Three weeks after the hair remodelling and piercings, we’re in Cannes for the International Pony Fetish Association Grands Prix at the Stadt des Hespérides. The event is the first round of the IPFA Ponygirl Champions Tour, which takes its inspiration from the Longines Global Champions Tour for show jumping and uses many of the same venues.
In what, for most of the year, is a fairly nondescript football pitch, there is now an outdoor arena, which will stage events including racing, carriage and sulky driving and, of course, the pairs’ dressage in which Team Campion is confidently competing.
All around the arena are white-roofed pavilions which provide shade for the spectators, as well as entertainment and exhibition areas and, of course, stabling for the ponies. Although this is exclusively a Ponygirl festival, the exhibition space has stalls representing a whole range of fetish interests, many with interesting merchandise for sale.
It’s our first day here and I’m pleased I paid for a private stall and preparation area, just for my team. I’ve experienced the common stabling at other competitions and it’s worse than a zoo, with the added worry of the dirty tricks that one or two of the teams have a reputation for. I would really hate to see my precious pony pair go down with food poisoning just before the semis. But that, believe it or not, has happened to others more than once.
Alice has been rehearsing Emerald and Opal in the arena this morning and now, after lunch, they’re both standing naked, chained by their necks and wrists to a metal frame in the middle of the stall. Behind each pony a large enema bottle hangs from a tall metal pole, the tube buried in her rectum. I don’t normally do this to my ponies, but in a competition, you just can’t afford accidents.
Meanwhile, Alice is giving them a thorough wash, followed by a rubdown with soft brushes. By the time she’s finished off with a special moisturiser, their tanned skin will really glow under the harnesses. She’s being assisted by Giorgia, who has been promoted from helping her mother in the kitchen. The youngster was so excited when I told her she would be coming with us to Cannes; almost as excited as Francesca was worried.
I have to admit my role here is purely supervisory. Alice shuts off the enema taps and removes the tubes, then she and Giorgia take the ponies to the toilet area. It takes a while for them to expel everything, but once Alice is sure they’re finished, she brings them back and I start to help her fit the show harnesses and hoof boots. Giorgia, to her disgust, is left to hose down the toilet tray.
“How are you feeling, Emerald?” I ask, as Alice and Giorgia start to fit her head harness and bridle. Nuala scrapes her hoof enthusiastically on the concrete. She’s getting into pony space already and is very eager to get on with the competition. Before her bit is fitted, I check her tongue piercing and see it has healed up very nicely.
I allow myself the pleasure of clipping the bells to her nipple rings. She has sensitive nipples, which is why I never had her pierced before. Nipple clamps would always make her squeal and do a cute little jiggy dance and I’ve found a gentle tug on the nipple rings has the same effect.
“How about you, Opal?” I ask, as Alice makes sure her harness straps are comfortably tight. Jenny scrapes the floor too, but I can tell she is nervous. It’s the first round of her first competition and, however well we’ve trained her, the thing we just can’t give her is real world experience.
I check her piercings too and clip the bells on her nipple rings. She’s not as sensitive as Nuala, but she always gives the bells a little shake to make them jingle, like it’s a kind of good luck routine.
Now the grooms are fitting their buttplug tails and then my Ponygirl pair is ready. I’m really pleased I had the sides of their heads shaved, because the headdresses, with their red and green plumes, look really exciting and dramatic.
“You look absolutely magnificent,” I tell them. “There is nobody in this show that looks anywhere near as good as you. That is down to the care and attention to detail that you’ve had from Alice and Giorgia all the way up to today, but it’s also down to you, the way you hold yourselves, the way you carry off this spectacular tack that you’ve been dressed in. I’m not going to wish you luck, I’m just going to tell you to go out there and do what we all know you can do. Win this competition!”
The ponies whinny, scrape their hooves and swish their tails. Alice rushes forward to settle them down, worried that in their enthusiasm they’ll dislodge something. I’m leaving now, off to the owners’ bench ringside, to watch our competitors as well as my own pair. I’m proud and confident, but just the slightest bit nervous too. There’s a lot riding on the competition over the next few days.
