Part 2
3) Lodgings
As we approached the cottage a figure appeared from a little wooden stable block a short distance away. It was a girl, probably eighteen or nineteen; she was tall and buxom and seemed to be wearing some sort of ill-fitting woollen dress which, as we turned into the small yard, I realised was a stable blanket.
‘Major.’ She said in a broad west-country accent. She was pretty with blonde hair and a round face that appeared quite flushed and reddened more deeply as she curtseyed, trying not to let the blanket slip but failing so that a large pink nipple popped into view.
She was certainly a well endowed lass and I suspected she had some dairymaid ancestry.
‘Miss Fanny,’ the major called as he drew me to a halt.
‘I was…’ she said, appearing awkward as she looked up at him. ‘My dress was wet and I…went to…to prepare the stable.’
‘That’s very diligent of you, Fanny,’ my master said with some amusement in his voice.
‘Yes, Sir.’ She curtsied again, apparently losing her grip on the blanket and revealing a body that would have made her pass muster as a heavy cavalry charger; her waist trimmed by a tightly laced linen corset that tucked firmly beneath her large breasts and some lacy stocking tops clipped to ribbons that hung from it.
Fanny was clearly quite the minx!
She blushed even redder and lowered her eyes to regard me.
‘You have a new pony, Sir.’
‘Yes, indeed. This is Red.’
I resisted the urge to remind him of my real name.
‘She’s pretty,’ Fanny said, reaching out a hand to play with one of my nipple bells. ‘Would you like me to stable her for you?’
‘That would be very kind of you, Fanny.’
I was certainly ready to be ‘stabled’ with all the connotations of that word even at the hands of a horny country girl. I’d just lead the parade through the city and every pony likes a parade. Furthermore, I’d been high trotting for nearly an hour with the plug of my new harness working up and down inside me while hands reached out to pet and caress me.
‘It’s a pleasure, Sir. She was still playing with my nipple bell as she took up my reins.
‘Is your aunt at home?’ My master dismounted the chariot.
‘She’s went to town to watch the parade, Sir. Candy’s gone with her.’ Fanny laughed a little saucily. ‘She’s back in chains again.’ The little minx was no longer making any effort to conceal herself and had let the blanket drop revealing her body in its full glory; a body that I discerned, while buxom was honed by hard labour in the fields even as I wondered whether my master had first hand experience of just how toned and firm it was.
‘Is she now?’ My master didn’t seem too surprised that Candy, whom I assumed to be the maid, was back in chains; had he enjoyed her delights too?
‘Come along, Red,’ Fanny said, leading me towards the stable. ‘I’ll bring you tea, Sir, if Candy’s not back soon.’
‘Thank you, Fanny.’ The major walked towards the cottage.
‘She’s a naughty one that Candy,’ Fanny said as she began to release me from between the shafts of the chariot. ‘Always getting herself into trouble and ending up in chains.’
I nodded. A pony can make herself understood when she has a bit in her mouth but even with Fanny chatting casually to me, I wasn’t really supposed to answer.
Candy wasn’t the only naughty one. I could tell Fanny was clearly a naughty girl too; from her scent it was pretty clear we’d interrupted something in the stables. Perhaps this was why she was so eager to stable me so she could allow a lover to slip away unseen. I looked at the stable door which was partly open but could see no movement within.
She lowered the shafts of the chariot to the ground and began to undo my harness.
‘This is lovely,’ she said, undoing the oversheath. ‘You’re so lucky.’
I wasn’t sure exactly why I was lucky; being owned by the major, my pretty new harness perhaps, the prospect of a tumble in the hay with Fanny.
‘I’d love to wear something like this.’
That wasn’t entirely unexpected. Many women, even those who are not devotees of the Prussian style, like the idea of becoming ponies and, of course, many young ladies are actually put into harness as part of their education. Most don’t really enjoy the labours of a pony but they like to wear the harness and, more importantly, to be seen in it. Fanny was, of course, right about the harness, it fitted beautifully exactly where it was supposed to and I was almost reluctant to have it removed. My own scent was as strong as Fanny’s, stronger perhaps, we redheads have a scent of our own.
She chatted as she removed my bridle and then my harness seemingly unconcerned that she was nearly as naked as me. She was clearly used to handling ponies but, I thought, was a little nervous of me, perhaps a little awed. Her eyes widened as she realised my crotch strap and pulled out my plug.
‘The major used to let me stable Dancer too,’ she said, pushing me forward to casually replace my tail after washing it.
So, she was called Dancer.
I’d wondered at his choice of pony while I’d been in training; with Chrissy injured he must have hired or borrowed one and I was suddenly desperate to know more about this filly, Dancer. Was she pretty? How had my master acquired her? What had he done with her? Was she to be his charger?
I pondered this as Fanny crouched to undo my boots. There was no booting saddle and she supported me as she drew them off my feet.
Finally, I was left with my arms in the under sheath.
