The PonyGirl Polo Match Pt. 01

CHAPTER 1: GOING DOWN

Whipped Cream claimed that a good centre attack pony at the Buenos Aires PonyGirl Polo Club can hear the ball as it falls towards the centre spot at the start of a chukka and can thus anticipate the moment her player will set her to the gallop with the whip. When pony and player are in perfect harmony, the ball is as good as won. In the stillness the before the game as the referee throws out the ball for what is know as 'The Drop' I can almost believe it as every player, pony and spectator seems to hold their breath with anticipation of the explosive action to follow.

The sound of the bounce comes a fraction of a second too late to be of any use to a harnessed, bridled and hooded pony girl. The decision of when to move is thus up to the player driving her but the pony must be poised, ready for the off... must 'know'.

If the bounce was audible, I didn't hear it and I very much doubt my pony did either; when I saw the scuff of dirt as the ball struck earth I laid the whip across Bryony's buttocks and she lurched forward in an explosion of adrenaline; within five metres she was half way to full gallop, by ten she was there with matching red welts forming a V-shape across her straining buttocks.

Eighty yards away and closing, The-Cat-That-Got-The-Cream was racing towards us with equal fervor, driven on by her mistress, Whipped Cream.

*

It's hard to express the exhilaration of driving a well trained pony girl, watching as she strains in harness in front of you blind, helpless and obedient; her body perfectly honed and utterly under your control; and if that wasn't enough, there's the visceral thrill of the acceleration and the connection to her through the harness and reins; the creak of tack, thundering hooves (ok, I exaggerate), jingling harness clips; the smell of sweat and leather; the kiss of the whip on bare flesh.

Sometimes, it's better than sex.

Bryony is certainly a well trained pony girl. I know this because I trained her myself.

The fact that she's also small and pert with a mane of red hair (which I'm glad to say had grown back over the year I'd since my first race with her) and intensely submissive are just the icing on the very rich and beautiful cake that life has recently cut me a slice of.

Who says a man can't have his cake an eat it!

It helps that Bryony is a superb athlete; determined, focussed and very, very fit (in every sense of the word). She's a pretty fair sprinter though middle distance would be her forte if she competed in more conventional events. Most importantly, for pony girl racing and, indeed PonyGirl Polo, she has strong legs (I know; as well as seeing her perform, I've had them wrapped round me enough times) and a gritty determination so that, even encumbered by my weight in the chariot her acceleration and stamina are impressive.

Of course, having me whipping the hell out of her arse as I drove her towards that ball was a pretty good incentive too.

*

Tearing my eyes away from my beautiful pony, I looked up; we were a little over twenty yards out from the ball and I could see The-Cat pounding towards us; hooded, harnessed, bridled and clearly just as determined as Bryony to get her driver, or 'player' as Cream called us, to the ball first. 'The-Cat-That-Got-the-Cream' was taller than Bryony, giving her longer strides but she was younger, her body less toned, lacking Bryony's wiry strength and, while the Goose had done a pretty thorough job training her in Cream's absence, the blonde wasn't a match Bryony. I was thus disappointed to see that, as we closed to within about ten yards, The-Cat and her Cream were a little closer to the ball than us.

The girls had a slight downhill advantage but even uphill they seemed to beat us and I couldn't for the life of me work out what to do about it. The reason they beat us to the ball was simple, Whipped Cream (I'll tell you the story of her name later) had been playing PonyGirl Polo for six months with the best team (The Caballeras Azuls) in one of the top competitions the world (The Buenos Aires PonyGirl Polo Club) even if I hadn't heard of them until two months ago. The delightfully perky blonde knew just when, where and how to drive her equally delightful, perky blonde pony and, try as I might, I just couldn't get the same level of performance out of Bryony.

My beloved pony might be the undisputed champion of the mares' race but polo was a different thing entirely.

We were just under ten yards apart, both still lashing our ponies to keep them at full gallop as we bore down on the ball when The-Cat turned.

Convention dictates that, players pass the ball to their right hand sides allowing the first player to reach it to scoop it up with her (players are usually girls and, usually, just as pert as their ponies) dominant hand. This, however, is only convention. Cream, it appeared, had decided to go left or, perhaps, I realised with a jolt, just slam her pony straight into us.

PonyGirl Polo is very much a contact sport.

*

It is, at this point, probably time to say a little more about PonyGirl Polo. It is played by teams of four (just as conventional polo) using a ball about the size of a football. The ponies are, obviously, two legged and pull gigs that resemble para-Olympians' wheelchairs, small and compact and very light; with shorter shafts than the standard 'Mares' chariot. The shorter shafts put the player quite close to the ponies and they thus use shorter whips. Ponies are driven hooded meaning that all tactics are entirely the remit of the player but rely on the athletic prowess of the pony and, of course, complete connection between player and pony.

As in 'Mares' pony racing, polo ponies are guided by reins that are either fastened to the bits of their bridles or to nipple rings. Good control and, especially steering, requires two hands but the whip is used frequently to augment this meaning most players hold the reins in the left hand while the right hand is used for the whip. When they play the ball, most players will put the reins in their teeth and transfer the whip to the left hand, using their right to play the ball.

The Polo harnesses we were using were, Cream told us, in the traditional style, simple affairs like dressage ones, strapped around the shoulders and chest and typically restraining to pony with her elbows behind her and her hands, safely protected in mitts, strapped to the side of her chest just below her breasts. Elbow straps are often used in this arrangement too to keep the elbows from swinging out and potentially causing injury (they also make a ponygirl's tits stick out beautifully).

This arrangement leaves the lower half of her body, down to the tops of her boots at least, completely bare and thus an open target for the whip which, being short and light, is used frequently and intensely. In Argentina, where the sport grew up, disobedient daughters and even wives were once sent to the polo stables for a few months to teach them to behave and, once aware of the full incentive a whip could provide they soon became completely obedient to it. Whips were heavier then and, sometimes, barbed too so, needless to say, it was a pretty brutal lesson and, I understood, it was not unusual for a girl to turn an ankle or even break a leg in her determination to obey the whip of her player or trainer.

The lighter pony whips of today are made of a handle with a long stiff section and a short leather blade, unlike the carriage whip I was used to driving Bryony with when I raced her; though, of course, some polo players knot the leather blade to increase its effectiveness. Injuries are less common too although this is probably because modern polo ponies wear boots with strong ankle and, usually, knee supports too, protecting them from the thigh downward, not only from the frequent twists and turns but also from the impact of other ponies and chariots. In these modern times, serious injuries are less common than they once were, with a broken limb occurring, according to Cream, rarely more than five or six times a season in any given stable.

*

We were about to collide.

