I watch the door close as Jenny goes to get ready for the final. I go off to find my seat in the owners’ block at the front of the arena. I smile confidently at the other owners as I pass them, but I feel … nervous … worried. The incident with Steve and the police have put huge emotional stress on Jenny at exactly the time she needed to be calm and relaxed.
I know that to beat the other three teams Emerald and Opal will have to perform at their absolute best. In the final everyone raises their game and the format, two freestyle pieces following the technical section, layers on additional pressure. Neither of those pieces can have been used in previous rounds, so the ponies have had to rehearse these on top of all the other work. It’s a lot to ask under perfect conditions, but now …
The first pair are just starting and it’s a team from Germany. I expect they will be close to perfect technically, but I don’t think I’m just falling for stereotypes when I say they lack artistic flair. Anyway, I can’t concentrate on them, my mind is somewhere else completely.
Of course I want my pair to win for all the kudos and accolades it would bring for me. Emerald has won just about everything there is to win in individual competitions, but finding her a partner has proved elusive. Finally we found one who didn’t want to compete with her to be Master’s favourite, but was willing to be subservient and learn until she could take her place beside her as an equal.
Honestly, I don’t really care for me any more, I want them to win this because I know how much it means to both of them. And I know they can do it, if only Jenny can get her head into the right space in time.
Fortunately we’re on last. There’s a team from Spain, who are fiery and dramatic and very popular with the crowd but a little ragged around the edges. They score well on the artistic side, but lose points for technique. That leaves the team from Japan, the only non-Europeans in the final. Their costumes are made of rope, Shibari style and their performance is fluid and graceful. They get four sixes for technique and then two sixes and two fives for the freestyle section. My worst fears are confirmed Emerald and Opal will have to be perfect, or as close as they can get, if they’re going to win.
I watch them as they are announced, to huge cheers from the capacity crowd. They do actually look quietly confident, though Jenny grinds her teeth on her bit from time to time. As they go forward to curtsy in front of the judges and start their routine, I see Nuala grab Jenny’s hand in her mitt and give it a squeeze. I’m sure no one else would have seen that, but something about the way she does it gives me a little more confidence.
They start the technical routine and it’s going well. All their steps are meticulously carried through, thighs parallel to the ground, legs perfectly perpendicular. Surely there’s nothing for the judges to mark them down on.
And now the freestyle. I actually haven’t seen this; Alice insisted it was going to be a surprise for me too. It certainly is. The music starts with Wings’ “Live and Let Die” and Alice has really brought the James Bond theme into the choreography. Large areas of the auditorium are standing up and clapping and even dancing along with them and more and more get to their feet all the time. Then the music changes and I know immediately where this is going.
Ravel’s “Bolero” is an inspired choice. There surely can’t be anyone in the audience who hasn’t made love to this tune at least once and the sexual chemistry between these two Ponygirls makes that association as clear as it could possibly be. It’s an electrifying performance, everyone is on their feet now and, as comes to its dramatic conclusion, the place absolutely erupts.
Things quieten down a little as the compère announces that the judges are ready with the scores. Actually, a few optimistic souls are still shouting “more!” but there’s a general sense of hushed expectation. For the technical section: six … six … six … six. A big cheer from the crowd and a sigh of relief from me. That puts us on equal terms with Master Hitashi’s pair. We’re in with a chance.
And now for the freestyle section: six … why do they take so long, I can’t bear it … six … come on, come on, my heart’s pounding …
Five …
Oh, fuck, now what? We could end up in some awful dance-off if the scores are equal … six.
Six? …
SIX!!! … SIX!!! THEY’VE DONE IT!!!
My beautiful, beautiful Ponygirl pair have done it! THEY'VE WON!!!
People are congratulating me, people I know and I can scarcely remember their names to say thank you. I’m bloody crying and that really isn’t good, for people to see a harsh, dominant Ponygirl Master with tears running down his face.
I can see Nuala and Jenny out in the middle of the arena, being mobbed by the other contestants. There doesn’t seem to be any resentment of their win at all. The Spanish and German pairs have pulled my girls up onto their shoulders and now they’re doing a lap of honour, with the rest of the contestants in hot pursuit. Now they’re back in the middle, having a group hug with Hitashi’s pair, it looks like all four of them are crying.
Oh, shit, now what’s going on? There’s a man running across the arena floor towards Jenny and he’s shouting. It’s Steve, the police must have let him go and he’s come straight here. He’s trying to grab her, she’s trying to get away, I must get down there before this gets really nasty.
Whoa, hold on. The pair who got eliminated in the first round, the ones I said looked like a cross between Hell’s Angels and the Village People, they’ve got between Steve and Jenny and they’ve picked him up under his arms. These are seriously well built ladies, but I don’t think much of it is fat. They’re dragging Steve away like he’s a rag doll.
Now one of them has got in front of him and performed a text book pony step right into his groin. Actually, I think the knee may have been a bit high, but I’m sure we can overlook that. Her partner has done the same and now Steve is on the ground, clutching his crown jewels.
Jenny and Nuala are just holding onto one another. I don’t think Jenny knows what to do. There’s a lot of Ponygirls around Steve and they seem to be pulling his trousers off. One of the grooms has arrived with a tin of something, boot polish, they’re blacking his ass with boot polish! I haven’t seen that done since I was at boarding school in England!