‘Does it hurt to be kept like that?’ She traced her fingers over my hands laced into their mitts.
‘I’m used to it, Mistress.’ I replied without thinking. I wasn’t completely used to it, not this way with my hands pressed together at the top of my back but it felt less awkward than it had.
She slid a stable halter over my head; after three months in military halters fastened to restraining stalls it was surprisingly comfortable. Then she led me into the stable which had two stalls not much wider than a restraining stall. There was a set of hobbles hanging over the partition and a loop of rope hanging down that could be used to tether a standing pony.
There were a couple of clothes pegs too, perhaps they’d held the stable blanket in the rope; also, rather oddly, there was a ‘maid’s beak’.
The maid’s beak is a type of gag that, obviously, is worn by maids. It consists of a ball that is usually held in place by a series of straps like a bridle rather than a single strap that goes behind her neck; this is because, mounted in the ball is the ‘beak’. This is not a beak at all but, essentially a plug like the one Fanny had just removed from my pussy. Maids are given it to wear sometimes to humiliate them; usually it is done if they have committed a sexual indiscretion but just as commonly it is used when the lady of the house desires her maid to please her and needs more than a good tongue lashing. It was surprising to see it in the stable.
‘It’s not what you think,’ Fanny said, seeing me look at it.
‘What do I think?’ I asked, emboldened by her defensiveness and curious though I suspected the answer.
‘I just wanted to see…what it felt like.’ She picked the gag up. ‘My aunt took it out of the punishment chest this morning but she forgot to put it on Candy and I thought…’ She turned it over, examining it. ‘I thought I’d quite like to be a maid. Though mostly, I’d like to be a pony…a cavalry mare…’ she added hurriedly. ‘Anyway, Candy…Candice is our maid. My aunt chains her at night, sometimes collars her and…’ She blushed again and I saw her nipples swell. That scent came to me again.
‘I think I’d like…I’d like someone to do that to me.’ She was blushing. ‘Or perhaps, if I were a pony…’
I could hear her need, feel it, smell it.
‘I come out here sometimes and pretend I’m…a pony…a mare…’ She was barely talking to me now, just voicing her thoughts out loud as I suspected she did when working alone in the stables of the fields.
‘I used to watch Dancer sometimes, wishing I could be there in the stall beside her.’ She took on a dreamy expression. ‘Dancer was a very naughty pony.’
Yes, I bet she was.
‘All ponies are a little bit naughty when there’s nobody around,’ I said, glancing over my shoulder then taking a small step towards her, ‘perhaps you could pretend I was your stablemate.’
Her mouth fell open.
‘Shall I show you what we ponies get up to when we’re stabled together?’ I asked.
She nodded, her mouth still open and I dropped to my knees.
She was as wet as she smelt and, I have to say, her salty pussy was delicious. Ponies spend a lot of time with their tongues in each other’s slits; it is a form of comfort as well as satisfying a need we have. We cannot play with ourselves though many a pony has been caught with her legs astride a hitching rail and we all love a rough booting saddle. My suggestion that she play my stablemate was not just for her benefit; I’d had three months of being stabled in a restraining stall surrounded by dripping desperate pussy and barely tongued more than a dozen in that time, all the while being forced to suck cock and take it every which way I was given it. There comes a time when a girl yearns for a hot, wet pussy and, even more important, a really good tongue lashing for herself.
We ponies might come from different stock but a pussy is a pussy and Fanny’s was a juicy one.
It wasn’t long until she was squealing so loudly with delight that I feared if the major might hear us. I lifted my head to tell her to bite her tongue and saw that she was standing with her wrists wrapped into the loop of rope above her head as if they were tied there.
Fanny looked down and, seeing me looking at her, blushed furiously.
‘My aunt ties Candy like this when she punishes her,’ she said. ‘She sometimes leaves her there all day. The village boys come to stand at the gate and tease her.’
I bet they do.
‘Once one of them climbed over and…and put clothes pegs on her nipples and she couldn’t take them off.’ Fanny giggled. ‘I think she quite liked it really though she said it hurt.’
That explained the clothes pegs although, cute as Candy sounded, I suspected if Fanny was being punished in the yard, half of Exeter would be at the gate to watch.
‘She looked really…sexy standing there with the beak in her mouth and the pegs on her nipples,’ Fanny continued, apparently forgetting the climax I had been building her towards. ‘If I was a maid I’d probably try to make sure I got punished a lot,’ she said. ‘At least every week.’
She slid her hands out of the loops of rope and reached out to pick up one of the pegs then pulled on her right nipple and pushed the peg on. I slipped my tongue back into her pussy, watching out of the corner of my eye as she pegged her other nipple.
‘Oooh.’
Then she picked up the beak and eased the ball into her mouth before reaching round her head to buckle the straps.
‘Mmmphh.’