The-Cat was still running towards us at full tilt, utterly oblivious to the course set by Cream and utterly obedient in following it. Her hooded head was drawn back and, as we closed, I could see the saliva spraying out around her bit and flecking the front of her hood as she panted hard from the exertion. She might not be in the same class as Bryony but she was an impressive pony, lithe and strong, the muscles of her belly and thighs toned, clearly defined like any good athlete; her breasts small and neat, jutting in front of her in the little black leather cones of her harness, supporting them but leaving her nipples exposed. She ran with long confident strides, her blonde mane flashing in the evening sunlight where it streamed out of the back of her hood and the buckles of her harness glittering. We were so close, I could see her brown nipples bra, stiff and erect, no doubt from exhilaration but also from the way they were being jerked around by the gold piercing rings to which her reins were clipped.

These were the triple piercings of a polo pony; Cream had a set too. Although, much of her time in Argentina had been spent in the chariot (or 'gig' as polo players described it) Cream had also played as a pony and even had a black horse's head with a blue bridle and plume tattooed on her shoulder; the mark of the Caballeras Azuls. Her's didn't have the gold ring around it; good as she was, Cream had only been there for one season; she'd only played for the second team.

Needless to say, after talking about her exploits on her return, it hadn't taken much to persuade the village girls to give the sport a try.

Faced with her skill, the fact she was ahead of us and the fact that I really didn't want my pony getting injured I reluctantly tugged on the reins pulling Bryony to the side and giving up on my claim to the ball.

It was close though; the ponies missed each other by inches passing so close I'd swear both girls turned their heads towards each other as they almost brushed past shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, I thought the wheels of our chariots were going to catch but, scooping the ball with a cry of triumph, Cream, leant hard to her right and her chariot rolled up onto one wheel, bumping over the axle of my own as she sped past grinning insanely, The-Cat running on unchecked.

There was nothing I could do but wheel Bryony round and head back towards our own goal line as Cream, the reins tucked between her teeth looked to her left and right where Reuben and Goose were encouraging their ponies to keep pace with their team's attacker.

There is, of course, 'no 'I' in team' as squad coaches tirelessly and tediously remind everyone and, even as Cream sped on, our hustler, Charles steered Barbie to block her path. As dressage competitors, Charles and his pony, were probably best in the number two, 'hustler', spot; attacking to win the ball in skirmishes when needed and manouvreable enough to tackle effectively if needed.

I watched Cream draw her head back, using the reins as best she could to signal The-Cat to slow. Reuben and Rubber Dolly were being marked by our number three, quarterback, Claire who was already turning Dirty Dancer to block anything but a good high throw. This mean't it was my job to mark 'The Goose'.

*

Over the year I'd spent in Mares-de-Launce, I'd grown quite fond of the 'Loose Goose'. She wasn't popular among the village girls which probably had something to do with her character and the fact she spent several nights a week, sometimes longer away from the village. She worked in London as an investment account manager and was, judging by the old manor house she'd bought and had renovated, clearly very good at it. The 'Loose' was something of an ironic addition to her name; Goose was organised to the point of obsession, something which apparently didn't endear her to the girls in the village but which I understood perfectly and respected. Goose was a fair choice for her name if a rather cruel one; she was a little awkward, tall and angular and, if was being really mean I would add that she had a pretty big nose.

Mannerisms and appearance aside; the Goose was a serious competitor. She could run in harness and had come third one year in the mares' race but, at some point, she'd clearly made the decision to move into the chariot and when Cream had left the village for her gap year, the Goose had pounced on the The-Cat who, much to everyone's surprise, had rolled over and embraced the advances of her new knight.

It wasn't long before the Goose approached me for some advice and, a few weeks later we were training side by side, literally, sometimes with Bryony and The-Cat harnessed together in the village's double chariot. It worked out well for me as, like the Goose, I had commitments out of the village which potentially left Bryony on her own for a week or two at a time and, while it was possible for her to train on her own, I was happier knowing someone was keeping an eye on her.

Of, course, I hadn't realised at that stage quite how much a rather predatory dominatrix the Goose was; if I had, I might have thought twice about leaving my beloved in bondage with her. Bryony certainly never said anything and besides, I told myself, the Goose had her 'Pussy' to play with and, by all accounts, play with her she did. The-Cat was deeply submissive; she and Goose were a match made in heaven or would have been if Whipped Cream had not eventually returned.

*

Just before Cream's return, Goose and The-Cat had taken second place in the Mares' race, giving Bryony a run for her money but then Cream had come back and, almost overnight, the Goose lost her paramour. Although she'd shrugged when I consoled her, she'd clearly been upset even if she had known it was coming.

Then, not long after, she'd taken up with Pretty Little Thing and Goose's world had been right again. Looking back, I think the pretty little blonde, just turned nineteen, had been biding her time, waiting for the moment to pounce herself. For all her girl next door charms and world conquering smile PLT knew what she wanted and how to get it. If she'd been that way inclined, she'd have been one of those girls that the guys cluster around but, in Mares, its is fair to say that pussy munching appeared to be very much the norm as well as, of course, kinky equestrian sports.

In some ways, PLT was almost a replacement for the The-Cat; blonde and pert though probably slightly smaller and still with a hint of adolescent fat that smoothed her curves. (The first time I'd seen her in action, I'd been convinced she was too young to race).

It was Goose and her pretty little plaything I was now chasing down the field, whipping Bryony hard to catch them before Cream passed the ball.

Once again, I was too late, only able to watch as the Goose neatly turned Pretty Little Thing a fraction of a second before she caught the ball pointing her towards Tom our number four where he and Cassie waited in front of the goal. They were still thirty yards from the line and, for all the perky little blonde's youthful enthusiasm, Bryony was already at full tilt and faster in the sprint.

I went in for the tackle, Bryony gaining ground quickly as I used the whip to drive her hard.

With the reins in her teeth, the Goose, couldn't turn Pretty Little Thing easily and, as Charles drove Barbie forward to force Cream and The-Cat to go wide, it looked like I might be able to atone for my earlier failing.

I caught them and, for a moment enjoyed the exhilaration of the two ponies running side by side; then I reached over to snatch the ball.

In response, Goose leant back and jerked her head tugging on the reins that were firmly clamped between her teeth.

Pretty Little Thing skidded to an almost instant stop and, before I could respond Goose had tossed the ball to Kevin (the pub landlord) who drove Salty Petals past on my inside and flipped it over Cassie's head to Cream who tossed it into the goal.

***

CHAPTER 2: BEST MAN

***

The game continued in pretty much the same way for all six chukkas. We were roundly beaten by nine points to three.

'Cheer up, Mike.' Cream slapped me on the back as I lead Bryony back to Tom's yard where we stored the chariots he'd knocked up for us. 'You can't win 'em all.'

'Yeah, Mike.' Goose said from her other side. 'May be you should hire a coach or something. She was walking Pretty Little Thing beside her, reins in her right hand holding the little blonde close (PLT, as she was known, was still unpierced so used a conventional bridle) and was caressing the girl's lovely bottom which, like the other ponies' was covered in red welts.

'Very funny, Goose.' I gave Bryony's reins a firm jerk and started walking ahead of the group.