As I slide into my seat, the first pair is just starting their routine. I’m not seeing anything here that worries me. There’s a lot of standard steps, backwards and forwards, and some awkward jigging about to heavy metal rock music. There’s a myth perpetuated by writers of Ponygirl literature that the ponies are all beautiful and built like supermodels. These two aren’t anything like that, they wouldn’t look out of place in a wrestling ring and their tack is somewhere between Hell’s Angels and The Village People. The audience is sparse and they get a smattering of applause as their performance lumbers to a close.
There are four judges and they each give marks out of 6 for the first, more technical section and 6 for the freestyle second part. The cart horses get a mix of twos and threes, so they’re well out of contention.
The next pair are Japanese and more promising. They are petite, very slim and elegant, with colourful headdresses that owe something to oriental dragons. I’ve seen them before at other competitions and their owner, Master Hitashi, knows what he is doing. After the required standard steps, they do a routine with ribbons and execute the intricate moves flawlessly. Scores are fours and fives, so definitely a threat.
There’s just a couple of teams now before Emerald and Opal make their entrance, so I quickly send a few text messages. There’s some people I have teed up to come and watch their performance, partly to get a sympathetic audience and also because I want to get the word around that they are worth coming to see.
The previous pair conclude a fairly average performance and then the compère announces “Emerald Star and Opal Fire, owned by Master Philip Campion, trained by Miss Alice Beaumont.”
The small group of friends I have organised give my pair an encouraging cheer as Alice brings them to the centre of the ring and they curtsy to the judges. Jenny still looks a little nervy, but I’m sure she’ll be fine once they get started. Their music begins and they go through the mandatory part of the routine, a mixture of walks, trots and canters, which Alice has choreographed to make it a little more interesting. The important thing is they are absolutely in sync with the music, with Alice’s commands and with one another. So far everything is going to plan.
Then on to the freestyle section, which is where we should really have an edge. Alice has programmed this section as a dance. The music is a Samba and the ponies are high stepping as they must, but to a Latin beat. They circle round one another, swishing their tales, looking very hot and sexy as they throw in some flamenco-like stamping, which the crowd seems to like. Then they’re side by side, grinding their hips against one another before turning into a hold face to face. There’s a definite sexual chemistry going on between them and the audience is loving it. People are starting to come in from the concourse to see what is going on.
It is very close to the finish when disaster strikes. They are supposed to hold, break apart, execute a balletic jeté before turning back together side by side for the final hold. Coming out of the jeté, Jenny misses her footing, lands awkwardly and almost falls. Nuala sees what is happening and moves in to help her partner regain her poise, but the rhythm of the piece is lost and the finale ends out of time with the music. They still get huge applause, but I can see Jenny is in tears and both Alice and Nuala have their arms round her as they leave the ring.
I wait for the scores before I leave. We get four fives for the first part, which is excellent, but 2 threes and 2 fours for the dance section. It’s not the end of the world, I have no doubt we’re one of the eight pairs that will go through to the semi final, but I expect perfection and that wasn’t perfect.
As I walk back to the stable area, I have to decide what I’m going to do. It was Jenny’s first performance in competition, so I don’t feel I should be too hard on her. However, I know she is going to expect to be punished. That’s what Ponygirl training is all about, the well known principal of carrot and stick. By the time I walk through the door to our stable I have firmly decided on stick.
The ponies are already out of their gear and are in a huddle with Alice. As soon as they see I’ve arrived, Jenny rushes over and throws herself at my feet.
“Master, I’m so sorry, I don’t know how it happened, but it was all my fault. Please forgive me, I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Get up, Opal,” I say harshly. “I know it’s a hard routine and it’s your first competition, but that’s why you’ve had so much preparation and training. I won’t tolerate failure and I’m sure you know what the consequences of failure must be.”
Jenny looks at me with growing horror on her face. She was getting up, but now she’s back on her knees, holding onto my legs and, I think, kissing my shoes. She looks up, tears streaming down her face. “Please, Master, don’t sell me, give me another chance, I know I can make you proud of me, I won’t let you down again.”
Well, I didn’t say I was going to sell her, she made that connection that for herself. Her terror is most gratifying and arousing, but it’s the reaction of the rest of the team that I am particularly affected by. Nuala comes forward now, kneels next to Jenny and puts her arm round her. “Please, Master, Opal’s my partner, my friend. We can’t win the competition without her. Please give her another chance.”