Her hands went back in the rope and she pushed her sex against my face. For a country girl, it was surprisingly and deliciously smooth; recently shaved; certainly not what I’d been expecting. Fanny was clearly a practical girl as much as a daydreamer, though she might have learned to do that grooming ponies.
‘Nnggh.’ She squirmed with pleasure on my tongue as I worked her to climax and whimpered into her gag as she came for me.
‘Shng ug.’ She gasped, her ‘beak’ bobbing after I’d given her that moment all girls need when they’ve just had their world rocked.
‘A pleasure to serve you, Mistress,’ I said with just a hint of irony. I usually get called a good girl and, if I’m lucky, a pat on the bottom.
She disentangled her wrists from the rope and lowered herself to her knees in front of me cautiously lifting her hands to her breasts to take the pegs off her nipples and smiling around the gag as she freed them.
‘Ur durn,’ she said through the gag after cupping her nipples gently.
I must have looked surprised because she reached out and pushed my back. ‘Yay dung.’
What else could I do? Ponies are trained to obey and I did just that, lying down on my haunches and spreading my legs. I clearly wasn’t going to get the tongue lashing I’d expected but a girl is always more thoughtful than a man and most know what another girl wants. Fanny didn’t disappoint. I wondered where she’d learnt such skills; most likely from her aunt’s naughty maid I guess. Whomsoever had taught her had done a good job and it was a shame I didn’t get the benefit of her tongue but she played with my pussy quite skilfully before kneeling between my spread thighs and pushing the long thick shaft of the ‘beak’ deep inside me just as I was good and ready for it.
I tried to keep quiet, I honestly did, but between thrashing from side to side with my nipple bells jingling and my moans I probably did make too much noise; or perhaps the major just came to find out why Fanny had not brought him tea. Either way, that’s how he caught us, with me on my back with my knees spread and Fanny kneeling with her bottom in the air and her face in my dripping pussy ramrodding me with a maid’s beak. We were so occupied at first that we didn’t notice him; in fact I really don’t know how long he was watching us but when the bells stopped ringing (not just my nipple bells), he was leaning against the doorpost of the stable with a grin on his face and bulge in his breeches.
‘Sir,’ I said, knowing that my body was glowing with arousal, my mane tousled and my scent filling the air.
‘Mmgr Jumsh,’ Fanny said, pulling the beak out of my spasming pussy just a little too early so that it made me gasp.
‘I think you promised me tea, Fanny,’ he said gently.
‘Ysh, Shr.’ Her gag bobbed up and down as she nodded and climbed to her feet.
She looked like a girl who’d just had a good tumble in the hay with her hair dishevelled and tangled; there were even a couple of stalks in it from the stable floor. Her corset and stockings were damp and she was flushed and getting redder by the second she turned to scamper away.
‘And Fanny…’
She turned, her face now glowing red. ‘Shr?’
‘That is government property.’ He pointed at me.
Fanny’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Shr…I…’
‘Tea, Fanny.’
‘Shr,’ she turned and fled across the yard.
‘Sir.’ I licked my lips. I was still lying on my back with my pussy gaping and a warm feeling in my belly.
‘Yes?’
‘It was my fault, Sir.’
‘Really?’ He raised an eyebrow skeptically. ‘A sheathed pony standing no more than five feet managed to cajole the redoubtable Fanny into gagging herself and playing Prussian games?’
‘She’s easily led, Sir,’ I said only half meaning it as I struggled to my knees and then started to rise to my feet.
‘No, Red,’ he said, motioning me down, ‘I rather like you down there.’
I’d thought once before that he liked to see a girl on her knees. I’d seen him treat Chrissy this way. It’s not really part of the whole pony oeuvre, we might kneel to be harnessed sometimes and a restraining stall holds a pony this way but usually we stand or lie down; it’s not easy to kneel in most pony boots and besides, it tends to scuff them.
Fanny clearly wasn’t the only one who enjoyed ‘Prussian games’.
‘My name’s…’
He held up his hand. ‘I know.’
‘Sir.’ I knelt up like a maid rather pleased with the way he was looking at me and then wondering how he looked at Dancer. Did she play Prussian games with him?
I hadn’t met her then and it’s probably just as well. Dancer is a beauty: chestnut mane, blue eyes, smooth brown skin and breasts that would make a dairymaid look down; she has a beautiful step too, living up to her name. The thought that she played games of power in the Prussian style with my master would have had me turning green with jealousy.
‘Fanny tells me she’d quite like to be a pony,’ I said, feeling that for some reason he expected me to say something, perhaps even play the saucy maid.
‘She’d make a fine mare for the heavy cavalry,’ he said, knowingly.
‘And me, Sir?’ I had to ask.
‘Are you not content with the Lancers?’
‘I am, Sir.’
‘And soon, I am sure, you will have the opportunity to prove your metal.’