Okay, well, I’m down in the arena now. Steve has retrieved his trousers and is making his escape as fast as he can. His face looks grey, but his backside has a lovely deep black shine. Serves him right.
I’m with Jenny and Nuala now and Alice and Giorgia have joined us. No one knows what to say, we’re just laughing and crying and hugging one another. We have to break off for the presentation. I get a big silver cup and a large cheque, the ponies get rosettes. There’s gold medals for the grooms and Alice gets a cup for best choreography.
It’s all become a blur, there’s photo calls and there’s a band setting up for the after show party. So we’re going to celebrate here with all our friends, old and new and then we’ll go back to the hotel and continue the party there. It’s going to be one hell of a night!
Opal Fire written by
Miss Alice leads us into the arena, and I am stunned by what I see. The place is packed to the rafters! The audience is heaving, and a sea of eager faces are turned on us. I’m surprised to see that there are a number of women amongst the audience. Some are obviously reluctant attendees, probably cajoled into coming by their boyfriends. Others are much more keen, and it looks like there may be a number of hen parties attending, out for some naughty fun. I hope they all enjoy the show!
Miss Alice takes us through the technical section of the routine, training whip at the ready but unused. Emerald and I complete the work flawlessly, as has been drummed - and beaten - into us over the last few months.
“You will be performing the routine we practised for the final,” Miss Alice says as she unclips the lariats from our bridles. I glance nervously at Emerald, but she looks calm and determined, as usual.
“Don’t give that look, Opal,” Miss Alice growls, “you WILL do the full routine, and you’ll do it RIGHT. There’s a pony auction after this show. You DON’T want to be in that!” She walks away to the edge of the arena, leaving us centre stage as we wait for our music to start.
As the first piece begins, starting with a happy and optimistic tone, Emerald and I dance around each other sensuously, our bodies pressing together then parting to enable us to execute the synchronised balletic movements we have been trained to perform.
When you were young and your heart
Was an open book
You used to say live and let live
(You know you did)
(You know you did)
(You know you did)
When the mood of the music darkens, we begin to circle each other warily, like wild animals sizing each other up for battle.
But if this ever changin' world
In which we live in
Makes you give in and cry
Then, when the totemic title line blares out, we strike out in stylised poses, as if punching and kicking each other, holding each pose like a freeze-frame picture as the dramatic chords sound out.
Say Live and Let Die!
Live and Let Die!
As the song goes into its frantic instrumental, Emerald and I execute a sequence of flying jump-kicks, iron-shod hoof flashing inches from the face of the other, who throws back her head in response, producing a convincing stunt-fight worthy of John Woo. When the music dies down and we come to rest, the crowd applaud and whoop in appreciation.
The second piece is Ravel’s Bolero. When it starts quietly, Emerald and I play the part of lovers, our bodies intertwining, lips pressed together in a heartfelt kiss, arms around each other. The audience loudly expresses their enjoyment of the sapphic sequence.
As the music builds, we are forced apart by some unseen force, a storm whipping around us. We fight to reunite, the wind and rain lashing our bodies into dramatic angles and positions as we express our desperate longing to be together through a series of choreographed moves. Our lips brush momentarily, we try to hold on to each other, but are ripped apart time and again, before fighting to unite once more.
With the piece approaching its climactic crescendo, we assume ever-more dramatic poses as unseen lightning bolts strike our bodies. Through a series of pirouettes and kicks, we are forced to opposite sides of the space, where we perform the sequence of perfectly synchronised ballet moves choreographed by Miss Alice before the enthralled viewers.
One last supreme effort enables us to dance back to the centre of the floor, and we stand, back-to-back, arms and legs splayed out as if bound, twisting and writhing under the unseen assault. Finally, we turn to face the judges, the weather-gods to whom we must make obeisance.
We take six running steps towards them, then flip onto hooves in a handstand, legs held directly above us for a moment, before flipping back on to our hooves, boots slamming into the loose surface. Gymnastic flik-flak completed, we instantly fall on one knee, arms outstretched in supplication, heads bowed in submission, as the final notes of Bolero crash around us.
The crowd erupts, clapping and cheering. After holding the pose for five seconds, Emerald and I rise and bow to the judges. To my astonishment, they have dispensed with standard protocol and are standing, applauding us.
I look at Emerald. Her cheeks are flushed, her face and body glistening with sweat, her chest heaving as she fights for breath. But her eyes twinkle, her lips are stretched in a wide smile, her beautiful white teeth on view on either side of the metal bit between them, saliva spitting from her mouth and dribbling down her chin. God, I love this woman so much right at this moment!
We listen to the announcement of the scores. Have we won? We don’t know how the other teams have done. I look up into the owner’s box and see Master with his face wreathed in smiles. We have! I turn to Emerald and we embrace and attempt something more than a stage kiss, fighting to get past the bits in our mouths so we can really express ourselves to each other!
Suddenly the arena is full of Ponygirls, as the other competitors flood in to congratulate us and celebrate the end of the competition. As we are all hugging and kissing, it strikes me that some of these girls are going to be sold later, and there is a pang of… regret? Pain? Guilt? But it passes when I remember that they agreed to this and, also, there is nothing I can do to change it. I join in the celebrations fully, revelling in their joy.
What’s going on, what’s that commotion? Oh Christ, it’s Steve! What is he doing here?! He’s still trying to ‘rescue’ me, trying to drag me away! No, I won’t go with you, you stupid fuck! Get the hell off me!
