Ponies and Play

Today is the first day of a week’s holiday. My marriage failed recently and with a bang, and to escape from the out-poring and dire demands of the separation, I booked a holiday that a girl friend recommended for me. Whilst my husband packs and departs our home, taking with him everything he wants…

My name is Ellie and I am thirty-one, slim, brunette and feeling desperately in need of a change of scenery and perhaps life as well, hence this trip. This hotel is advertised as providing for all forms of fantasy role-play, and though I do not as yet have much of an idea of what I might like to indulge in, I am happy to just relax and go with the flow.

I am currently enjoying a walk in the woods with the sunlight casting little reflected pockets of brilliance off the paved surface. My thoughts have just begun to wander, when my attention is drawn forward by an odd metal striking tarmac thunking!

The sound continues closing with a steady repetitive slapping. Straining my eyes I look along the track for my first sight of the horse, for that is what I expect to meet. Out of the dim distant darkness an odd looking apparition appears, it has two wide set wheels and is being pulled by a single something. As the carriage nears me, I slowly begin to be able to make out more and more detail.

The something doing the pulling begins to look like a person! Closer still and the person has become a female in harness, being driven by a man sat astride this two-wheeled cart. She is black or rather her clothing from head to toe is black. Her face is covered completely in rubbery material, latex I suspect. Around her head are a series of leather straps, each fitted with metal buckles. The first and puzzling thing that I notice is the stiff flaps of leather protruding from either side of the woman’s face; blinkers! She is wearing blinkers, the poor girl must only be able to see directly in front of her as she trots and pulls this carriage along the track.

The cart slows from the steady trot that it has been traveling at when I had first seen it, to a much more sedate walk now. I cannot take my eyes of the apparition that slowly now rolls towards me! I note that the girl has a round ball with a breathing hole through its center firmly wedging her mouth open, filling it at the same time. She is effectively silenced, unless her driver decides to remove the object.

Her arms appear to be inside of two tubes of thick material and fixed straight down her side, so they to are immobilised. Next I notice the twin heavy leather straps extending from the cart and over her shoulders, crossing in an X between her latex encased breasts, and then affixed to a heavy leather belt around this woman’s waist. Yet more straps run from that belt back to the cart ensuring that the pony, which is the only word that I can think of to describe this woman (after all she is the cart-horse to this strange rig), clearly the harnessing is designed solely to create both efficient restraint and aid the developing of pulling power.

It is then that I notice the thin, but taunt, metal chain running over the leather X, stretching from nipple to nipple, it is held in place with tiny metal clips and looks to me to be extremely painful, especially I decide, when the woman is straining hard against the straps to pull the cart along.

Looking downwards towards the girl’s feet I wonder about the sound that had first attracted my attention. She is shod in boots, boots the like of which I have never imagined possible, let alone seen being worn! The poor girl is nearly standing on tiptoes, just like a ballerina. The heavy leather construction forms a steel shod, round sole, with the foot held almost vertical. To add stability the boots then stretch up to just below the woman’s knees. Tightly bound leather straps and reinforcing plates strengthen the boots, reducing the risk of twisting or breaking the pony woman’s ankle, as well as forcing her into a better position from which to pull her load.

“Good afternoon” called the driver as he pulled back on the reins, which run up to the ponies gag or ‘bit’ as I suppose it should be called.

I respond with a ‘hello’ of my own whilst studying him. He is slightly portly, but not excessively fat. He is wearing a traditional trapping jacket with matching hat, suitably accompanied by jodhpurs and shiny leather riding boots. In his hand he loosely holds a dressage whip, it is ideal because it can reach right out to the pony, and be applied with either a gentle flick or a wrist driven thwack, exactly as and where he desires.

The woman has halted and is now stamping her feet, seemingly eager to get on with her run. Now that I am at the side of this cart, I notice for the first time that the woman has a long pony tail protruding through the back of her mask, apparently so that her long hair can blow freely as she trots. I find myself looking down towards her harnessing, trying to understand its function, it is then that my eyes encounter a weird twist to the equipment. There is a heavy and tightly buckled piece of leather running between this woman’s thighs, from the back of them and just above where her buttocks finish there protrudes a piece of metal, it is from that metal lump that a long hair tail dangles, just like a real horse I think. I find myself wondering exactly where that piece of metal goes to within her costume.