He left me shortly after, going to sit at the wooden table in the garden of the little cottage where Fanny brought him a tray of tea. I knelt quietly and very contentedly watching from my stall as she poured the tea and they spoke quietly together. Part of me was jealous of their intimacy and I wished he might snap his fingers and call me forward. I knew I would obey too, crawling to him and kneeling at his side like a pet girl in the expectation that his fingers might absently caress my mane. That Fanny wished to please him was clear, however, my master simply conversed with her politely and I knelt contentedly watching them together almost blushing when he glanced over at me.
It was about an hour later when a cart came into view, bearing two women with a single pony between the shafts. The house pony, who I later learned was called Olwen, had certainly not inspired Fanny in with any dreams to become a pony; she was not a looker, more a farm pony than one from the stables of a household, even of a poor household like this one. She seemed truculent too, her shoulders stooped and her gait lacking in any sort of pride. I saw the driver, the older of the two women whom I took to be Fanny’s aunt, whip her but she gave little response to it. The other woman in the cart was no doubt Candice or rather, Candy the naughty maid; she was every bit as I had imagined and more besides; dark haired, elfin, she’d have given Cat and de Creme, the maids from Sir Charles’ household a run for their money. I could see why the boys flocked to the yard with Candy, handing out favours or even just being left for punishment. Maids are either pert or buxom, most know exactly how to flaunt it too, they are almost universally naughty. It was clear that Candy had found a way to be naughty on her visit to town to add to her morning misdemeanours. She was clearly restrained and gagged and pouting naturally in that way maids do that implies it couldn’t have been their fault yet here they are being punished again and though it really is unfair they will accept it because it is their lot and, of course, because it makes them the centre of attention.
I could name more than a dozen ponies of my acquaintance of a similar demeanour,
I tried to detach myself from my thoughts about her but I was struck by a nagging doubt that a maid this pert couldn’t have escaped the notice of my master and would surely have found occasion to curtsey in front of him in a way that gave no doubt to the obvious assets straining for release over the neckline of her dress or bent before him to dust the fireplace revealing the unnecessary immodesty of her briefs and ridiculous ostentation of her frilly stocking tops. I could tell there was almost no way that such a slut would not have entered my master’s room by accident when he was dressing or found some excuse to assist him as he bathed.
I hated her even as my master and Fanny rose to greet the new arrivals and Fanny’s aunt drew the cart to a halt leaving my major to assist the bountiful Candy down in her ‘helpless’ chained state.
‘What did she do now, Aunt?’ Fanny asked as she helped her aunt down from the cart and Candy ‘stumbled’ in the major’s arms ensuring the need for his full support.
‘Flirting with a merchant’s son, the hussy,’ Fanny’s aunt said.
‘Mnnph,’ Candy said , shaking her head in denial even as she pressed those pert little breasts against my major’s chest pulling ineffectually at the cuffs that held her wrists behind her back and lifting her thigh to rub it against his leg.
That evening, when the stable door opened, I looked up hoping to see the major but wasn’t surprised to see Fanny instead. It was dark and, as is the pony’s lot, Olwen and I had been left stabled. Just as I had surmised, the pony had no spirit and despite a little flirtation to draw her out, she had laid down in her stall and, clearly exhausted after the short pull of no more than five miles from Exeter had begun snoring. It was way too early for me to sleep despite the excitement of the day and I was wide awake beneath my stable blanket occupied by thoughts of Candy offering to warm my master’s bed.
I suppose it would have been a little brazen for my master to come to the stable in the night. What would his landlady have said? Fanny was thus a welcome distraction and I was not surprised to see that she was naked, the moonlight bright on her bare, pale skin. Pulling the door up behind her, she lifted the blanket and slid in beside me, one arm going over my shoulder and the other sliding behind my neck.
‘I thought you might be lonely,’ she said, pressing her body against mine, breasts against my sheathed arms and her loins against my bottom.
‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Mistress,’ I whispered back, snuggling back against her.
In the stall next to me, I heard Olwen rolling over, clearly disturbed though apparently not intrigued by her young mistress’ presence in the stable with this strange pony.
I might not have held any expectation of enjoying my master’s cock but I began to hope this night I might enjoy the skills of buxom Fanny’s fingers and perhaps her tongue and, when she began to play with my nipples, I gathered I was not going to be disappointed.
‘Your master is very handsome,’ she said, her breath warm on my neck.
I stiffened slightly but she seemed not to notice.
‘I wish I had a master like him.’ Her lips caressed my neck even as I fought down the urge to rebuke her.
‘If I walked on the Plymouth road, do you think a highwayman might take me and sell me as a pony or perhaps a slave?’