The other pony girls swarm around him, and I can’t see what’s happening, but it doesn’t look too good for Steve. A few minutes later, I see him beating a hasty retreat, running out of the arena. Oh, I hope so much that’s the last time I ever see him!
Master is here! Miss Alice and Giorgia are here too, and we’re all dancing and hugging and laughing and crying! This is so wonderful! There’s a presentation, at which Master gets a trophy, while Miss Alice and Giorgia collect medals for their work. Emerald and I receive rosettes and, as they are pinned to our bridles, I’ve never felt more proud in my life!
There’s a party for all the owners, trainers, grooms and ponies afterwards, and it’s a very merry gathering. Some of the ponies get changed and mingle with the guests as equals but, quite rightly, that is not what happens with Emerald and me. We are paraded like champion horses at Ascot, patted and stroked as we pass by. It is totally objectifying, and I love every second of it! I can see that Emerald is feeling exactly the same and, from time to time, we nuzzle affectionately, ignoring the ribald comments around us.
Master receives plenty of offers for us, but I’m delighted every time I hear him turn them down. He really wants to keep me! That’s so good! And that means Emerald and I get to continue working together, as well as extending and deepening our personal relationship. That makes me so happy!
We finally have to get changed out of our tack, which I feel a bit sad about, and go back to the hotel, which I feel excited about, because I know there is going to be a LOT of fun!
And so it turns out. Emerald and I are immediately stripped for action, and our first job for the night is serving drinks and food to Master, Miss Alice and Giorgia, plus their guest. Master has invited back the Japanese Ponygirl team owner, and he has brought his ponies.
At Master’s request, the Japanese owner uses Emerald and me to illustrate his Shibari rope technique. Pretty soon, I’m tied in a strict hogtie and dangling from the ceiling, diamond patterns of rope criss-crossing my body. As I slowly twist on the end of the rope, I watch as he does the same to Emerald.
Master is clearly impressed as he walks around us, testing the ropes and stroking my body to appreciate the feel of the soft hemp tight against my skin. When his fingers explore between my thighs, I’m quickly moaning and gasping for breath, so desperate to cum after the day’s intense and stimulating experiences. But he leaves me hanging, sexually and literally!
“Alice, perhaps you’d like to show Mr Hitashi your prowess with the riding crop?” Master says.
“Certainly, Master,” Miss Alice replies, walking towards me, flexing the crop menacingly.
“And Giorgia, perhaps you’d like to show Mr Hitashi your prowess with your mouth.”
“Excuse me, Sir?!” the Italian girl responds in alarm, before remembering herself. “I mean, Master?” I see Master give her a hard stare and, inevitably, she crumbles and reluctantly goes down on her knees in front of the Japanese master.
The next half an hour is something of a trial as Miss Alice slaps the leather keeper against all parts of my body - breasts, stomach, thighs, even directly on my pussy. All the time, we are watching Giorgia perform her task and, as it becomes clear that things are approaching a climax, Miss Alice increases her weight and frequency of strike until I am forced to cry out in response to the increasing pain.
As the Japanese master, having demonstrated zen-like restraint, finally loses control and spurts into the young girl’s mouth, I scream as the crop lands on my pussy with one final, agonising blow. To my utter astonishment, I orgasm at that exact moment, swaying from side to side as I spasm in my bondage.
From that moment on, the night degenerates into an orgy of sex, bondage and domination involving everyone, including the Japanese ponies, in every possible combination.
Finally, everyone runs out of energy at about the same time, and finds somewhere to crash out and sleep. Master takes Miss Alice and Giorgia into one of the bedrooms in the suite while the Japanese threesome take the other. Emerald and I are left with the sofa in the sitting room, but that’s luxury to us, used as we are to sleeping on straw over hard ground!
“We were magnificent today,” Emerald murmurs as we cuddle up. “I’ve got to say thank you, Opal, for working so hard since you arrived, and for helping me to make Master so happy.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you, darling,” I reply as I stroke her body lovingly, “you got me through so many hard times, kept me going when all I wanted to do was quit. I… I love you, Emerald. I know it’s crazy - two crazy women turned into sex slaves, porn stars, pony girls - but I do.”
“I love you too, you crazy bitch! Now, didn’t you say something about using that tongue stud on my clit once we won?”
And, dear reader, I did.
Philip Campion written by
Fuck, what time is it? Eleven? Someone’s banging on the door and it’s going through my head like a pile driver. Oh, of course, it’s room service with brunch. Sounds like Alice has got the door and is whipping the ponies into life, so I can relax.
“Master? Don’t forget the parade starts at three and we need to get Emerald and Opal ready.”
“Alice, darling, find me something for a hangover, would you. Then I might be able to get up.”
Champagne always gives me a headache, especially when I’ve been lying in a bath full of it, surrounded by naked women. Last night was epic, even by Team Campion standards. There was Master Hitashi’s Shibari demonstration and Giorgia’s initiation into fellatio with a zen master.
Then I got to spend some time with Hitashi’s ponies petite, raven-haired cuties called Shirayuri and Sakura. I think they might be twins. They speak no English and I know nothing useful in Japanese, so we had to communicate by other means.
The thing I always wanted to know is if Japanese girls really squeal the way they do in porn videos. So I made them lie on the bed and bring their legs over, so they’re looking right up at their pussies. I tied them like that, used a light flogger on them and then inserted those little pink bullet vibes they seem to like so much. And they squealed beautifully!