Even Alice joins in. “Really, Master, Emerald is right. I know Opal can do it, it was her first time and that is a really difficult manoeuvre for anyone. We can do some more work on it this evening. She’ll be fine tomorrow, I’m sure she will.”
With all of them ganging up on me, what can I do? “Very well, I will give Opal another chance. But, any more screw ups and she’s out and, I will break her toes before she leaves, so whatever she does for her new master, it won’t be as a Ponygirl.”
Jenny whimpers, “Thank you Master, you won’t regret this, I promise you.”
I haven’t finished. “I am still going to punish you, Opal, for your mistake. Giorgia, get my cane. Opal, over the barrier there and hold your ankles.”
Jenny bends over the frame the ponies were tied to for their enema. Giorgia brings the cane and I tap Jenny’s cheeks with it to get a feel for the stroke. Then I take my arm back over my shoulder and swing the cane hard across her buttocks. The impact pushes her hips forward and a small cry escapes her lips. The next stroke hits the same spot and draws a real wail of anguish. By the sixth and final stroke she is sobbing and her legs are shaking uncontrollably.
As Nuala gathers Jenny up and takes her to a bed of straw to comfort her, I turn to Alice. “You three have got some serious work to do this evening, so you’ll have to make your own arrangements for eating.”
Alice looks serious and says “Very good, Master. What will you do?”
“I will take Giorgia as my dinner companion, but first I need to buy her a suitable outfit for the occasion. Come along, Giorgia, let’s go get you something hot.”
As we leave, the pretty young stable hand on my arm looks like a cat who’s just had a double helping of cream.
Opal Fire written by
Wow, Cannes! I’ve been here before, for the film festival, gawping at Hollywood celebrities and sexy starlets, but now I feel like one of the tourist attractions myself, being stared and pointed at by everyone around.
Emerald and I are walking through the airport terminal, dressed in our ultra-revealing latex dresses and, from the nature of the comments I can overhear, a planeload of tourists from England have just arrived.
“Bloody hell, look at the tits on those two! They are HOT!”
“Oh my word, look at those tarts, strutting around with everything on show. No, don’t you dare look, Howard!”
“Daddy, has that lady got rings in her boobies? Daddy? Mummy, why won't Daddy answer me?”
And now the competition arena. It’s so much bigger than I expected! About the size of a basketball court. but in the open air, with a fine gravel floor. It’s surrounded by ranks of seats for an audience of hundreds! I can’t believe they’re going to need this much space, they must have either wildly overestimated the likely attendance for this event, or got it cheap. Miss Alice takes us through a standard rehearsal of our routine in the intimidating atmosphere of the empty arena, and Emerald and I have no problems in perfectly executing the moves that have been drilled into us over the preceding weeks and months of training.
Backstage is an astonishing sea of women in leather harnesses and hoof-boots, milling around and being prepared for the competition by their trainers. I’m surprised to see that not all of the Ponygirls are actually naked. I kind of assumed that it was a requirement, but clearly not. Some of them are wearing sparkly leotards like Olympic gymnasts. But I still think that Emerald and I look better, stripped and ready for action.
There’s such a mix of women, from teenagers to forty-somethings, black, white, Asian, Oriental, some tall and thin like supermodels, some stacked like porn stars, some just perfectly normal women you’d pass on the street without a second glance. It seems like the Ponygirl experience is of universal appeal around the world!
Pairs of Ponygirls make their way into the arena as their turn to perform arrives, each led by their trainer, and the level of confidence they show marks out those that are experienced from the first timers. When they return, a quick glance at their body language and the expression on the face of the trainer reveals the degree of success they had. As they are led away, I wonder what sort of reception the failures will receive from their owners. I certainly know that, if we fail, Master will not be pleased!
At last it’s our turn and, as Miss Alice takes up the reins and leads us towards the door, my heart begins to pound and there’s a knot of nervousness in my stomach. Just remember everything you’ve been trained to do! It’s just another session, no big deal…
Oh my God, there must be fifty people in the audience! I’ve presented in front of ten times this many people, but I’m suddenly terrified. It’s like an anxiety dream, where you find yourself standing in front of an audience and realise you forgot to put on your skirt and pants. Except this is real, I’m really standing in front of all these people stark naked and they’re staring at me, waiting for me to entertain them!