I could have argued, pointed out the error of her ways, the difference between fantasy and reality between the Prussian style and reality of slavery either in Prussia or, more likely in the lands of the Ottoman Empire. A buxom blonde lass like her would almost certainly be sold beyond Europe were she taken, assuming, of course, she made it out of England. There is a lucrative trade in buxom wenches in the wilder places of our land where there is frequently little difference between ponies and the women of the farm; where women are as likely to find themselves in the stable at night as in the bedroom. Women in such households are often little more than workhorses without even enjoying rights of a wife, the perks of the pony harness, or the flirtation enjoyed by maids for whom the dance of sexual innuendo is almost and expectation. Such women are frequently kept naked and chained like slaves fulfilling the roles of pony, maid and sex toy all rolled into one. They can be bought and sold in the same way as ponies. Some are the lumpen daughters of local farmers but there is, not surprisingly, a lucrative trade opportunity to be conducted at secret auctions or by word of mouth when the right girl is available: a gentleman’s daughter taken by a highwayman and spirited across the country, a maid who has displeased her master and been cast out onto the highway or a shepherdess snatched from or flock by gypsies or bandits and, after a good deal of ravaging, put up for sale.
That Fanny harboured romantic notions of all this I had little doubt but her fingers were insistent and her breath hot on my neck and I was prepared to tolerate her fantasies if she kept teasing me the way she was.
‘You’d make a fine cavalry mare,’ I told her as her fingers began to play between my legs.
‘Do you think so?’ Her voice was full of excitement. ‘Would I get to wear a harness like yours?’
‘I’m sure you would.’ I arched back as she played with my love ring.
‘There’s a muster at the end of the month,’ she told me.
‘You could enlist.’
Oddly, in some European armies, the Prussian cavalry particularly, women can become troopers and even officers. In the British Isles they must serve as ponies, hence the regular musters where young country girls like Fanny can ‘enlist’ as mares, signing over their rights and becoming ponies for the next five, ten or even fifteen years. It is not a bad career, the discipline is harsh but troopers are fed and groomed and, when not in the field, have a dry stable to sleep in. Most, over time, acclimatise to the life of a pony and many end in retirement as wives, mistresses or ponies to the troopers who they have served during their career; of these a good number choose to remain ponies.
Such a choice is perhaps fanciful for girls in Fanny’s position but for the daughters of poorer households it is an attractive option. Even for Fanny, it would be a fulfilling life and then there are the perks of sexual gratification. She was clearly a horny lass and the thought of being used frequently and run plugged must surely be appealing to girls of her age.
She certainly seemed to go out of her way to spend time in the stable which may have been rather surprising when the ‘boys from the city’ came so frequently to look at Candy. One might have thought any self respecting girl would have encouraged a little dialogue with them, perhaps offering to fasten clothes pegs to the maid’s nipples or indeed any other part of her nubile and naughty little body in return for a kiss. Yet, here she was in the stable with me and, when not distracted by her flights of fancy, doing a rather good job of it; twice.
4) The Plymouth Road (June 1815)
As I reached the top of the hill, the sea came into view. It was along this road that Mistress Cassie, the daughter of my former owner, and I had encountered the highwaymen from whom the major had rescued us; the upshot of which was that Chrissy, his other pony, had been injured and I had been bought from Sir Charles by the major. I guessed there had been a purge in the three months I’d been in training and those ruffians that had escaped had probably gone to ground in some other part of the country though they would no doubt be back.
This time though, we faced not brigands, but an army; the little corporal, Napoleon, was on the move and we were bound for the continent to stop him.
It had been a steep climb and the major had driven me hard.
‘Let’s see what you can do, Red,’ he’d called as he’d cracked the whip across my haunches and made me start the hill at a canter, a pace which he’d forced me to maintain, albeit a little more slowly as we’d continued to climb.
Military chariots are heavier than civilian gigs and then I had the major and his kit to haul along too which explains why I was panting hard around my bit when we reached the summit and sweat was dripping from my brow and my chin and even my nipples.
‘Whoa.’ He pulled me to a halt and I stood in my harness sucking air in around my bit and revelling in the sea breeze that was caressing my bare skin. I could have gone on, of course, but the rest was welcome.
‘Good girl.’ He jumped down and walked forward to pat me on the bottom, standing beside me to take in the view.
I couldn’t resist the urge to lean a little closer to him.
‘You’re in fine shape, Red,’ he said, turning to me.
‘Yesh, Shir,’ I said, a little surprised by his comment but with a thrill running through me that was almost as enjoyable as if his hand had pressed one of my nipples or stroked me between the thighs. It was true, of course, I’d been a bloody fine pony before he bought me and after three months in military boot camp I’d have given the county champion a run for her money even pulling a military chariot. When he’d taken me out that night we’d hunted the highwaymen, the major had said that I was no military charger, comparing me unfavourably with Chrissy. The comment had stung, upsetting me deeply but he had bought me anyway and it was probably that and my own stubbornness that had pushed me through my training.
He took my reins and lifted my head, admiring me, his other hand running over my body, then sliding over my buttock and squeezing my thigh. I felt myself beginning to blush with a strange mix of pride and arousal. Ponies are used to being appraised and when we are shown, hands touch our bodies; while this is ostensibly to check the firmness of our muscles, those hands invariably end up assessing and exploring us more intimately than would truly be necessary unless those judging us wish to decide if we are fully on heat. They certainly seem interested in feeling the flush of our skin and testing the responsiveness of our nipples; seasoned hands always slip between a pony’s legs too.