Hitashi’s squad have gone, so it’s just me and the four girls with a generous buffet. Luckily Giorgia says she’s starving after last night’s exertions and the ponies eagerly take the opportunity to enjoy normal food. Alice brings me a disgusting concoction that blows the top off my head, but with that and a lot of coffee I start to feel human again.
Brunch dealt with, Alice dresses Emerald and Opal in tiny bikinis, under strappy sun dresses, and we all pile into a cab back to the stadium. First stop is one of the fetish stalls in the exhibition pavilion. I know Jean-Pierre, the owner, from previous meetings and he is more than happy to open up for me after the show is closed. The dark haired woman standing behind him is Marie, his lover and assistant.
“Well, Master Philip, it is nice to see you here again. Congratulations on your victory, I must say it was richly deserved. You must introduce me to your team.”
“You are too kind, Jean-Pierre,” I say, rather graciously I think. “You remember Miss Alice, I am sure and this is Giorgia, her new apprentice groom. Then these are my two fabulous ponies, Emerald Star and Opal Fire. They have really done me proud in this competition.”
The ponies curtsy and stand waiting submissively, while Alice strips them out of their clothes. They look apprehensive, but they can’t have failed to notice that Jean-Pierre runs a tattoo and piercing parlour.
“Now, Master, what would you like us to do for you?”
“Well, Jean-Pierre, I think it would be nice for the ponies to be marked with a memento of their victory, so I wondered if you could tattoo “Cannes 26th August 2017” on their thighs, so that, as they win more competitions, we can add to the list.”
The two tattoo artists set to work and in a little under an hour they have completed the commission in neat flowing script on the right hand side of each pony’s thigh.
“What do you think, Master?” Jean-Pierre asks, with unmistakeable pride.
“That is excellent, thank you. Now, to complement the tattoos, I would like you to pierce their labia and fit a small ring on each side. Then, again, as they win more competitions we can add another pair of rings each time.
The ponies whimpered from time to time during the tattoos, but they scream when their labia are pierced and the rings are threaded through.
Alice gets them back in their dresses and now we’re off to the stables to get them in their competition harnesses for the parade.
Back outside, we have to hitch the ponies to a carriage. With their high plumes, the harnesses, bridles and boots, they look absolutely incredible. I’m so proud of them, I just don’t have words. Alice, in black jacket, jodhpurs and boots, with her blonde hair in a tight bun under a top hat, will lead the ponies, while Giorgia, in a see-thru white blouse and long skirt, rides with me.
The rest of the parade is gathering. In front of us is a marching band, all girls in short skirts and twirling batons. Behind us, the other Ponygirl competitors, some pulling carriages or sulkies, some walking with their owners or grooms. And all around us there are other performers stilt walkers, fire eaters, jugglers, tumblers, something for all the family. Or not. It may not be something everyone wants to see, but it’s still a fantastic showcase for our alternative lifestyles.
The band starts moving and I whip the ponies to walk on. We follow the band out of the stadium, left onto Avenue de Lérins, right onto Avenue des Hespérides and then right again onto the long boulevard that follows the sea front. As we pass the Boat Club, people come out to watch us, attracted by the band and the clip clop of so many hooves on the tarmac.
It’s a warm day and there are plenty of people on the beach, who also start to line the route. A few young men are now jogging along with the ponies, getting a good eyeful of their bare breasts and not a little intrigued by the bells on their pierced nipples.
At last we turn right on the Avenue Reine Astrid and back onto Avenue de Lérins for the final leg back to the stadium. All the way, Emerald and Opal have stayed in perfectly synchronised pony step, looking magnificent in their plumes and bridles and completely unphased by all the attention. Did I mention before how proud they make me feel?
In the stable area, everything gets packed away into flight cases for the trip back to Italy. I call up a cab and we’re off into the centre of Cannes to soak up the atmosphere, have dinner and maybe have a little fun in one of the casinos. It’s been a very eventful few days and something of a watershed. I’m looking forward to getting back to my estate, to start training the ponies for the next round of the Tour.
Opal Fire written by
After a wild night, we are off into Cannes, which is exciting! Although I’m sure we’ll stand out a bit with our radical haircuts and nasal piercings, it will be nice to mix with the holidaymakers to see the sights.
Hang on, what’s this? We’re stopping at the stadium. Maybe, Master has to just sort something out before we go into town…
Oh, crap! My French is terrible, but even I can see that we are at a concession stand specialising in tattoos and piercings. I don’t want a tattoo! I’ve never liked them, and I’ve never had one. And I’ve already got as many piercings as I can cope with! Please, Master, don’t make us go through more torture!
Well, I suppose, of the two options, being tattooed with the date of our victory is the least worst. I’m not happy, but that’s not really of interest to anyone, is it? Emerald and I bend over opposite ends of a padded bench and endure the pain of being marked to ‘celebrate’ what we have achieved. We hold hands across the divide to provide support to each other as we submit to Master’s will. When it’s done, it doesn’t look as bad as I’d expected, but it hurts like hell!
What?! Oh no, we are to be pierced as well? And in most painful place possible! I can’t take it, it’s too much! Please have mercy, Master!
“Be strong, Opal,” Emerald whispers in my ear, “remember why we’re doing this.” I look in her eyes and can see that, while she is as frightened as I am, she has a steely resolve, and I realise what she is saying. We are Master’s ponies, and if he wants to have us pierced, then so be it.