And the judges! A line of stern-faced men with clipboards, examining every aspect of my naked body, judging me. I’m just standing there, and they are already making notes! What can they have found to criticise?! Are my breasts too small? My thighs too fat? My bottom too flabby?! This is horrible! So totally humiliating!
The routine starts, and I have to snap out of my discomfort and get in time with Emerald. She is clearly not fazed by the situation at all, and is executing every step perfectly. Gradually, her calmness and confidence transmits itself in part to me, and it’s all going well. We’re through the compulsory section and into the free programme, which is the bit I really enjoy. It’s complex, but so creatively put together by Miss Alice. I know we must look good doing this, it’s flowing so well, nearly finished…
Aaah, nightmare! After the big jump, I land on an edge and my ankle turns. If it wasn’t for the stiffness and tight lacing of the boots, I would have sprained the ankle, but I’m fighting for balance, I’m going to fall! I suddenly feel arms around me - Emerald has come to my rescue, holding me up as the routine comes to an end.
But, as we exit the arena, I know it’s been a disaster. One missed step has ruined the whole performance, and it’s all my fault! I’m crying, not because of the pain or the mistake, but because I’ve let down Master. After all that training, after all the expense and trouble he’s gone to, I’ve fucked up, and cost us our place in the competition. Emerald continues to hold me and try to comfort me in my misery.
“It’s okay, Opal,” she whispers when Miss Alice has removed our bits, “it’s okay, I’m sure we’ll get through to the next round. Don’t worry.” But I’m still inconsolable. I’ve let down everyone, not least my wonderful partner and my trainer but, more importantly, my Master.
When I see him striding towards us, I throw myself at his feet, begging for forgiveness for my clumsiness, promising that, next time, I’ll do better. But he’s so angry that I fear that there may not be a next time. I know he doesn’t suffer fools or failures gladly, and the prospect of being rejected, being sold to one of the other owners, of never seeing Emerald or Miss Alice again, is a terrible possibility.
But Master is merciful! He has granted me another chance. Yes, he punishes me and yes, it hurts like hell, but I’m still part of his team! Thank you, Master, you won’t regret it!
That night, Miss Alice puts us through a long and strenuous training session until, both exhausted, Emerald and I collapse onto the straw of our stable stall.
“You need to relax, Opal,” Emerald tells me as she props herself up on an elbow and looks down at me, idly stroking my breast, “you’re thinking too much, worrying too much. Let me help you take your mind off this silly competition.” She leans down and presses her lips against mine, and I feel her tongue force its way into my mouth, the stud scraping against my teeth as it does so. As we kiss earnestly, her hand moves from my breast down between my legs and, as I spread my thighs, her fingers slip into my hot, moist pussy.
I raise my arms to hold her and return the wonderful massage she’s giving my G-spot, but she uses her free arm to pin mine down, rendering me the entirely submissive party in this most beautiful experience.
“Oh, Emerald!” I exclaim as my excitement grows. “Please, let me suck you! I want to lick your clit!” I writhe and squirm in response to her exquisite manipulations, gasping as her thumb rubs my own clitoris, and her fingers delve deep inside me.
“Shush, darling,” she murmurs, “just lie back and accept what you’re given. You need this more than I do at the moment.” Inexorably, she drives me to an amazing climax, before kissing me tenderly and lying down beside me.
As we slowly drift towards sleep in each other’s arms, I think about the amazing woman holding me, and the effect she has had on me. Before I met her, I had no interest in other women, or desire to experience Sapphic sex. Yet now I not only long for her touch but, I realise, I care for her deeply. Is this love? Maybe it’s the effect of the bizarre situation in which we find ourselves, but this feels like the deepest relationship I’ve ever had. As I doze off, I imagine spending the rest of my life with her, in harness. It’s a pleasant thought…
“Wake up, beautiful.” I open my eyes to see Emerald looking down at me, a smile playing on her face. “Let’s win this thing, then you can use that tongue stud of yours on my clitoris for as long as you like!”
“Oh yes, you gorgeous pony,” I smile back up at her, “if ever I needed an incentive, that is just perfect!” I’m ready to go. Nothing can stop us now!