The pony stamps her feet, again showing her impatience, she quickly receives a hearty caress from the tip of the drivers dressage whip, accompanied by a “Whoa there girl, steady on!”

That crack must have hurt her a lot, despite the latex covering. I wince almost as if the whip has struck at me, but the pony doesn’t even seem to notice as she stamps her hoof yet again, earning herself yet another lash.

“You must be a guest, Mistress Ellie isn’t it.” he asks?

Does everyone know who I am, or was this man just very important or well informed? I decided that there was no harm in acknowledging who I am. He notes my attention to the pony’s tail and laughs, before saying.

“The tail is an innovation of my own. It,” he explains. “Is fitted to a metal strap, which is riveted into the leather pad you can see, from that strap protruded two objects or dildo’s if you prefer. One for each of her entrance’s, thus he explains the tail is held firmly in place, and the pony became more aware of their position, and I presume she, he indicated towards the pony, feels a certain level of pleasure, depending on how hard I am working her.”

“For instance, take this mare, I have found from experience that she, like most.” He stresses. “Pulls harder the closer she gets to orgasm! The only problem I have found so far is that when they actually come, at least for the first few times, the ponies have difficulty keeping step, and sometimes stumble. A little caress with this.” He waves the whip towards me. “Soon brings their attention away from the dildoe’s and their pleasure, and back onto the job at hand.”

“Anyway Mistress, I must be off now before ‘Prancing Maid’ here chews through her bit.”

So saying he raises the whip and cracks it above Prancing Maid’s head, she responds immediately, leaning hard into her harness and straining until the cart is moving once more. I can easily imagine the pain that those little nipple clamps and their chain must be causing his mare as she leans into her harness to continued their trapping.

Poor woman I muse ‘poor woman indeed, the little strumpet is clearly enjoying her position and in more than one way me thinks. Well good luck to her, perhaps I will see more of this pony during my stay.

The pony’s outfit and the whole conversation has excited me, I can envisage myself sitting on that trap, driving a pony along this very same route. That is a very nice idea, but worryingly I can also envisage being driven! That same harness fitting tight to my body, my nipples tender and pulled by the wicked chain; orgasaming and trotting at the same time, what an interesting thought. I wonder how I would feel if it were my buttocks that were receiving those hearty, wrist driven flicks from that long flexible dressage whip, would they to be stimulating, if not quite so pleasant, ‘but’ I wonder.

I walk on, totally aware that my knickers are soaked through with my own juices, I am randy as hell and all because I had met a pony woman and ‘it’s’ driver. What a place this is turning out to be. My physical reaction to the meeting grows as I walk, until almost without thinking, I turn from the track onto a path heading into the denser wooded area off to my left.

“There” I say to myself. “That will do nicely.”

I have seen a dead looking tree lying sideways, its trunk resting about two feet clear from the ground at its highest point, this is ideal for what is beginning to take shape in my thoughts, thoughts, which are clearly being driven by my very wet and most demanding quim…

I slip down my jeans zip and after a quick glance around me pull down my trousers, my fingers trembling with desire. I know what I want, what I need. Crawling up the tree-trunk with my knees hanging over each side, my legs forced apart by the rough wood. Reaching down, aware of the precarious nature of my position, but determined, I slip my fingers into my panties and slowly, so very slowly, slide them down. I have to lift my hips to do so and my balancing act on the tree-trunk poses an even greater risk of a tumble, but that is all part of the fantasy I am creating, if I fall then so be it, the risk is exciting.

My panties glide over my tight buttocks as I slowly ease them down. Now comes the tricky part I think, as I let go of the material and push my eager hand beneath my aroused body and the tree, a finger seeking out my wet sopping love slit.

What a view I am presenting to anyone stood behind me. Naked from the waist down, my legs forced apart by the tree trunk but held tight at my ankles by my clothes.