It is just as painful as I expected. Emerald and I lie on the ends of the bench, again clutching each other for support, with our legs spread while these evil people put rings through our labia. CHRIST, THAT HURTS! Just one ring on each side, but with the threat, or is that promise, of more if and when we win again. Oh, how we suffer for our art!
Miss Alice takes us into the changing area and, to my surprise, it’s full of all the ponies from yesterday’s competition. They crowd around to admire our fresh markings as we are dressed in our full competition harness. What’s going on? More competition?
We are taken outside and Miss Alice harnesses us both to a carriage designed to carry two passengers, then moves us into the shade to wait. Gradually, the street around us fills up with the other ponies, but also others - a marching band, cheerleaders… Oh my God, it’s a parade! We’re going to take part in a parade through the town! I thought we were going to spend some time just chilling out and mingling but, instead, we are going to be the centre of attention again! And not just in an arena full of fetishists, but out in public on the streets, strutting naked and in harness in front of all the tourists!
Master and Giorgia mount the carriage behind us, while Miss Alice, in fine hunting dress, goes before us. As the band in front starts off, the whip across my buttocks prompts me to step forward, knees raised high in perfect synchronisation with Emerald. I tell myself that it’s just another performance, but I can feel my heart pounding and sweat quickly beginning to run down from my armpits.
As we make our way along the beach-front, the crowds begin to swell, and we are surrounded by the sound of clapping and whistling. Finally losing my embarrassment, I step out proudly, head held high, enjoying the feel of Master’s whip as he theatrically uses it to move us, even though we can’t speed up without running into the band in front. I’m representing my Master! How could I be any more proud!
In the crowd, I see a TV crew focusing the camera on Emerald and me. Is that local news? A national channel? Or is the footage going to go all around the world?! I imagine Steve watching News At Ten:
And finally, astonished tourists in southern France were treated to a very unusual parade . A “Ponygirl Dressage” competition had taken place in Cannes the day before, and the competitors all took part in a parade through the town. Led by winners, Jennifer Harrison, a former project manager from Wiltshire, and her companion, known only as Emerald Star, they entertained the enthusiastic crowds of onlookers. A spokesman said…
I bet that would make him spill his beer!
What, it’s over? Aww, I was just having fun! Why don’t we go round again!
At last, we do make it in to town, in clothes, mixing with people normally, although I think a lot of them still recognise Emerald and me from earlier. Master takes us into one of the casinos and, while he enjoys a few hands of poker, he gives us some chips and tells us to go and amuse ourselves.
Giggling to each other, Emerald and I wander around and have a go at roulette, craps, and even some slot machines, before returning completely broke. We get some curious looks when we kneel down on the floor beside his seat and patiently wait for him to finish.
Eventually, we make our way back down the seafront towards the hotel. Taking my courage in my hands, I turn to Master.
“Please, Master, may I ask a favour?” When he nods his assent, I continue. “May Emerald and I go in the sea?”
“Of course you can,” he smiles, “I know you ponies like to frolic!” With a squeal, we run across the beach towards the surf. Emerald pulls her dress over her head and throws it onto the sand, quickly followed by her bikini. I follow suit and, by the time we splash into the water, we are both naked. We grab each other into a tight clinch and fall into the waves, kissing hungrily as we submerge completely.
After some heavy petting which wouldn’t be allowed at the local pool, we stroll back onto the beach, hand in hand. A small crowd has gathered to watch our splashing about, and we decide to give them an impromptu performance of our winning routine, spinning and dancing on the sand. As we prostrate ourselves before them, they burst into spontaneous applause.
Luckily, Master isn’t annoyed by our forward behaviour but, rather, seems amused by it. Once we have got dressed again, we head back to the hotel, and a lovely shower, before another night of hot sex. Oh, I love this life!
The next day, we make our way back home, and our stable is a welcome sight. As I drift off to sleep in Emerald’s arms, I can’t help smiling to myself. Here I am, living the life of a pony sex slave, and it is everything I could have ever dreamed of, and more! I wonder what new experiences and pleasures the coming days, weeks and months will bring?
Philip Campion written by
“Oh, this is perfect, Master” Alice says, as she lounges next to me on a very large and insanely comfortable settee. At her feet, Giorgia is kneeling submissively, looking with huge, adoring eyes at her mistress. “The setting is so beautiful and everything here is so… luxurious.”
“Mmmm, yes, it is wonderful,” agrees Francesca, who is Giorgia’s mother and my housekeeper. She is sitting on the other side of me, holding a leash which is attached to Greta’s collar. Since the incident with the police at my London apartment, Greta lost her position as my maid and was shipped to Tuscany to replace Giorgia in the kitchen. “And to bring all of us, even the kitchen girl, it’s so generous of you.”
“Well, it’s Christmas,” I say, “and I wanted to do something special this year. You’ve all worked so hard and I want it to be like a real family celebration.”
“It’s been such an amazing season,” Alice says wistfully. “You found Opal and she really has made all the difference. Winning three out of the five events on the tour was way better than I expected. You should be really proud.”
“I am,” I reply. “Really very proud, of all of you. The competition will be even stronger next year, though, so we must think about how we’re going to raise our game.”