Anywhere else, we would have made quite a scene, twelve players leading twelve semi-naked, harnessed and hooded women (reserves included) all hitched to little wheeled carts surrounded by a dozen or so onlookers who'd been cheering us on during our practice game.

As evenings went in Mares-de-Launce, it was pretty much business as usual even if we had obtained permission from the committee to 'sport tack in the village'.

It was, however, something of a shock to my mate Justin who, in the excitement of the game, I'd completely forgotten was coming. He made a slightly comical sight, standing outside the village pub, the Mare in Hand (it's sign restored to one of the four legged variety after the recent Mares' race) with a very surprised look on his face before glancing down at his pint to see how it had been tampered with.

Justin was my best mate and, about six months after I met Bryony I felt it was time to introduce them so I started to tell him about the somewhat unusual activities that took place in Mares-de-Launce. Despite my persistence, he'd dismissed it as a wind-up and when I showed him some (rather tame by her standards) pictures of Bryony and some of the other mares, he'd suggested I make sure I delete my browsing history on a regular basis. I'm not sure if Bryony's work as a part time fetish model helped or hindered the process; if he'd have been aware of 'Redd Hott' (her model name) then I could see how he might get the wrong end of the stick.

However, now he was here, and I was glad of the excuse to peel off from the others, still leading Bryony by her reins. As I approached, I gave him a friendly wave. To his credit, he recovered himself enough to put down his pint and walk towards us though he was openly staring at the pert harnessed redhead following me obediently (the reins were, after all, attached to her nipples) and still harnessed to the chariot.

'Mike!' He managed to tear his eyes of my fiance. 'Err...' Justin was rarely lost for words. 'The taxi dropped me at the house... you... er, weren't there...' His eyes drifted back to Bryony as she stood beside me, in her, polo harness, little more than one of those bras you can see on fetish sites that are simply an arrangement of leather straps, her wrists cuffed to the side of the strap that circled her chest under her pert little breasts; with her elbows were drawn back in this arrangement, it was as if she was almost encouraging him to look at nipples which were clearly visible and stiffly erect from the constant teasing of the bridle (she wasn't allowed to use the nipple bridle so simply had the reins clipped to her piercings). Her skin was still flushed from the exertion of the game and sweat ran down her body as she stood in front of him, her bare, shaved sex thrust forwards and her booted legs apart.

I really couldn't blame him for staring.

'You weren't in.' He managed to say, though this time he didn't look away from Bryony. 'I thought I'd stroll up to the village and get a drink.'

'Good idea.' I grinned, watching him turn red. 'We'll join you in a couple of minutes.' Then I couldn't resist increasing his discomfort. 'This is Bryony by the way.'

'Yes...' He said it slowly. 'I gathered that.'

Quite apart from the lovely pale freckled skin with its unusual tan lines, her red curly hair spilled out the back of her hood.

'Jushdin.' Bryony made a fair attempt to say his name despite the leather coated bit in her mouth, nodding her hood covered head in his direction. 'Good do meed you.'

Polo bridles, training ones at least, don't have a large bit though Cream told me that girls who misbehave often end up training with a large rubber ball in their mouths and, if they really play up, they get a butt plug too. Whipping a pony girl as punishment is a little like pouring water on a duck's back; they endure it on a daily basis. The butt plug, usually with an attached tail, however, is more for humiliation than pain. Polo ponies don't have tails but like many sports these days PonyGirl polo has cheerleaders and the ultimate threat for a polo pony (in Buenos Aires, at least) is to be dropped from the squad and sent to join the cheerleaders. Polo cheerleaders wear tails and having one shoved in her arse is a clear message to a pony that her position in the team is under consideration.

Despite his usual coolness, Justin was struggling but he's a mate and I saw no reason to ease his discomfort.

'It's good to see you mate.' I gave him a hug and slapped him on the back. 'You can ask her life history when I've had a chance to take off her bridle.

'Oh, don't go to any trouble on my account.' Justin had obviously recovered his power of speech and was rapidly adjusting to the situation.

*

Feeling guilty about leaving Justin alone, I removed Bryony's bridle in a bit of a rush leaving her harness in place; I didn't give her a chance to shower despite offers from Tom. This wasn't too unusual in Mares, there's something very wholesome about a sweat soaked mare (I still prefer 'pony') being taken for a drink after a hard day between the shafts. Keeping her sweaty also meant the white cotton dress Bryony had slipped on over her harness was wet and sticking to her skin by the time we reach the pub making it almost completely translucent and, with her wrists cuffed behind her back, there was little she could do to hide her obvious charms.

Of the players, we were the second couple to reach the pub; Salty Petals was already behind the bar having hastily thrown a T-short over her harness (yes, it was wet too and Salty Petals had plenty to display through it).

Most of the other girls appeared over the next ten minutes; like Bryony they had all slipped on dresses though most had taken a little more time to cool down. It was clear most wore their harnesses beneath and their dresses which did little to hide swollen chaffed nipples and the associated piercing rings a number sported. Mares are required by the committee to cover up except on 'designated' days and, in the summer, the easiest way to do this was to pull a dress over your harness. It was late September and still warm enough for this practice (we didn't want to impose on the committee's good will).

In winter it is easy, girls just wore a coat.

Most of the mares had been freed of their mitts but like Bryony, Pretty Little Thing was still wearing hers, and had her wrists cuffed behind her; Goose lead her in by a leash clipped to her collar. (There were no rules about this).

Although our quick turn around didn't present Bryony (or any of the mares) in their best light, the way her dress clung to her body and outlining her little breasts ringed by the harness straps, and her stiff, ringed nipples, clearly drew Justin's attention away from the redness of her face and her disheveled, 'hood' hair. I couldn't help laughing as he held out a hand to her then drew it back as she turned to show him her cuffed hands.

He gave her hug and walking slightly awkwardly, went to buy us a drink while I sat at the table and Bryony dropped to her knees beside me.

'You wimped out again, didn't you!.' Bryony looked up at me accusingly. Adding after a moment 'Sir.'

She could be fiercely submissive but there were times when her other passions surfaced and winning at sports was a passion.

I should probably have given her an immediate demerit but I felt uncomfortable about my own performance, recalling the opening drop and, for that matter, the other ten or so I'd also lost until we'd swapped positions.

'Perhaps I didn't want my property to be damaged!' I told her.

It was not unusual for centre attack ponies to be stretchered off at the start of the game. It rarely happened in subsequent starts as one player has usually exerted dominance on the field. Cream had certainly done that this evening.

She'd done it in our previous match too. Bryony was only there because of her speed.

'Sir is very conscientious with his property.' She said with a flash of disapproval in her blue eyes.

'I don't want you hurt.' I reminded her.

'I can take it, you know.' She said, her tone softening. 'Sir.'

We were saved from any further disharmony by the arrival of Goose and Pretty Little Thing, the lovely blonde dropping to her knees beside Bryony as her mistress took up position on the bench opposite me offering what I felt were somewhat smug commiserations.

'I recon Pretty and I could do better than you.' She said pointedly.