They, my imagined voyeur can clearly see my fingers jerking in and out of my sopping slit. I imagine the carriage driver standing right behind me, his long whip in hand, lashing at me, delivering stroke after stroke. With each imagined cut of his leather to my naked arse I jerk my hips, now plunging two fingers repeatedly deep inside myself, feeling the squeezing tightness of my cunt gripping desperately at them, driving myself towards a deep and personal orgasm.

It takes twenty such imagined strokes of the whip to bring me off. I grit my teeth locked in the paroxysms of pure pleasure, and dig my thumb nail deep into the root of my distended clit. I come over and at my own hand, pleasure washes throughout me, swallowing me, in rolling tidal waves as I writhe, coming close to receiving that punishing fall, but not quite.

I settle down and finish my self-satisfaction by forcing my body and in particular my groin to slide along the tree trunk. I can feel the rough bark rubbing and pulling at my thighs, I decide that I need and obviously deserve a worse level of punishment, so I raise myself up with her hands, my legs I force backwards, thus my complete body weight is now firmly pressing down against the bark and onto my still swollen clit. Now I can really feel the pain biting into my delicate outer sex lips. I rock back and forward grinding myself into the trees rough surface, desperately hoping to come again.

From my vantage point, I spot a plant growth that if I use it right will inflict its own special type of punishment on me; with a little bit of help the pain it will impart will be beyond my control, I think. Slipping from the branch not allowing myself to pull up my fallen trousers, I hobble to the plants and very carefully pull out a decent bunch. Carrying my load I force myself still hobbled back to the tree once more; mentally I order myself to bend over, whilst thinking, ‘slut’. ‘What a slut I am! With my trousers bunching around my ankles, and my knickers down to my knees, showing all and sundry my randy sex.’ I imagine that it is a Madam ordering me to display for her, a Madam who is about to inflict the deeply personal pain I need.

Bent over, with my legs spread as wide as my clothes will allow, I beat backwards with the plant growths, lashing them repeatedly against my buttocks. I push back harder, just to provide a clear path for the nettles to beat at my swollen genitals, as well as my arse, stroke after stroke I administered, feeling the nettle stings beginning to penetrate. I willingly suffered the awful itch and cutting pain of the stems, which accompanied the distinctive sting of this type of nettle. I have decided that I must take the pain and am not allowed to treat it in anyway for the rest of the day.

My arousal is taking control over my actions, I feel that I am not suffering enough yet, my sex juices are flowing freely once again, naked as I am, I can feel them trickling down my inner thighs. I needed to come, am desperate to come again. At the same time I want to suffer intolerably. I want to pay for my perverse pleasure with real pain, I need to make my suffering worse.

I decided that I can not allow myself to finger the swollen demanding area of my pussy. My punishment will have to feel real, be real, satisfaction is obviously a goal, take away the toys from the naughty girl, but that just isn’t enough of a punishment; not by a long way. I need, want to suffer, the answer is both obvious and simple to inflict and will be very effective, perhaps even bringing tears to my eyes if I am lucky. I break leaves with short stalks from the nettles and lay them into my panties gusset, then I simply pull up my underwear, stretching the material tight, forcing the stalks and their stinging leaves into my sopping slit. Still not satisfied I stuff yet more of nettles inside my now raised knickers, filling both front and back. Immediately I feel the pain of multiple stings, they are so concentrated, so penetrating that I nearly come on first contact.

Gritting my teeth I climb back onto the tree trunk, once more straddling the rough bark I again began to rock myself backward and forward, grinding the stingers deep into my every delicate little fold. I kept rubbing and grinding my hips, creating and building my pain until with pure undiluted pleasure I came again. I remove the bulk of the nettles from my panties and then pull up my trousers, straightened and adjusted myself once more, then having taken a deep breath, I strolled back to the track. Little miss innocent to any that care to look at me, not that I see anybody just then.

The few remaining leaves rub constantly at my sopping love channel, adding a nice constant level of stinging pain. ‘All that,’ I think as I walk, ‘all that just because of meeting a man who is driving a slave woman in pony bondage.’ Never before have I experienced such an overwhelming, all consuming desire to masturbate, nor have I ever been tempted to toss myself off in such a blatantly wanton way, let alone out in the open air!

The End.

08.12.10