For the holiday this year I’ve taken over The Lodge at Verbier in the Swiss Alps. It is a massive chalet-style building with nine bedrooms, extensively equipped kitchen, large dining room, gym and lots of communal space for partying and relaxing. It is situated 5000 feet up in the forest, close to the centre of the village, with crisp snow on the doorstep and spectacular views of the mountains.
I have the main suite, with a bedroom for me and the lounge we are sitting in now. In front of us, Emerald and Opal are lying together, naked, on a fur rug in front of a blazing log fire. They’ve had a tiring day and are both fast asleep. Every so often one of them will twitch or turn in her sleep and the other will sense her partner has moved and snuggle up closer. When we all go off to our beds, this is where they will spend the rest of the night.
Apart from Team Campion, Mistress Karla from the Pony Fetish Club in England is here with Summer Orchid and April Rose, two young Ponygirls she has taken under her wing. There is also Maestro Rodriguez from Spain and Meister Von Strohm from Germany, both accompanied by their pony pairs and grooms. Finally, we have been joined by Jean-Pierre Cravasse and his partner Marie, which really worries Emerald and Opal, because, of course, they are my favourite tattoo and piercing artists.
So there’s twenty of us, of which only four are male. However, The Lodge is fully staffed, with four Michelin-trained chefs and several virile young men acting as waiters and porters, with instructions to make sure the girls have everything they need.
This morning everyone who wanted to had the chance to go skiing and I’m assured there were some very fit and energetic instructors for any of the girls that needed help. After lunch, there was an impromptu snowball fight, in between sessions in the indoor and outdoor hot tubs and the indoor heated swimming pool. Basically, a whole afternoon of nubile young women frolicking naked, in and out of the snow.
Next morning, Christmas Day, we all gather for a leisurely breakfast and a visit from Santa, who brings presents for everyone. Then the grooms take the ponies off to get them ready for the first big event of the day, the Ponygirl Sleigh Drive.
Outside, four real jingle-bells sleighs are drawn up on the snowy track. Alice and Giorgia come out first, leading Emerald and Opal to the sleigh at the front of the line. They are dressed in knee-length white fur hoof boots, which have studs on the shoes to provide grip on the icy tracks. Their harnesses are white leather, leaving their breasts exposed to the cold air and their backs to my whip. Their headdresses are trimmed with fur, to protect their ears especially, while their arms are in long fur gloves and locked to their hips.
The other pony pairs are also dressed for the season. I rather like the English pair that Mistress Karla has put in very short red dresses trimmed with white fur. It’s a very sexy Christmas parade.
Alice and I take our places in the sleigh and then we’re off. We’re taking a reasonably flat route along tracks through the forest, all covered in snow and, at times, cut through much deeper snow drifts. The sky is an unbroken azure and the air is crisp, though I expect to the almost naked ponies it feels pretty cold. Apart from the amazing scenery, I’m enjoying watching the wiggling bottoms of Emerald and Opal, their butt-plug tails swishing as they trot. I give them frequent flicks of the whip, more because I know they like it than for any other reason.
The drive takes half an hour, by which time the ponies are noticeably tiring. When we arrive back at the chalet, they are wrapped in blankets and taken quickly inside, before the sweat glistening on their bodies freezes. In a few minutes there’s eight naked Ponygirls in the hot tub, enjoying glasses of mulled wine or the warmed plum brandy the Swiss produce for Christmas.
After we've all enjoyed a traditional Christmas lunch, there’s one more formality. I’m going to make a speech.
I start by welcoming everyone, thanking the other masters for bringing their teams to join the festivities and making a few observations on the Tour season that just ended. Then I go straight to the most important and serious point.
“I’m sure you are all aware that the life of a Ponygirl is precarious, with the constant threat of being sold or discarded by her current owner and no certainty at all about the future. Contracts provide minimal security and neither of my ponies has one. However, there is a provision in the IPFA rulebook which states that any Ponygirl that carries her owner’s brand cannot be sold or passed on.
“So that Emerald and Opal can benefit from that rule, I have set up a trust fund that will ensure they have a home and are cared for, whatever happens to me. To bring this into effect, I have asked Jean-Pierre and Marie - who you all know are skilled at all kinds of body modification - to brand my ponies here, today, with all of you as witnesses. Please all make your way to the party room, where everything has been set up.”
As I say this, there are gasps and shrieks from some of the other Ponygirls, imagining how they would feel if it was them facing the branding iron. Nevertheless, Karla and Alice lead Emerald and Opal through into the other room, where a platform has been installed, with two large wooden posts fixed in the middle of it.
The two ponies are taken to the posts and their wrists are tied to rings above their heads. Straps are fastened around their waists, holding them securely to the poles and rubber bits are buckled between their teeth, so they have something to bite on. They both look pale and frightened. Emerald, as usual, looks a little stronger than Opal, who is trembling visibly.
Jean-Pierre takes the branding iron he has created specially and heats it for several minutes with a blowtorch. The brand is a letter C with a smaller letter P inside it. Marie holds Emerald’s left arm to steady her, while Jean-Pierre presses the red hot branding iron against her shoulder. There is a sizzle and smell of burning flesh as he holds it for two or three seconds and pulls it away. Emerald cries out and sags against the post, gasping in shock.
Having seen and heard what happened to Emerald, Opal is now panicking - pulling at her bonds, crying and begging to be released. Karla and Alice go to calm her down, but it takes several hard swats across the backside from Alice’s whip to make her realise there is no point in resisting.
