward at a gallop which I maintain all the way until we are in the stable yard. Karla and Alice meet us there, and they quickly unharness me, leading me into the tack room. They strip me out of the boots, harness, bit and bridle.
“Have a nice shower, Jenny,” Alice says as she leads me into a communal changing room, “your clothes will be here when you’ve finished.”
So that’s it. I guess by her use of my real name that my time as Gingerbread is over. I shed a few tears of frustration at having my full Ponygirl experience cut short by Steve. I know there’s going to be a blazing row later, and I’m not looking forward to it, but I reluctantly get dressed and go back to Karla’s desk.
Master Philip presses a business card into my hand, talking about Ponygirl shows around Europe, and a chance to visit his private stables. I do my best to focus on what he is saying, but I’m also worrying about the scene I’m about to endure. Steve and I leave in our separate cars, with him following me home, as if I was about to try and give him the slip.
“What the hell were you thinking?!” he shouts at me as soon as we are alone in our apartment. “I was worried sick about you, and then I find you gallivanting at that perverts pony club!”
“I just wanted to find out what it’s really like,” I try to explain, but he’s too mad to listen.
“Well, you certainly did that!” he fumes. “That Campion saw you coming, and took full advantage, didn’t he? He had you just where he wanted you - naked and pulling him around at the end of his whip!
“I humoured you in your bizarre fetish, even agreed to take you there, in the misguided belief that it was necessary for our relationship. I thought I could protect you from these perverts, but I can’t protect you from yourself! Well, never again! We’re done with that place, and you can forget all about this ridiculous Ponygirl fixation, you won’t be playing those games any more. I won’t allow it!”
“Who put you in charge of my life?” I scream, finally losing my temper.
“You did, remember? You wanted me to be your owner!”
“You’re not fit to be anyone’s owner, Steve,” I reply heatedly, “you haven’t got a fucking clue! Master Philip understands what it takes to control a Ponygirl, as you’ll never do!”
“Oh, so it’s ‘Master’ Philip now, is it?” he sneers, “how charming! Did you let him fuck you as well?!”
“No!” I protest vehemently. I decide not to mention him bringing me off in the tack room, or Alice making me cum last night. Too much detail!
“I haven’t got time for this,” Steve says grumpily, looking at his watch, “some of us have got work to do! We’ll talk about this when I get back at the weekend.”
“No we won’t,” I say firmly, “I won’t be here. I think this is over, Steve.”
“Fine,” he snaps, “go off and play your pathetic, kinky sex games with your new Master, I think you’re right - you and I are finished. But don’t come crying to me when you realise what a total prick that guy is!” With that, he storms out of the apartment, slamming as many doors as he can.
I burst into tears, partly at the release of tension, but also in a mixture of relief and sorrow that this major relationship in my life has come to an end. It’s not been right for a long time, is not just today or the whole Ponygirl situation, but that was a pretty spectacular fireworks display to end it!
Later, lying in bed, I retrieve Master Philip’s card and think about what he said to me and what I should do next.
‘Give up everything else and come with me.’ What does that even mean? Give up everything? It seems like I’ve given up my love life already!
My current project is coming to an end this week, and flying off to find out if I really can be the Ponygirl he thinks I can be sounds like a wonderful idea. I reckon it’s now or never. I have to give this 100% commitment and see where it goes. What do I have to lose?
It’s a busy week. The project is due to finish on Friday, but by exhorting my team to greater efforts, and by working late on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, I manage to bring the final signoff forward to Thursday lunchtime. After a celebratory glass of fizz with the team and the clients, I make my excuses and catch the train up to London.
The address on the card is in one of the newly-gentrified areas, and the taxi pulls up in front of a very upscale apartment block. I smooth down the skirt of my business suit, fix my hair and apply some lipgloss. I generally wear a smart suit to work, especially when meeting clients, but today I’ve upgraded my tights for stockings and suspenders, flats for heels, and M&S underwear for Agent Provocateur. They certainly appreciated it in the office, I hope Master Philip appreciates it tonight!
I feel my heart beating faster. Am I doing the right thing, putting my life on hold to pursue this crazy fantasy of becoming an international Ponygirl star? Hell yes! I take out my phone and, logging in to social media, update my relationship status to ‘Single’ and post a message:
“Off on a big adventure. Wish me luck!”
I switch off my phone, press the doorbell and wait nervously for a response.