Philip Campion written by
Two days later, I’m walking through the main pavilion with an incredibly beautiful woman on each arm and I feel ten feet tall. Nuala and Jenny are in their casual pony gear - black latex body suits, a light headdress that gathers their hair into high ponytails and thigh length high-heeled boots. They really do look amazing.
Our progress is slowed by a succession of people asking for selfies with my ponies, wanting them to sign the Grand Prix programme or just to ask questions about their Ponygirl lifestyle. It’s all because of what happened yesterday at the dressage semi-final. Their routine was absolutely flawless and I’m convinced the three fives they got amongst the sixes were just to even things up with the other competitors. Okay, to be fair the Japanese team did well and pushed us pretty hard, but my girls still beat them convincingly.
What's more, the audience numbers were way up, more like 300 than the 50 in the first round and they absolutely loved it. Now Emerald Star and Opal Fire are celebrities.
We’re stopped again by another group of fetishistas. I hang back, because no one is interested in me, except, that is, for a couple of armchair Doms who want tips on persuading hot women to become their slaves. It’s hard to know what to tell them: shower more, use deodorant, buy some decent clothes. Or maybe it’s charisma that’s the secret. They look puzzled and rush off to look it up.
While I’m waiting, Alice and Giorgia catch up with us. The other night, after the first round, I took Giorgia out to dinner, having first bought her a really sexy and revealing outfit. She’s actually great company and having a pretty, scantily-dressed nineteen-year-old as a dinner companion does my middle-aged male ego no harm at all.
Ironically, given the conversation I’ve just had with the loser guys, she spent most of the time trying to persuade me to train her as a Ponygirl, or, failing that, my slave. I told her she was lucky to be training as a groom with Alice and she should make the most of that opportunity before she looks for anything else. So now she follows Alice around like a hungry puppy.
The ponies are finally released by their fans and we continue our walk. I now have four gorgeous women around me. Maybe there is no secret and I’m just very, very lucky.
There’s a group of people coming towards us now and they’re not fans and admirers. I recognise one of them, he’s Édouard Lefevre and he’s head of security at the stadium. There’s a couple of his security guards, two French policemen and two other guys I don’t know. They seem intent on blocking our path.
One of the men I don’t recognise opens the conversation. “Are you Monsieur Philip Campion?” His English is good, with only a slight accent, so I don’t insult him with my French. “Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”
“I am Lieutenant Daniel Leclercq of the French National Police. And this is Inspector Ron Dawlish of Wiltshire Police in the UK. We have a European Warrant for your arrest on charges of kidnapping, rape and false imprisonment. Which of these ladies is Jennifer Harrison?”
“This is Jenny,” I say reluctantly.
I think the detective is a bit thrown by her outfit, especially the holes through which her pierced nipples are poking, but he carries on regardless. “I’m afraid we have to ask you to help us with our enquiries, Madame. Would you both follow me please, we can continue this at police headquarters.”
I turn to Alice. “Find us a lawyer quickly and make sure they have Jenny’s contract.” Then we’re led away. Not in handcuffs, fortunately. I expect Jenny would enjoy that, but I wouldn’t. My biggest worry is the final is in four hours’ time and there’s a real risk we won’t make it.
It’s as bad as I feared. By the time they get us to the police station, dump us in separate interview rooms and wait for the lawyer to arrive, an hour goes by. Then I have to brief the lawyer and wait for the police to do whatever they do to waste precious time, so that’s another hour gone. To cap it all, on the way in I caught sight of Steve, Jenny’s ex-owner/partner. It’s no surprise that he’s behind this nonsense; I just hope they’re not planning to let him talk to Jenny.
The detectives come into the room and the interview starts. Dawlish seems to be leading the questioning.
“Mister Campion, the allegations against you are that you kidnapped Miss Jennifer Harrison when she visited your flat in London, that you raped and sexually assaulted her there, that you removed her from the country under duress and that you have been holding her prisoner at your estate in Tuscany as a sex slave. Do you have anything to say to these charges?”
“Yes, of course. They are false and utterly ridiculous. The allegations have been made, I expect, by Miss Harrison’s former partner, Steve Moist, who is upset that she dumped him. I can’t imagine why you decided to execute your warrant here, but Miss Harrison is due to perform in an important competition in two hours from now and I would appreciate it if you would get this over quickly.”