Meanwhile, Jean-Pierre takes the brand he has just used off its handle and replaces it with an identical, clean one, to minimise the risk of infection. Opal whimpers softly as she hears the hiss of the blow torch heating the metal. Marie steadies her as Jean-Pierre applies the iron to her shoulder and she screams in pain, her legs giving way and leaving her hanging from the post by her wrists.
I spend the evening drinking and talking with the other Masters and it’s nearly midnight when I let myself into my suite. The lounge is dark, apart from the orange flickering light from the fire, but I can hear a lot of moans and sighs coming from that direction. So I slam the door and switch on the lights almost simultaneously.
Of course, I have caught Emerald and Opal red handed, or you could say in flagranté. They shriek in surprise, separate and hurriedly kneel with their palms upturned on their thighs, looking so embarrassed and guilty I find it difficult not to laugh.
“What has been going on here?” I ask sternly.
“We, er, couldn’t sleep, Master,” Emerald says lamely. “The brands hurt so much, we were just talking…”
“I was giving Emerald a massage, Master,” Opal pipes up, “to help her sleep.”
It seems really strange sometimes. Here I am with two adult, intelligent women and they allow me to treat them like naughty children. They’re expecting to be punished and they should be, but…
“Well, it is Christmas,” I concede. “So you’d better see if you can help me get to sleep. I could do with a massage.”
They both look very relieved, say “Thank you, Master!” and follow me into the bedroom. The bed faces a huge window looking out onto the mountains, which are white with snow and bathed in moonlight. I lie back on the pillows while the ponies undress me and begin sliding their bodies over mine, giving me their breasts to suck, stroking me with their hands and driving me crazy with their lips.
They take it in turns to ride the monster erection their attentions have created and then their lips are locked around the head of my cock. I can feel their pierced tongues darting backwards and forwards around me and I know they’re kissing one another and I’m almost in the way. With a groan, I let go and ejaculate. They take all of it in their mouths, lapping it all up gratefully. Then they wriggle up the bed beside me, their heads on my shoulders, one either side.
“Master,” Opal says, raising her head and looking at me intently. “Did you really mean it, that now we’re branded, we’re your Ponygirls for ever?”
“Of course, Opal. I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
She rests her head back on my shoulder. “I'm so happy. We really are lucky to have you as our Master."
“That’s good,” I say, “because I'm really lucky to have found two such beautiful Ponygirls to share my life with.” In response, I get two very deep sighs and in little more than a minute they are both fast asleep.
Opal Fire written by
Oh, what a lovely surprise! We are up in the mountains, surrounded by snow and ski runs, although a good distance from the actual resorts, so there’s no restraint on our activities. We can be, and more importantly, Master can be, just as wild and depraved as we could possibly want!
And we are surrounded by lots of lovely ponies! There are the Spanish and German girls that we have been encountering around the circuit for the last few months, but there are also a new pair, brought over by the Mistress from the pony club where this incredible adventure began.
They are both young, black, and very beautiful. Emerald and I get to chat to them on our first night, and find out that they are quite new to the Ponygirl experience, and have come out here for the Christmas holidays to learn more about the scene.
Gosh, Christmas already? How time flies when you’re having fun!
April - they try to tell us their ‘real’ names, but we say “only pony names allowed here” - tells us that she is a track athlete, hoping to break into the national squad in the next year, while Summer is studying to become a doctor. It just reminds me how this bizarre lifestyle fetish attracts women from all areas of society. I know that one of the German girls is the daughter of a wealthy industrialist, while the other was trafficked from Poland as a young girl. The Spanish ponies are even more diverse - one is from an aristocratic family, while her teammate is from good farming stock. And Emerald and I are quite different. I guess it takes all sorts!
We describe our life as full-time pony girls, although we leave out the bit about being tortured and raped on camera for Master’s porn website - don’t want to scare the girls off! It’s clear that they are shocked to learn just how intense things can be, and I can see the doubt in their faces, wondering if they could make this kind of commitment.
I wonder why they are here? I didn’t think Mistress Karla could afford to run a pony pair of her own, we are a very expense luxury. Maybe… Maybe she brought them out here for Master to check out… Maybe he’s thinking about taking them on!
Oh my word, wouldn’t that be amazing?! The four of us, working as a team! I’ve heard talk on the circuit about carriage-riding as another competition. Maybe Master wants a four-pony carriage team to compete with, next season. That would be so exciting!
As we break up and go to the lounge, where Emerald and I are sleeping, I excitedly explain my thoughts to her.
“It’s a possibility,” she smiles, “but don’t get carried away, Opal. Master will do whatever he decides, it’s not really for us to hope or fear, like or dislike. We just do as we’re told, to the best of our ability, remember?”
“Oh, Emerald,” I chide her softly, “why are you always so sensible? I know I have no say over what Master does, with us or anyone else, but I can dream, can’t I? Just imagine, if those beautiful girls were in our stable, and we were all harnessed to the same carriage - we could pull a whole football team around!”
Emerald gives me a pitying, condescending smile, before shutting me up by putting her tongue in my mouth. She drags me down onto the rug, and the rest of the night passes in a blur of writhing limbs and sweaty bodies.
Christmas Day! And presents from Master, how wonderful! Now time for some exercise, and - oh my God, what a lovely idea! A Ponygirl sleigh ride! Brilliant!