I realised, not for the first time, why people disliked the Goose. She was way too direct.

'Perhaps you could try out as the hustler.' Bryony said without looking up. 'Sir.'

I mentally notched up a demerit for that one.

I doubted it would help; the dressage mares were far more adept at the manoeuvring needed for this role, being used to turning sharply under the whip and, for that matter running blindfolded.

I needed to up my game. Coaching Bryony to victory in the Mares Race had won me a lot of kudos in the village and it really would be humiliating to lose it all by being put in the subs bench.

*

Cassie and Tom slid onto the bench beside me.

'Can't win 'em all, Mike.' Tom said.

Bryony lifted her eyes somewhat reproachfully. She liked to win as much as I did.

'Is anyone else going to tell me I suck at polo?' I asked rather more defensively than I meant to.

'You suck, Mike.' Cream came over trailing The-Cat on a leash which was clearly still attached to her nipple rings. Like most of the other girls, The-Cat still wore her harness, she was bridled too and although Cream had removed her hood, her hands were still mitted and strapped to the side of her harness like they'd been in the match. She wore a poncho with open sides that did almost nothing to cover the harness beneath or her fit, tanned body. I noticed she wore a tail too and wondered if it was a sign of her mistress' disapproval.

Justin came back to the table just behind the pair and I could see him staring at blonde strands hanging to just below The-Cat's knees. The poncho was so short, that, I expect, if she bent over, he'd be able to see how her tail was attached.

We slid up to allow Cream to join us on the bench and she was about to slide in when I heard 'Hey goucha girl!'

Cream turned to see Honey Pot clearly still in her work clothes mincing towards us hampered as much by the ludicrously tight pencil skirt around her knees as the six inch 'fuck-me' heels that, along with a slightly translucent white blouse revealing a black bra beneath that formed Honey Pot's work clothes. She was, as usual, heavily made up; all big hair, false lashes and heavy make up. I gathered she worked as a PA to a music producer based in Exeter and, assuming she focussed on her work as much as her personal grooming was probably very good at her job; I could certainly imagine her placating any of her boss' male clients and she had personality enough to soften the most temperamental of artistes. I could also imagine her filing her nails while her boss waited for an urgent report she'd forgotten to type.

'I'm soooo sorry.' Honey Pot hugged a slightly stiff Cream in an embrace that was way too familiar for a friend in the pub. 'Did I miss anything?'

'You missed training.' Cream answered flatly.

'I'll make it up to you, I promise.' She looked over at Eye Candy who was sitting in corner. 'Double training tomorrow.'

'Whatever.' Cream shrugged. 'You were just in time to hear me slag off our resident athletics coach's latest dismal performance.'

'Your a gem and I love you.' Honey Pot teetered off down the table swinging her handbag to plonk herself down next to Eye Candy.

'And I'm a Caballera, not a gaucha!' Cream called after her.

But Honey Pot wasn't listening.

Cream rolled her eyes and jerked on The-Cat's leash encouraging her to join Bryony and Pretty Little Thing on her knees before resting her head on her mistress' lap.

I watched Cream stroke her little pet's hair.

Justin almost missed the table as he put the tray of drinks down; he was so busy staring at the two pert blondes. From where he as standing he would have a perfect view down the front of The-Cat's poncho but most of his interest seemed to be directed at Cream. To be fair to him, both were pretty and both blonde and (fuck me!) they were were hot!. They were similar enough that they could probably pass for sisters if they chose and, now Cream's South American tan was fading they looked even more alike except for their expressions; when with her mistress, The-Cat wore a dreamy submissive look, head bowed and eyes lowered whereas Cream had an arrogant demeanor, holding her head up and shoulders back, the tight slick, glistening ponytail matching her lean almost hungry expression that seemed to be forever issuing a challenge the world.

This was new, Bryony had told me. The girl had never been timid but her year in South America had certainly been an eventful one.

Tonight, as was usual when we played polo, Cream was wearing her 'Caballeras Azuls' strip, the 'colours' of her stable, the tight blue leather bolero jacket pumping up her small firm cleavage and the brief ultra tight leather shorts defining her exquisitely curved bottom and clearly displaying the bulge of her sex between her perfectly toned thighs. The full outfit had a cape and dress boots which were thigh high and had spiked heeled though, tonight, she'd not brought the cape and only wore her stable boots.

They were a little scuffed after the game but still gleamed, blue and shiny and I wondered how long The-Cat spent on her knees polishing them.

Even when not wearing her colours, Cream seemed to have a penchant for leather and, despite the warmth of the summer she had usually be seen strutting round the village in the guise of a leather-clad dominatrix, frequently sporting a coiled whip that I thought made her look rather like Catwoman. Like every good dominatrix she accessorized with a submissive plaything, in this case, The-Cat-That-Got-The-Cream who she liked to trail around on a leash minimally clad and usually with her wrists cuffed behind her back. This wasn't strictly against the rules but I understood the committee took a dim view of it.

In contrast to her own perfectly groomed dominatrix persona, Cream liked to present her submissive as a seminaked slut; dressing her little 'pussy' in clothes that did little to hide the girl's toned and tanned body; open sided T-shirt dresses that gaped to allow an almost uninterrupted view of her belly and breasts or to reveal slutty underwear if the girl was allowed to wear any; or, on warm days, a minuscule bikini that was little more than string and three tiny triangles of material.

The clothes also revealed the kind of games the girls got up to; The-Cat's body was rarely free of whipmarks, many in places that would not be caused by mare training or ponygirl polo.

Whatever Cream offered, The-Cat seemed to lap it up. It was clear the perky blonde pony was completely infatuated with her mistress and enjoyed every moment of the abuse the young dominatrix heaped upon her.

'I hope you're taking notes.' Bryony had said one evening in the beer garden of the pub as The-Cat lay under the table sucking her mistress' toes.

*

'This is Justin.' I said, trying to drag my mate's attention away from Cream's cleavage (it was definitely Cream that interested him, or perhaps it was her thighs or maybe her boots. Actually, it did seem to be those shiny knee high boots; perhaps it was as well she wasn't wearing the spike heeled thigh boots.

'He's a mate of mine.'

'Can you drive a mare?' Cream asked lifting her head and giving him the full pout and glare of her deep hazel eyes.

Justin took on the rabbit-in-headlights look and shook his head.

'Shame.' Cream said. 'Perhaps you prefer to be between the shafts.'

Cream looked pointedly to the floor where the three ponies knelt and then back up at him.

Justin's mouth moved up and down but nothing came out.

'Justin is a bit new to this.' I told them feeling somewhat protective and regretting my earlier teasing of him.

It's not every night a man meets a PonyGirl polo club and being cross examination by one of its most dominant players seemed unfair for a newbie.

'Goose.' The Goose seemed to came to his rescue too holding out her hand.

'Justin.' Justin took it somewhat shakily, looking at me as he did so.

'Pony... er, mare's name.' I told him. 'Her real name's Lucy.'