And everybody loves to ring a pony’s nipple bells.
‘I have missed you, you know, Red,’ he said, using my reins to pull me closer to him so that I could almost feel his body against my shoulder. That thrill his earlier comment had sparked inside me increased. We didn’t need to touch for me to know the effect my harnessed body was having on him. In fact I had detected a slight stiffness in his gait as he had clambered down from the chariot and walked towards me.
‘My name ish Bryony, Shir,’ I reminded him.
He slapped me hard on the bottom.
‘You are mine now, and I shall call you Red if I choose.’
‘Yesh, Shir.’ That thrill manifested in a flush of pleasure at this suggestion he was taking more complete ownership of me.
For a moment I felt his erection brush against my thigh then he stepped away and I cursed myself silently for my inability to control my impudence. Would he have kissed me, I wondered.
‘Shir.’
‘Yes?’
‘I misshed you too, Shir. Very mush.’
‘Did you now?’
I felt him begin to unbuckle my harness from the shafts of the chariot and a rush of excitement flowed through me. I been hot since he’d trotted me for the first mile with my plug in place and my new harness teasing me mercilessly, doing it under the whip of…my owner…this man I…loved…had left me positively drooling and then when his hands had touched my body…
He let the shafts of the chariot fall and took up my reins again leading me through an open gate into the field beyond.
‘Shir?’ I followed obediently, of course.
‘Bryony.’ He stopped and turned to look at me. ‘I do not wish to punish you though you fully deserve it both for your insubordination and for that cute arse of yours I’ve had to watch swaying all the way from Exeter.’ He pulled my head up so that I had to look him in the eyes. ‘I suspect we are both very much in need of a little relief although you clearly enjoyed plenty last night at the hands of the delightful Fanny.’
I bit back the question of whether he had enjoyed similar relief at the hands of the maid, Candice.
Then he kissed me and I kissed him back despite my bridle.
It seemed to take him forever to undo my crotch strap and yank out my plug though I think it was only seconds; before he pushed me to the ground; it took just as long to undo his breeches. Then he took me; took me on my back, not kneeling behind me as one usually takes a pony, his mouth on mine, his tongue pushing past my bit into my mouth, his cock huge and hard easily replacing the emptiness of the plug, warm and thrusting as I squirmed beneath him pushing up my hips. As I say, ponies are not usually taken this way, but when we are it is often by someone we hold more intimate, it can also be a lot more stimulating if a girl’s tail has not been removed.
I climaxed almost immediately, lust filling me and my tongue pushing past my bit then my head thrashing from side to side as I arched my back to take him as deep inside me as I could. I admit that I whimpered my need.
He continued to thrust hard and my belly seemed to fill with pleasure until I climaxed again and then a third time before he ejaculated inside my triggering a fourth orgasm (my sixth of the morning, although there was no reason he should ever learn that).
When he’d climaxed, he lay on top of me for some time, his head pressed into my neck gasping almost as much as me. My body hummed with sexual contentment radiating out from the fullness of his cock still buried deep inside me and I wanted to lie like this forever but he was heavy and his weight was uncomfortable on my bound arms, it also pressed my tail deep inside; this wasn’t entirely unpleasant but a girl can only take so much stimulation. Eventually, he rolled off me and we lay side by side looking up at the clear blue sky. It was still early but the sun was already hot on my bare skin; it was going to be a long hot canter to Plymouth.
‘You are a remarkable pony, Red,’ he said after a while.
‘Shir…’
He reached out and put his hand over my mouth.
‘Don’t!’
‘Yesh, Shr.’
We lay like that for a little longer, his palm across my lips. I was still bridled but it didn’t stop me nuzzling his hand, kissing him.
‘I suppose we should be going,’ he said.
I came up onto my knees, tossing my mane and feeling the tug of the chains that ran from my bit to my nipples. The pull of these as I’d thrashed my head around while he was using me had triggered the third orgasm. I was aware of him looking up as me kneeling above him with my breasts thrust out and the sun shining on my mane. Ponies might be subject to the whip and rein but we have our ways of asserting control. My master clearly liked a woman in the Prussian style and what is a pony but a slave girl by another name.
‘I wash hoping for one for the road, Shir.’ I said kneeling above him, aware that my mane was somewhat disheveled in the way of a serving maid or, indeed, a pony who had just taken a tumble in the hay. For emphasis, I drew my lip in between my bridle and my teeth.
‘Were you now? You really are a presumptuous little pony.’
‘Indeed, Shir.’ I tossed my mane again to clear it away from my face and make my nipple bells jingle gently.
I moved a little closer to him.
‘You seek to mount me, Red?’ The stirring of his cock seemed to suggest he liked the idea.