Dawlish looks sceptical. “How would you describe your relationship with Miss Harrison?”
“We have a business arrangement. I have Miss Harrison under a management contract as an exotic dance performer.”
“Exotic dance? Don’t you mean that you force Miss Harrison to live as what I understand is called a Ponygirl in BDSM circles and that you have coerced her into believing that she is your slave and you are her master?”
“That is a more explicit description of our arrangement, yes. However, I emphatically deny that she has been forced or coerced in any sense. She entered into our relationship willingly and fully aware of what it involved. I think you will find that Mr Moist had a similar relationship with Miss Harrison himself. Nothing we are doing is illegal.”
Dawlish consults his notes and ploughs on. “We obtained a warrant to search your London apartment and were given access by your assistant, Miss Greta Zubrinski. She opened your safe for us, where we found Miss Harrison’s credit cards, driving licence, car keys and other personal possessions. Is it usual for someone in a consensual relationship to be deprived of their valuables in this way?”
And so it goes on. I will certainly have something to say to Greta about describing herself as my “assistant” rather than the maid, and not telling me she’d had the police round. Anyway, Dawlish has also talked to the staff at The Stable restaurant, so he feels very sure of his ground. He is the dullest, most vanilla-minded little bureaucrat you could dread to meet; trying to explain concepts like consensual non-consent to him is like attempting to describe the Theory of Relativity to a five-year-old.
Eventually I do manage to persuade him that someone should talk to Jenny. The French detective eagerly volunteers to do that, possibly motivated by the latex pony costume that Jenny is still wearing.
Fifteen minutes later, he comes back and asks Dawlish for time out. Then they both come back to resume the interview, but now Dawlish seems more conciliatory and a little embarrassed.
“Well, Mr Campion, it seems you have a very firm hold over Miss Harrison. She has confirmed what you have been telling us. However, she has admitted that the contract you hold over her is very one-sided and makes it virtually impossible for her to leave without your agreement. Within the contract, she is forced to do anything you demand and to suffer anything you decide to do to her. That doesn’t sound like a consensual arrangement to me.”
I think for a moment and briefly consult the lawyer. He passes me the contract.
“This is the contract Miss Harrison signed. I think we can agree this is her signature and that she was fully aware of what she was signing at the time she signed it, whatever happened before or since. Do you accept that?”
Dawlish looks at Leclercq, who shrugs as if he feels his time has been completely wasted. Looking a little grumpy, Dawlish agrees.
“And all that is standing in the way of us being released is this contract?”
Having got their agreement to that, I hold up the stapled sheets and tear them evenly down the middle. I put the torn halves together and tear them again and continue till I can push a pile of minutely torn paper to the mystified policemen.
“Take that to Miss Harrison. My lawyer will accompany you. Tell her that I have waived the contract completely, as is my right. If she wishes to leave and go back to England I will pay for her to do so and ensure that all her property is restored to her. If, on the other hand, she wants to come back with me and win the competition that is starting in 45 minutes time, I would appreciate a police car to get us back there as fast as possible. Otherwise, I am sure my legal representative will be more than happy to sue the Cannes police department for wrongful arrest.”
The three of them rush off. Ten minutes later they are back with Jenny, who throws herself at me, flinging her arms round my neck in relief. I really hope she has the sense not to call me Master in front of the detectives, but she doesn’t let me down.
We’re rushing through the lobby of the police station when I catch sight of Steve being led away by two uniformed officers, accompanied by Leclercq. With luck they’ll do him for wasting police time. “You bastard, Campion,” he shouts. “This isn’t over yet!” I ignore him, we’re in too much of a hurry and I need to phone Alice.
We get blue lights and a siren for our drive back to the stadium and run through the main pavilion towards the arena. We get there with barely fifteen minutes to spare before the final gets under way. Outside the door to the competitors’ stable area, Jenny stops and leans against the wall.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Master,” she says with tears in her eyes. “I’m so wound up and tense. If I screw this up, I’m going to hunt that bastard Steve down and stamp on his balls with my hooves on.”
I pull her away from the wall and hold her with her head on my shoulder. If I hadn’t shaved off most of her hair, I’d be stroking it.