The Goose glared at me and gave me a swift kick in the shins under the table.

'There's plenty of space if you want to join us.' The Goose gestured to the floor, her lips curled into the hint of a smile as she appraised him and I wondered, suddenly, if there might be a little rivalry between her and Cream. The Goose isn't exactly pretty, nothing like Cream (or Bryony for that matter) but she's not bad looking in a stern, almost school-teacherly way, she has lovely grey eyes and waist length straight blonde hair which as usual was hanging behind her in a long tight plait. Like most of the girls on the village she's fit too and, she has a lovely pair of breasts; something that is a (sadly) unusual among all the slim, pert racing mares of Mares-de-Launce. At that moment they were displaying a perfect cleavage as they strained against her bra under the soft pink blouse she was wearing; and Justin was in a perfect spot to take full advantage of them. Her outfit was completed by a pair of very tight white jodhpurs and shiny black riding boots.

It was definitely the boots Justin was looking at and for a moment I almost got the impression he was going to kneel beside them.

'Hey, Justin.' It was Eye Candy who saved him. 'Come and sit with us.'

She was sitting with Honey Pot at the other end of the table where Claire sat in her wheelchair, her current pony, Dirty Dancer in her lap.

Honey Pot slid out for him then squeezed up against him as he sat down.

'I'm Honey...'

'I'm Candy...'

A smile spread across Justin's face as he looked at me and then across at Goose.

Happy as he seemed, I wasn't sure if Justin was relieved of disappointed.

At that moment, the rest of the team appeared, Reuben trailing Rubber Dolly on a leash that emerged from below the hem of one of her trademark rubber minidresses and was clearly attached to her clit piercing and Charles followed by Barbie; the big breasted blonde dressed rather casually in a short linen dress and restrained in a tight white single sleeve. I wasn't too surprised to see the two dressage mares had clearly taken up the offer of a shower and even retouched their hair and make up. Rubber Dolly joined the subs on the floor and Charles pulled up a barstool for Barbie who sat and crossed her wonderfully long legs giving the entire table a flash of neatly trimmed and multiply pierced pussy.

'Mum!' Cassie couldn't contain her horror.

Barbie fixed her daughter with a withering stare. 'If you're jealous Cassandra, you should get yours done. You did lose that bet, I recall.'

Cassie glowered even as her face turned scarlet and was clearly thinking of a retort but Cream headed off another row between mother and daughter by starting her team talk.

'We've got less than a month until the Dryad's Feast.' She told us. 'You've all got the skills but you lack the passion. Skills will only take you so far.'

It was typical coaching babble, I used this sort of stuff myself; the only difference was that, at nineteen, Cream believed it.

'Mike...' She turned to look at me. 'You've got to want that ball.'

I nodded. I knew all this but I still didn't want Bryony hurt.

'I'm just worried about injuries.' I told her. 'It is just a game...'

It was a red rag to a bull.

***

CHAPTER 3: SEX SLAVE

***

'I can take it, Sir.' Bryony said when I came into our bedroom. She was still cuffed and leashed and therefore kneeling still in her dress and boots at the foot of our bed.

I'd just settled Justin into the spare bedroom.

The walk home had been rather awkward. Bryony was in full submissive mode clearly angry with herself for her earlier petulance, for failing to act the perfect submissive she strove to be. She'd insisted on being collared and leashed for the walk, trailing a couple of paces behind like a good slave while Justin tried to make conversation knowing that there was some sort of stand-off between his mate and his mate's fiance and he was expected to spend the next few days with us discussing wedding plans.

'I don't recall giving you permission to speak.' I said irritably. I'd been quite looking forward to sharing Mares-de-Launce with my best mate but I was still smarting from Cream's summary of my performance; hell I was still feeling like shit over the performance itself.

I really didn't need a pouting Bryony reminding me I wasn't dominant enough.

Even after a year, I was struggling a bit with the Master-Slave thing. I was certainly into bondage and I loved the idea of having Bryony as my own personal sex slave, willing, eager even, to bow to my will to submit to bondage, I enjoyed spanking her and binding her in tight restraint as a punishment but I couldn't help feeling she wanted more and, sometimes, I felt I struggled to be the strong master she desired.

Most of the girls in the village liked to get strapped into harness and whipped but they weren't by any means all submissives although The-Cat seemed to be clear exception. Even PLT submitted on her terms. I'd always thought of Rubber Dolly as submissive but there were those stories of her playing the dominant... Bryony's friend Cassie or 'Swallow' to use her 'mares' name liked to be tied up and punished but she wasn't really Tom's slave even though she called him 'master' when they played their games; the same was true of Cassie's mother, Barbie.

I'd been attracted to Bryony for her looks and her personality (yes, I admit it was probably that order originally); the fact she liked to play pony and be tied up for a bit of light spanking was a definite bonus. However, I enjoyed her as the kinky lover who flirted and deliberately crossed the line to get spanked; I found the full on slave-girl a bit tiresome. However, Bryony was not a girl who did things by halves. Like me, she liked to be the best at whatever she did and if, as in her case, that goal was being the ultimate slave girl then she was going to achieve it. I could handle it most of the time but I found it hard sometimes, particularly when she wanted me to genuinely hurt her - except when she was in training when she deserved everything she got.

'I am going to punish you.' I said firmly.

'Yes, Sir.' She gave me the flicker of a smile, pleased no doubt that I was going to punish her properly.

'Get up on the bed.' I bent and freed the clip holding her mitted hands behind her back.

'Yes, Sir.' She paused a moment. 'I wonder if Master might like to use the knotted cat on his slave's breasts.'

I sighed inwardly. The knotted cat really pushed her limits.

'Bed.' I snapped trying to be the master she wanted.

'Yes, Sir.' Bryony flashed me a smile and dropped on to all fours.

She really was magnificent, crawling animal-like, her back curved as she stuck her bottom out. I watched her pause beside the bed and struggle to remove her dress with her mitted hands; her body was just so deliciously pert and was beautifully displayed in the tight polo harness and thigh high polo boots. The black leather collar I took her for walks in was still buckled round her neck.

She looked at me, grinning at the way she'd got my attention, at the stiffness of my cock, then she climbed up onto the bed and lay spread-eagled.

I could do this and I wondered if she was thinking the same.

The bed was fitted with chains but I preferred to tie her and I took a handful of leather thongs, tying one around each wrist and ankle and pulling them tight.

She was staring up at the ceiling, preparing herself for the whipping.

'Count for me.'

Yes, Sir.' Her eyes opened briefly flicking towards me. 'Thank you, Sir.'

I brought the lash down hard on her pert little mounds harder than I meant to and she cried out.

'One.'

I hit her again. The polo harness offered her almost no protection.

'Yessss...' She hissed between gritted teeth. 'Two.'

I brought the whip down again seeing red blotches linked by faint lines flower across her softly freckled skin, hearing her howl as one of the knots caught a nipple.

'Three!'

I gave her a moment to catch her breath.