‘Indeed Shir, unlesh you wish to mount me again.’
‘I should tan your hide for such insubordination when we get back to barracks.’
‘But we are not going to barracks, Shir,’ I said coyly, bending down and nuzzling his cock with my cheek. It responded dutifully and I lifted my knee over him trying not to sigh with utter contentment as he guided his tip to my drooling slit so I could impale myself on him.
This one took longer but was no less pleasurable for the effort required. Ponies’ thighs are built for this sort of activity and he simply lay back as I slid up and down his cock, ensuring I took the full length inside me and rose to the very tip every time. I tossed my head to make my nipple bells dance for him as he lay contentedly while I worked his cock to a lather.
We came together, I could feel it happening, building, feel the little twitches in his body and his cock in me, I could hear his breathing and see the expression on his face. He had closed his eyes but I wanted him to look at me as he came, watch me cum for him and I knew how to do it. I squeezed his cock with my pussy, a pussy that is constantly working the plug inside me so that my muscles down there are as toned and responsive as the rest of my body. He opened his eyes immediately, staring up at me and I let myself cum throwing my head back so that my mane danced and my nipple bells rang, climaxing and clutching him with every muscle I could, milking him as he spurted inside me.
He was grinning when I looked down at him again. It must have been several minutes for when a girl cums like that she loses all track of time, or reality, knowing only the explosions like gunpowder detonating in her body, heat and lust radiating through her and shaking her to the core. The pleasure of our coupling was written clearly on his face and I knew he had been watching me. Honey, my former stablemate, had always told me that men could be tamed; a glance, the toss of a mane, the flick of a tail and then, when you had them, a pony’s body with its responsiveness was everything a man desired.
‘I trusht Shir ish shatishfied.’ I said.
‘Tolerable, Red.’
I tossed my mane defiantly but didn’t correct him. He had named me, stamped his ownership on me as if he had branded me. I didn’t correct him on my performance either; I could see from his expression he had found it far beyond ‘tolerable’. There was a look in his eye that suggested what had just happened had been as intense for him as it had for me and I wondered if Dancer and any of those ponies and mares that had served him had satisfied him as completely as I had just done.
That his casual dismissal of my performance was to goad me was easy to read and I finally understood how Honey had known the power she possessed over the men that thought they owned her.
‘We really should be moving.’
‘Yesh, Shir.’ I slid off him. ‘Bud you cannod meet the captain of the Hawk like thad.’ I looked down sternly at his only slightly flagging cock.
He grinned again and I lowered my head, pushing my tongue past my bit to lick him clean. That sort of thing is maid’s work, not something a pony usually does; for us the man who’s used us usually wipes his cock on our mane and carries on with his work leaving his sticky mess matting our hair and requiring the services of the stable girl to wash or comb it out; and, of course, the stable girl knows exactly how and why it’s there and will usually punish us for it especially if she’s not been getting it recently.
I switched to a military step as we entered the streets of Plymouth, going to the rising trot a moment before I felt the slash of my master’s whip instructing me to do so. A good pony can anticipate a master’s commands though really she shouldn’t change step without a command. The major had been treated to the full sway of my hips and swish of my tail for the last twelve miles and I was willing to wager he was nearly as hot under the collar as he’d been at the top of the hill where he’d ripped me from the traces and taken me without even removing my bridle. I was certainly ready for another seeing to; performing for him in the new harness had seen to that with its delightfully tight crotch strap and the plug moving to the rhythm of my step inside me, not to mention the constant tug on my nipples of the bells and the chains from my bit. There was a time when I’d have rankled at the use of the ‘continental’ bridle which had something of the feel of a martingale used to keep a feisty girl’s head down but this arrangement felt rather exotic and considerably more erotic.
I’d been to Plymouth a few times before but the city always felt an exciting place; colourful and bustling after the quiet streets of Bovey Tracey and even Exeter though it smelt more of unwashed bodies and human waste. On most of my previous trips I’d been hitched to the farm cart, toiling the twenty miles side by side with Honey meaning we had come and gone more or less unnoticed. However, once, Sir Charles’ carriage mistress had driven me there in the lady’s gig to meet her sister. I’d been in the best harness, plumed and belled and had attracted plenty of interest and even exchanged nods with the ponies of fine ladies and gentlemen.
Today, as then, the streets were thronged with people bustling about their business; farmers and traders, visiting stallholders; ladies and gentlemen; soldiers and sailors; carts, wagons and gigs jostled for space with pedestrians in the narrow streets.
Nevertheless, we attracted more than a few glances as my master guided me through the streets. Where the way was clear the clatter of my boots on the cobbles echoed off the buildings on either side. Being blinkered, I couldn’t fully appreciate the pleasure of the crowd’s attention but I enjoyed some approving nods from gentlemen and ladies alike. A number of the ponies I passed fixed their gazes on me, lips curling into a smile around their bits. Even the most lowly pony dislikes admitting she has been outclassed so a nod from one’s fellows is always a welcome acknowledgement. I had a particularly pleasing smile from a pretty young blonde with huge blue eyes who reminded my of Honey and who’s head turned slightly as we passed necessitating a cut of the whip across her buttocks from her young mistress who proceeded to nod rather too enthusiastically, I thought, at my master.