“Take some deep breaths and pull yourself together. Remember your training and the bond you have with Emerald. That will get you through. You can do this, I know you can.” She looks up at me and wipes her eyes with her hand. I kiss her softly on the lips. “Go on, Alice and Emerald will be waiting for you.”
She smiles bravely, says “Thank you, Master, wish us luck,” and disappears through the door.
Opal Fire written by
Emerald and I strut through the main pavilion, looking and feeling like a million dollars. Part of that is the sexy clothing - I just love wearing latex! - part of it is to do with all the admiring looks and comments we receive, but mainly it’s because we are basking in the approval of our Master.
It was quite a shock at first to see how the audience had grown for our second performance. The crowd had swelled from a few tens on the first day to several hundred when we entered the arena. But unlike then, it didn’t spook me. Emerald had done a great job of getting me to focus on what was important, which was winning for Master.
So our performance had gone perfectly, not a missed step, everything in precise synchronisation, and plenty of expression in each move in the routine. When we finished, with a submissive bow to the judges, the crowd had gone wild, clapping, cheering and foot-stomping in appreciation.
Now, our new fan club can’t get enough of us! The place is mobbed with men and women, young and old, desperate to get a picture or an autograph - I can’t believe I’m now a celebrity who gives autographs! The men also take every opportunity to cop a feel, but I guess I can forgive them that. I look over at Master and see the proud, contented look on his face, and I feel all warm inside.
What’s this? Police? They’re arresting Master? This is a nightmare! I look helplessly back at Emerald and Miss Alice as Master and I are led away, bundled into a police car, and driven into the city.
We are taken into the police station. Oh my God, it’s Steve! What’s he doing here?! I have no opportunity to speak to Master before we are separated and I am taken into an interview room. They leave me there alone, and I try to come to terms with what is going on. They said that they had a warrant for Master’s arrest on rape, kidnapping and false imprisonment. But that’s ridiculous! They’ve got it completely wrong! Steve must have told them a pack of lies. I can sort this all out, but I’m shut in this room, being ignored!
Eventually, the French policeman comes into the room. He gives me a smile, which has a distinctly lecherous look to it. He seems to be having difficulty looking me in the eye.
“What’s going on?” I ask frantically. “What have you done with Ma… Mr Campion?” I almost said ‘Master’ then, which I suspect might cause some trouble.
“We are just asking him some questions,” he replies. “I also have some questions for you, if that is alright. Perhaps you could start by confirming your name for me please.”
“Opal Fire,” I respond automatically, before realising what I’ve said.
“Excuse me?” the policeman says, looking confused. I decide I need to brazen it out.
“Officially, I suppose, my name is Jennifer Harrison - that’s what’s on my passport. But Ma… Mr Campion has named me ‘Opal Fire’, so that is what I want to be known as.” He still looks sceptical, but I stare back at him defiantly.
“I see,” he says, though clearly he doesn’t. “Could you describe for me the events of the evening when you arrived at Mr Campion’s apartment in London? Please note that we have the testimony of Ms Greta Zubrinski and the staff at The Stable, so there is no point in lying to protect him.” I’m getting rather frightened now, this is not going to sound good.
“Well, he did take me to the restaurant and… I had sex with the waiters. And the waitress. And… he spanked me in front of the other customers.” No, not good at all.
“Was this on his instructions?” he asks, offering me the knife to twist in Master’s back.
“Well, yes, but-“
“And back at the apartment?” he interrupts.
“I… spent the night with Greta,” I say miserably.
“She admitted to the English police that she tied you up and physically assaulted you,” the Inspector goes on relentlessly, “was Mr Campion aware of this?”
“I believe so,” I reply, unable to deny anything in case he catches me in a lie. I want to tell him what the truth is about Master and me, but he doesn’t give me a chance.
“I understand that you have a contract with Mr Campion. Could you tell me the nature of that contract?” This seems to be the heart of the matter as far as he’s concerned. He looks very eager to hear my response. Again, I don’t know what he already knows, so I have to play it straight.
“The contract sets out the terms of our relationship,” I explain, “basically, it allows him to do whatever he wants to me, and I have to do whatever he tells me.”
“Is he allowed to have sex with you?”
“Yes.”
“Is he allowed to physically assault you? To whip you, if he so chooses?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” the policeman says, and I can see that he believes that I’m probably a traumatised victim of physical and sexual abuse.