'Four.'

Perhaps I should just go with it. She said she wanted to be treated like this.

'Five.' The tension in her voice rose and I struck again her watching her squirm as her skin turned redder.

Six...'

Tears squeezed out of her tightly closed eyelids.

'As Justin's in the room next door. I told her. I'm going to gag you.'

'Yes, Sir.' Her eyes flicked towards me and she licked her lips. 'Thank you, Sir.'

Being gagged always excited her and besides, if I hit her again, she was probably going to start howling.

I took the harness gag with it's large ball out of the drawer beside the bed. It was something we used frequently and was her favourite gag. She had seven and I'd spent a happy evening with her a couple of moths back trying each one in turn; needless to say she'd been restrained the whole time as I'd pushed various plugs, balls and bits into her mouth. I liked to think the harness gag was her favourite because I'd told her she looked good in it. On that recent evening, she'd slept in it. She'd even taken it to a photoshoot a few days later and, when I'd looked at the set on line the caption beside the shoot said how she'd brought it along because it was her boyfriend's favourite and she wanted to wear it. It was one of the sexiest shoots I'd seen her do, subbing to the gorgeous Mistress Gabrielle and ending up in an intense hogtie where her tightly bound arms, touching from the elbows down, were tied to rope harness and then her bound ankles pulled up almost to her shoulders before her head was tied to her toes using the ring at the top of the head harness. She said she'd lasted about fifteen minutes before she thought she was going to pass out but Mistress Gabrielle had made her do another five.

The gag wouldn't silence her but it was big enough to quieten things down unless she really screamed and it gave her something to bite down on.

With the gag in place, I gave her another two strokes across the breasts and then two between the legs the last of which made her squirm violently fighting back the urge to scream.

I knew she couldn't take much more and when she opened her eyes she had a pleading look on her face.

I caressed the side of her face, brushing her hair away from her eyes.

'Just another two.' I told her.

I could do this to her, it just didn't come naturally.

She shook her head. 'Nng, Shr. Blsh.'

'Are you arguing with Master?'

Her eyes flooded with tears. I'd clearly taken her to the limit.

'Ngg, Shr.' She shook her head again.

'Then you will take two more.'

She looked at me, pleading, eyes shining with tears. The she nodded.

'Ysh, Shr.' She closed her eyes laying back, preparing her body.

I brought the whip down on her belly twice in quick succession; not hard, just enough to sting.

'Shng u, Shr.' She almost sobbed with relief.

'Kiss the whip.' I held it to her gag and she lifted her head moving her lips albeit rather ineffectually.

*

Then I fucked her.

She was spreadeagled on the bed, helpless, her breasts and belly and sex bruised where I'd jsut punished her; wearing leather bondage mittens and pony boots and harness and brutally gagged.

I was rock hard despite my reticence to hurt her and she was soaking wet, riding a wave of submissive satisfaction that the whipping had given her. It was one of those delicious fucks that fills you with pleasure, sheer exultation suffusing your body so that you don't want it to end. I tried to hold back but didn't take me long to cum and as I finished myself off, ramming into her to milk myself dry, she gasped and climaxed too and then I lay on top of her panting hard, aware she was doing the same thing.

I suppose, if I was better at this, I'd have left her frustrated.

'Shng u, Shr.' She whispered over and over again nuzzling her cheek against mine. 'Shng u... shng u...'

'Don't thank me yet.' I put on my dominant master voice climbing of her, my cock still semierect and slick with her juices. I could easily have taken her again. 'I'm not having a filthy slut like you lying in my bed all night. You haven't showered and you're drooling all over the pillow. You're spending the night on the floor.'

'Ysh, Shr.' She looked at me, her eyes shining. 'Shng u, Mshtr.'

*

The Goose arrived as we were having breakfast.

Justin seemed rather pleased to see her as she strode in dressed rather formally I thought for a Saturday morning practice in a riding jacket, jodhpurs and stable boots; I thought she was wearing more make up than usual too. Like many of Goose's clothes, the jacket was pink as was her lipstick. Village rumours suggested the Goose had a soft feminine streak beneath her tough and often aloof exterior. Her outfit certainly drew Justin's attention or, perhaps, it was just the relief of not having to stop himself looking at Bryony who after a night of chastisement had insisted on being the perfect slave, serving us breakfast wearing nothing but the black leather collar, a smile and a pair of five inch heels. I hoped Justin wouldn't ask too many questions about the whip marks on her breasts that she hadn't had the night before and really couldn't have come from ponyplay anyway.

The punishment had clearly been what she wanted. She had crawled into bed when I'd released her from the hogtie at around six in the morning and more or less forced me to have sex with her as much as any girl can who's bound and naked and gagged.

The Goose joined us as we finished our coffee. Since she'd taken up with Pretty Little Thing, I'd seen a lot less of her but at some point in her tirade the previous evening, Cream had suggested she 'work with' me to try and improve my gameplay. The Goose had smiled. 'Oh, I'd love to put Mike through his paces.' She'd said archly then looked at Justin. 'Perhaps Justin would like a few lessons too.'

Whatever she planned for later, the Goose suggested we start by warming the girls up with a run up to the moor in the double chariot and, when we'd finished our coffee, we all followed Goose outside to find Pretty Little Thing kneeling in the yard waiting for us. The pert blonde was on her knees, as naked as Bryony and also collared. PLT's collar was permanent; at least it was metal, locked and covered in pink enamel. She wasn't restrained but was kneeling with her legs apart and her hands behind her head.

She was also shivering violently.

'Good girl.' The Goose leant over her, cupping one of the blonde's large and impossibly firm breasts and teasing the very stiff pink nipple.

In response Pretty Little Thing's teeth chattered.

The first frost of the year was on the ground even if it was a bright, sunny morning.

Rather cheekily, I thought, the Goose looked at Bryony, gesturing for her to join the kneeling submissive; something which my slave did with a smile, sliding her hands behind her head and pushing out her small breasts.

*

We harnessed and bridled the mares and then hitched them side-by-side in front of the double chariot. By the time we had finished, they were shivering violently. Despite their recent foray into ponygirl polo, Bryony and PLT were racing mares and while they both looked rather fetching in their little polo harnesses like the other village girls, it was a pleasure to see them in full racing rig, arms sleeved behind their backs, bodies bound with straps, their waists girdled in leather. There's something about the way a girl moves in racing boots too, the way she constantly shifts her weight to maintain her balance.

I wasn't sure if Justin appreciated the subtleties but he seemed to be throughly enjoying the process especially when Goose asked him to help adjust the long leather traces that connected Pretty Little Thing to the chariot.

When she'd stood up, I noticed PLT was wearing her tail, blonde naturally to match her mane. Mares didn't usually train with their tails in but it seemed unfair to let Bryony miss out though she had shivered again as I pushed the cold plug into her. Rather generously, I'd lubed it; she was, after all, still getting used to the new size twelve.

Then, we were more or less ready.