Nearing the docks we came up behind a squad of marines all looking rather splendid in their pink uniforms. Like sailors, marines are always women while regular soldiers in His Majesty’s army are always men. It’s different on the continent where regiments can be of either sex; I’m told that women make fine cavalry troopers. If I wasn’t a pony myself, I think I’d like to be a cavalry trooper or preferably an officer with a fit young pony of my own. Behind the troop, we were forced to slow to walking pace but my master kept me marking time which suited me; it’s a perfect way for a pony to show off and it makes a girl’s plug move deliciously inside her; all this and with a squad of fit young girls in tight white breeches and shiny black boots marching ahead of me.
You really can’t beat a girl in uniform, unless you’re a pony in harness.
HMS Hawk looked rather splendid as I trotted towards her behind the troop of marines. She’d clearly just been refurbished; her paint bright and her ropes and stays freshly tarred. She was drawn up against the quayside being loaded with provisions.
My master drew me to a halt as the marines wheeled and marched smartly up the gangplank, their lieutenant saluting the officer of the watch, a sultry looking brunette who like most naval officers subscribed to the view that a uniform only fitted properly if was at least one size too small meaning that their silken breeches leave nothing to the imagination and their breasts always look as if they are about to burst free of their blouses; said blouses are always made of the sheerest silk so that, even if their breasts remain restrained, the anatomy of their nipples is usually clearly visible.
Seeing us, she tipped her hat to my master and furnished him with a sultry smile before sending a runner for the captain. However, when her gaze returned to us, it was very definitely directed at me and her smile became almost wanton as she took in my hot and helpless state, standing there balanced on my boots with my breasts thrust out and my head up meaning the bit between my teeth was gently pulling on my nipples. I couldn’t resist a more detailed look and lifted my head to see more just as the ship's cat sprang up onto the taffrail beside her. The officer looked down to stroke the pert little thing which responded by dropping her head to nuzzle the brunette’s crotch though a moment later the officer was looking me over again and continued to stare at me even as she enjoyed the attention of the hot little pet.
A sharp sting to the hind quarters reminded me to face front again and I stood wondering what my master might be thinking of the action on deck. Being stabled in a restraining stall with fifty other mares wasn’t going to make it easy to keep my master’s attention if there was such competition on board.
The captain arrived a few minutes later followed by the boatswain who dispatched a couple sailors to dismantle my master’s chariot and carry it aboard while the boatswain herself took my bridle. She was a buxom lass as they often seem to be, her breasts almost the size of a dairymaid’s, a woman designed for comfort rather than speed. She gave me rather more of a cursory once-over than the officer had done and then exchanged my bit for an embarkation bridle. This is essentially a ring with metal struts that is designed to hold a girl’s mouth open incase she becomes seasick. It’s not a good look but it’s highly functional and most ensigns spend at least a few off-watches with one in their mouths as part of their initiation at sea. Then, my master was piped aboard and the boatswain lead me up the gangplank behind.
I had the measure of the captain from the moment she welcomed the Major aboard, tossing her blonde mane and pouting as she held out her hadn’t for him to kiss like a lady rather than the salute my master deserved. She was only a lieutenant, given command of a frigate, yet she acted like she was a post captain, the slattern. I knew her sort, I’d seen them when I’d been to Exeter or Plymouth and sometimes in Totnes strutting among the crowds with an air of casualness in their blue dress coats with polished gold buttons and enough ribbon and braid to rig a ship of the line. Then there are the tight white silk breeches. I swear that if a naval officer doesn’t have to be sewn into them in the morning she thinks they are not tight enough. Stand behind them and you’ll be able to see them break wind! Despite this, they can get out of them fast enough when they need to. At sea a sailor gets nothing but pussy so when she’s ashore she’s usually after one thing only; cock!
I swear most salts would lie with a stallion if they found their way into a stable. Hussies every woman Jane of them; officers and tars or ‘salts’ as they are called for obvious reasons!
Having said that, ‘Captain Arlot was a comely wench, filling her overly tight uniform somewhat more perfectly than I’d have liked and, although I couldn’t see the major’s eyes, I was pretty sure that having taking in her face they would be dropping to filthy slut’s tits a second later.
‘You’ll dine with me tonight, of course, Major,’ she said as he kissed her hand, his eyes no doubt dropping further to take in that perfect thigh gap as he did so.
‘I’d be delighted,’ my dashing master responded.
No doubt while yours truly would be spending the night in a restraining stall with her mouth available to all and sundry thanks to the bloody metal ring forcing my teeth wide.