“I don’t think you do,” I say firmly, making him look up at me. “You see, this is what I have consented to. Mr Campion didn’t force me to sign that contract, I did it willingly.” He gathers up his notes and gives me what looks like a pitying smile.
“Well, thank you, Miss Harrison, you’ve been very helpful,” he says, standing up, “I will get back to you as soon as I can.” He leaves me alone once more in the room, and I have a horrible feeling that I’ve just made it much worse for Master.
It doesn’t take long before he returns, but he’s accompanied by the other policeman, the English one, and… Steve! They all sit down at the table, staring at me.
“Miss Harrison,” the English policeman says, “this is the contract you signed with Mr Campion.” He puts a pile of shredded paper on the table. “He ripped it up and said that you are no longer bound by its terms.”
“You’re free, Jenny,” Steve blurts out, “you can come home with me and we can forget this aberration. I forgive you!”
I look at all of them, shocked by these developments. Master has released me from my contract? I’m free to go. But does he want me to go? Am I more trouble than I’m worth? I need to get this straight in my head. And I need to make these people understand how I feel. Starting with Steve.
“Oh, Steve,” I smile, “all this time, I’ve been thinking about you.”
“It must have been a nightmare for you, darling,” he smiles, a look of triumph on his face.
“You misunderstand,” I explain, “I’ve been having an awful lot of anal sex out here. Every time one of the guys forces his big, fat, juicy cock into my rectum, I feel my arsehole getting bigger, and I think of you.” I enjoy the look of shock and confusion on his face for a moment, then turn to the policemen.
“You seem to be struggling to understand the relationship between Mr Campion and myself, so let me explain. I am what they call in BDSM circles a Submissive. That means that I like to be under someone else’s control. I also get sexual satisfaction from being tied up, spanked, whipped, caned, and generally abused in lots of ways. This is not a new thing. Steve here can tell you that I used to allow him to tie me up and abuse me. What, didn’t he tell you that before bringing you out here? It must have slipped his mind.
“Mr Campion is what is called a Dominant. He likes to control people, young women in particular, and he probably gets sexual satisfaction from tying them up and whipping them. You’d have to ask him.
“So, he and I are a match made, if not in heaven, then in his London apartment. You may find the whole thing distasteful, perverted, unwholesome. But it’s not illegal. We are both adults, and this is a CONSENSUAL relationship. The last time I checked, England and France were democratic countries where the rule of law took precedence over the individual likes and dislikes of petty, jumped-up officials and jealous, jilted boyfriends!
“Now, I suggest you release me and get me back to compete in the Ponygirl competition, or my wonderful, controlling, vengeful Master is going to whip me raw. That would be ironic, wouldn't it, Steve? You come out here to rescue me and, because of your intervention, I get punished very, very severely. And you know that I'd love every moment!”
They don’t look happy, but they have Master and me out of the building and back to the Stadium in double-quick time.
It’s so great to see Emerald and Miss Alice again! There’s only a few minutes before the final begins, and Miss Alice gets me kitted out in my full pony regalia as quickly as possible.
Everyone tries to reassure me that it will all be fine, but my head is just not in the right place! I need to be in sub-space, or pony-space, or whatever it’s called, but I can’t stop thinking about what just happened. Emerald knows I’m not where I need to be, but she doesn’t have time to use her magic to relax me.
“Bend over, ponies!” Miss Alice barks, flexing her riding crop threateningly in front of us. “You need to be punished for not being ready on time. I know you weren’t involved in the delay, Emerald, but you’re a team - you win together, you take your punishment together!”
Fuck me, she really lays into us! In only a few seconds, I’m squealing in agony and there are burning stripes across my buttocks and all the way down the backs of my thighs. I can hear that Emerald is receiving the same treatment.
“Now, remember that,” Miss Alice snarls at us as we straighten up and she clips lariats to our bridles, “if you don’t make me and your Master proud of you in the next few minutes, I will personally ensure that you can’t sit down for a week, and I promise you, that is not a figure of speech! Now, let’s go!”
My fear of her disapproval drives all the other nonsense out of my head. I have to perform for her, for Master, and for Emerald. They’re all depending on me. I won’t let them down!