With PLT still unpierced, Goose clipped the reins to the girl's bits and took up the whip; then, without further ado, she urged the girls into a trot with a shake of the reins and a couple of deft flicks of the whip.

'Come along boys.' She said turning back to us as the mares drew her across they yard in a beautiful rising trot, their boots clip-clopping on the concrete.

I looked at Justin and we broke into a gentle jog.

She let them fall into a lazy trot as they reached the track and then, as they warmed up took them to the canter. Running beside them was rather enjoyable, and, even if the Goose had rather taken over, the opportunity to watch Bryony running in harness like this more than made up for it; the fact she was harnessed next to one of the prettiest girls I've ever met made it even more special. They made a marvelous pair even if they weren't matching; two half naked girls running in harness with their heads up manes and tails streaming behind them, breath coming in steaming clouds around the bits of their bridles. They'd run together often enough that they were able to keep in step; something the Goose insisted on and enforced by free use of the whip and occasional commands.

It didn't take the girls long to warm up again though the little stream at the bottom of the hill splashed them with icy water as they plunged through; the girls' of course were largely protected by their boots and Goose by the chariot; it was only Justin and I that end up with wet feet.

Then Goose forced them to a hard pace as they climbed up to the moor, the air growing colder as we gained height until Dartmoor opened up before us, glorious and frosty in the autumn sunshine.

At the top of the track, Goose pulled the girls to a halt and dismounted her chariot.

'You're more out of breath than the mares.' She said pointedly to Justin. 'Perhaps I should be running a ponyboy school.'

Justin nodded as he gasped for breath.

'I used to play rugby.' He said leaning forwards and resting his hands on his knees 'But work got in the way. I really must get back in shape.'

He'd certainly put on a few pounds in the last six months.

We stood for a few moments enjoying the view, Justin's focus being largely on the mares as they took to opportunity to catch their breath. There was only a light breeze, coming on off the sea but the mares were naked and soon seemed eager to be off as the sweat cooled on their bodies.

'Want to drive them back?' Goose asked.

I looked in surprise to see that she was addressing Justin.

'Me?' He looked almost as frightened as he had in the pub the night before when Cream had asked him if he might prefer to run between the shafts.

'It's not difficult.' Goose persisted. 'Even Mike can do it.'

With some coaxing she got Justin up into the chariot and took him through the motions of pony racing, making him drive round in the corner of the field and along the track turning left and right and then walk the mares backwards. Although it kept the mares moving it was not enough to keep them warm and by the time he had learnt the basics both girls were shivering again, their skins pale and goosebumped and their teeth chattering around their bits.

'I think your ponies are getting cold.' Justin said gallantly.

The Goose, standing beside him in the chariot fixed him with one of her stares.

'They're mares, not a ponies.' She snapped curtly. 'And they'll do as I tell them.'

Justin looked suitably chastened and I certainly wasn't going to interfere; besides, if Bryony wanted to be an abject slave girl, this was presumably exactly how she wanted to be treated.

*

The ponies, sorry, 'mares' were shivering fairly violently by the time the Goose was happy to let Justin drive back but they warmed up quickly pulling the chariot containing both Justin and the Loose Goose while I had the pleasure of jogging alongside and splashing through the freezing stream again. Justin seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself standing in the chariot driving with Goose very close behind him, her body pressed against his, holding the whip and occasionally flicking it at the hind quarters of one of her charges if they showed any signs of slowing under the control of their new driver.

The two girls really had to work hard to climb the hill after the stream and earned themselves a good few whip marks as they toiled under the combined weight of their two drivers though they made a good attempt at a sprint as they were whipped to the gallop for the final straight and I heard Justin whoop with delight as they galloped into the stable yard.

It reminded me of the exhilaration I felt the first time I drove Bryony in harness.

'Good boy.' The Goose said, still pressed somewhat unnecessarily closely, I thought, against Justin's back as the two mares stood gasping, their breath emerging in clouds of steam.

Justin's smile said it all.

'Get the gate would you, Mike.' Goose said turning to me. 'I'll trot them up to Tom's.'

I started to protest but she gave me one of her looks and I wimped out. I knew my place and I really did need Goose's help if Bryony and I were going to make the polo team. Besides, it was ten months until the mares race; even if anyone did report us for 'sporting tack in the village' the worst that was likely to happen was a reprimand from the committee.

To be fair to Goose, there is something deliciously satisfying and illicit about trotting a mare along the road. Bryony and I have done it a few times and looks you get from passing motorists are priceless.

We haven't caused an accident yet.

***

CHAPTER 4: SAINTS AND SINNERS

***

I wasn't surprised when Justin came back for the Dryad's day. By the time he'd left Mares, he and Goose seemed to have a bit of a thing going on; even if much of it did involve the severe blonde reminding him of the need to loose some weight and a number of threats to put him in harness beside PLT to help him with the task. Justin seemed to thoroughly enjoy the humiliation but it was only when Goose gave him a peck on the cheek as they said goodbye that I realised there was anything more serious in it. Predatory dominatrix she might be but the Goose is not a woman given to displays of public affection except, of course, when handling a harnessed, hot and horny mare.

Bryony and I had done a lot of training in the intervening period largely under the watchful eye of The Goose who, to give her fair due, was very competent (for an amateur coach) and I now felt a lot more confident in my ability to charge down the ball.

I should probably also grudgingly admit that I'd been watching the way the Goose handled Pretty Little Thing. I'd not really thought about it when she'd been training The-Cat but now she had her own submissive little mare, there was something more focussed in the way she dominated the lovely blonde, positioning and handling her with an easy, almost casual intimacy, punishing and rewarding her both immediately and by a system of merits and demerits that Bryony liked me to use on her. PLT responded to this treatment by yielding herself utterly to the will of her mistress.

I was yet to find how Goose's flirtation with Justin would fit into the equation. Even if it was all talk and she was just flirting, I suspected Justin had a more than evens chance of dipping into the Honey Pot or doing more than just a little window shopping around Eye Candy; if he was really lucky, he might end up the filling in a Honey Pot, Eye Candy sandwich. The Goose wasn't the only sexually predatory women in the village. Honey Pot and Eye Candy just did it in a different way.

The Dryad's day was a Mares-de-Launce village fete. After the incident with King Arthur's knight that lead the whole 'mares' thing, the dryad apparently kept the village free from discovery for the next few centuries keeping it safe from Saxons, Danes, Vikings, Welsh marauders, various civil wars and even the black death. It had become one of those Christian-pagan celebrations that had rather taken on a life of its own and as it fell on the weekend closest to Halloween was now a good excuse for a party and a chance to dress up. Needless to say, after an afternoon of wholesome family fun involving bouncy castles, tombola stalls and candy floss on the Tourney Field there was an adult version that took place once the kids had gone to bed and, being Mares-de-Launce, this mostly involved the village girls getting strapped into harness for the torchlight parade before taking part in some interesting games in the Mare-in-Hand afterwards.