Miss Alice and Miss Giorgia gets us harnessed up, and Emerald and I stomp our feet to keep warm while the others are getting ready. The sun is lovely, but there are clouds of steam around my mouth as my breath condenses, and I can’t wait to get started.
Eventually, Master whips us into action, and we race off along the snowy track. The sled is heavy and takes quite a lot of effort to get going but, once it’s moving, we fly along. We both have bells, not only on our nipple rings but also on our labia jewellery, so we sound very festive as we are dashing through the snow.
It’s very warm when we are in the direct sunlight, but when we go into the shade, I really notice that I am virtually naked. So, to keep warm, Emerald and I go as fast as we possibly can, hopefully giving Master and Miss Alice an exciting ride behind us. By the time we make it back to the chalet, our bodies are steaming as the sweat evaporates, and we are at least five minutes ahead of the next sleigh. They get us out of harness and into the warm as quickly as possible, and curling up in front of the fire never felt so good!
Greta brings us hot toddies. I must say, it feels good to be served by the sadistic wannabe dominatrix. She is dressed in a latex maid’s uniform, latex stockings and stiletto heels, with slave collar and cuffs joined by heavy, shiny chains, and she scurries away at a bark from the direction of the kitchen. Forced slavery - it couldn’t happen to a nicer girl!
After an excellent lunch, Master makes a nice speech, and I’m sitting by the fire, all toasty warm, ready to doze off…
Branding?! He wants to brand us? Like cattle?! He can’t be serious, this must be a joke! We’ve been shaved, pierced and tattooed, surely that’s enough?! This is too much!
NO! NO NO NO!! They are dragging us through to another room, tying me to a post, putting a bit between my teeth! I look across at Emerald and see the fear in her eyes, genuine terror - even she is finding it hard to hold it together. We are both weeping and begging for this not to happen, even though we both know that if Master orders it, so it will be.
Oh no, it’s that bastard who tattooed and pierced us, and his evil assistant! Christ! He’s heating the branding iron with a fucking blowtorch! It’s glowing red hot! Now he’s approaching Emerald… Get away from her, you fucking torturer!!
My poor, beautiful lover screams at the top of her voice, her back arched, her head thrown back, as smoke rises from her skin, and a terrible smell of burning flesh pervades the room. For the first time, I notice that everyone has followed us through and is now watching this. The other Masters have a look of respect on their faces, the grooms one of grim determination, but the Ponygirls all watch with pure horror written across their features, some of them gasping, wailing or screaming themselves.
And my Master? He is watching intently, as if to make sure that the job is done properly. I can see a look of pain move across his face at Emerald’s desperate cries, but he makes no move to intervene. When the iron is removed, he steps forward and holds my tortured companion, whispering words of comfort into her ear. Then he turns to me. It’s my turn!
AAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!! I suffer pain like I have never felt before, and I know that I scream longer and louder than Emerald. It didn’t seem so at the time, but she was showing epic stoicism to take it so well.
It is a week later, and we’re back home in the stables. I can’t describe the agony of the last few days, when it felt as though the brand had been seared into my bones. But, at last, it is receding, although I don’t think I will ever truly get over it. Every time I move my arm or flex my shoulder, I can feel the tightness of my skin across my shoulder blade, reminding me of the presence of his mark upon me, his brand.
The branding has brought Emerald and me even closer together, if that were possible. We now have another shared experience, this one of a pain no-one but a fellow sufferer could understand. We spend every available moment comforting and caressing each other. Even when harnessed, we nuzzle to strengthen this unbreakable bond between us.
And it has also strengthened my commitment to my Master. I understand what this means to him. It is a public declaration of his ownership of us and, every day, I see his pride in us. I realise that the other body modifications - the piercings and tattoos - are, to an extent, immaterial. Many women have similar, or even more extreme, body art of their own free will, so, in themselves, they don’t demonstrate what Master wants the world to see - that he owns two perfectly trained Ponygirls.
And what of me? I came into this almost completely blind. I had no idea what to expect, of what would be expected of me. It has been far more painful than I could ever have imagined, and I have had to give up everything - boyfriend, friends, family, job, possessions. But I have also given up having to pay bills, make decisions, worry about anything…
And look at what I have gained. Someone who cares for me deeply, and watches over me, managing every aspect of my life. My feelings for him are the same as a child feels for their parents, or a dog for its master. It’s a form of love, but not that between a man and a woman, this is based much more on respect for a better.
I have also found the romantic love of my life, in the most unexpected place - harnessed, tethered, bitted and bridled, right alongside me!
I hadn’t realised how stressed I had become. Fear of punishment, fear of pain, fear of what tortures I might suffer in the cause of selling more porn videos. But, above all, the fear of failure, and the possible consequences. Always in the back of my mind, the thought that one screw-up could result in Master selling me to some awful person and, in the process, separating me from him and Emerald forever.
But the branding has freed me from that suffocating stress. Punishments pass, pain fades, the body recovers after torture, however extreme. Now, I feel safe. Safe in my harness. Safe in this straw-lined stall. Safe in the protection of my Master and owner.
My old life is gone forever, and good riddance. I can only hope that my new life lasts a long time. Oh, I know I can’t be a Ponygirl forever, but maybe for the next ten years. Then, perhaps, Master will allow us to train our replacements.
And after that? I dream of growing old, with Emerald and with Master. Please, Master, make it so!
THE END