This year, there was also going to be our first Mares-de-Launce PonyGirl polo match.

*

In line with the theme of the night we'd called the teams 'Saints' and 'Sinners'; black verses white; dressing the mares in the appropriate colour bodystocking. As a line of demonic black and ghostly white figures we fitted right into the torchlit parade among Goth and skeleton ponies driven by vampire knights and some pretty scary looking demons; there were a smattering of dryads too in keeping with the event; pale etherial figures draped with wisps of silk and wearing garlands of leaves woven into their bridles. However, it was Golden Girl and her new boyfriend who won the coveted fancy dress prize; wrapped from head to foot in tattered bandages like an Egyptian mummy and even wearing an old harness that looked like it had been pulled out of an ancient tomb; she was driven by a jackal-headed god in a suitably pimped chariot.

The parade finished up on the Tourney Field where a bonfire was lit, something that was more than welcome on the chilly, moonlight evening.

Then, before the inevitable adjournment to the warmth of the pub the village's first PonyGirl polo match kicked off.

With Cream refereeing, I got to be captain of the Saints while Goose lead the Sinners, Eye Candy and Honey Pot stepping in to play black. If I hadn't known the village, I might have been surprised how much shiny black leather Goose and her team owned.

Without our resident professional, it was a reasonably fair game and I felt a lot more confident charging down the ball at the 'drop' against Goose and PLT than I'd done against Cream and The-Cat. With no subs, we only played four chukkas and swapped roles so everyone got a chance to play in each position.

In the end the Sinners won, seven to six but everyone seemed to enjoy themselves and Cream got a lot of kudos for setting the thing up; then we all adjourned to the pub for a well earned drink and some interesting variations on apple bobbing.

*

As we walked across the green towards the Mare-in-Hand, I wasn't surprised to see Justin and Goose make a bee-line for each other and, a moment later, after a slightly awkward embrace, he was in the gig driving PLT while a leather clad Goose walked beside him. PLT looked gorgeous in her shimmering black bodystocking which perfectly displayed the soft curves of her nubile young body as she waked ahead of the gig hooded and harnessed like a good polo pony should be. However, I could understand why Justin kept glancing towards the leather goddess who walked at his side; tall and elegant the Goose strutted in a shiny black leather cat-suit that covered her from head to foot except for an oval for her face and a larger one over her cleavage; her blonde mane hung in a heavy plait down her back, stark against the black leather, from a hole in the smooth shiny hood covering her head; around her neck was a studded leather collar and she wore a tight leather corset that was a mass of shiny black straps and glinting buckles and pinched in her already slim waist to emphasised the flare of her hips and her large breasts; she was also wearing toe boots that, like the corset were a mass of straps and buckles.

If my thoughts about Justin were correct, he was doing well not to be down on his knees worshipping her then and there; I was pretty sure, he going to be doing that later; it couldn't have been easy for Goose to play in clothing that restrictive; she could only have worn it for one reason and as she stroked her whip up the inside of his thigh, Justin clearly realised this too.

We parked the gigs in Tom's yard and Charles and I lifted Claire from her gig into her chair; then we prepped our ponies ready to lead them round to the pub where festivities were in full swing.

In the Mare, there was a lot of leather and quite a bit of lace too; there was a lot of body paint too; kinky leather vampires were intimately engaged with pale, harnessed maidens in dark corners while demons with whips encouraged dryads clad in wisps of silk mostly draped from nipple rings and other piercings to dance with them. I spotted Golden Girl, still in harness and the remains of her bandages which seemed to have slipped in certain areas, notably leaving her breasts completely bare; with her arms sheathed behind her back there was nothing she could have done about this but as she sat astride her new boyfriend's lap engaged in an earnest game of tonsil hockey it seemed reasonable to assume there were other things on her mind. Over by the bar 'Bristols'; identifiable by her generously proportioned arse, the green zombie body paint and purple tail hanging between her legs; was on her knees bent over a large half barrel apparently apple bobbing. The busty brunette was still in her purple field harness with her arms pulled up behind her and cuffed to her girdle; she was clearly taking the game very seriously as her torso hung over the edge of the barrel, her considerable breasts and shoulders half submerged and her head completely under the water. After a moment she surfaced with a triumphant splash and gasp for air holding a large apple in her teeth while water poured off her face and breasts washing away the zombie make-up. She blinked water from her eyes and offered the apple to her boyfriend who took it with a smile and kissed her full on the lips then stood up and replaced her bridle. Then she stood obediently and was lead away still dripping water and green bodypaint on the floor, leaving the barrel for Eye Candy and Honey Pot who squealed with delight at the prospect of being handcuffed and half drowned in a competition that would see one of them kept as the other's plaything for the rest of the evening as long as someone more interesting didn't come along.

Bryony stuck close to me, as usual at these events, still harnessed and wearing her white fishnet bodystocking; this time she'd little choice as she was still hooded, and bridled, following me on a leash clipped to her collar. She looked fabulous in the bodystocking and white leather hood, her mane of red hair tumbling down her back. I'd released her hands from the polo harness and then strapped them into a white leather single sleeve; I'd let her wear her tail too, locking the flange in place so it hung between her legs supported by nothing more than her well trained sphincter.

Hallowe'en needs more submissive ghostly polo ponies so I wasn't about to argue with her request to be kept like this; fulfilling her submissive desires and making me a lot less self-conscious when it came to looking at some of her fellow mares sporting various degrees of bondage and wearing next to nothing. Bryony could be pretty intense sometimes and being hooded and bridled at gatherings like this meant there was nothing she could do but play the obedient sub. It clearly turned her on to follow me round on her leash, my devoted pet, pressing her lovely against me at every opportunity as I chatted to everyone else. Schmoozing is something I've become good at over the years, it gets me contracts in the sporting world.

*

'Now there's slave who knows how she wants to be treated.'

I turned to see Rubber Dolly. The dressage mare was still dressed in her body stocking, black and shimmering, outlining her curves as she moved; it had a Hallowe'en theme, bats and black cats; and was a sharp contrast to the alabaster whiteness of her skin; she wore her pony boots too and a black leather collar but no harness or bridle.

'It sets my heart aflutter just to see it.' Her lips curled into a sultry smile.

The sight of her almost stopped me in my tracks. I was glad Bryony was hooded.

'Miss Carter.' I managed not to stammer.

'Perhaps you'd like to feel it.' She reached out and took my hand and pulling it to her left breast, pressing the heel of my hand to her chest while deliberately guiding my fingers towards the nipple with its prominent dressage piercing. 'My heart, I mean.'

She raised a dark eyebrow archly. She was stunningly, classically beautiful, reminding me of monchrome photographs of forties movie-stars; dark brows, the soft curve of her cheek; those storm grey eyes.

The only colour in her face was her lips; bright and red.

Her fingers curved mine around her breast.

'Or perhaps you'd like to feel something else.'

My cock swelled at her touch and the feel of her firm breast sent a thrill through me.

Though hooded, Bryony clearly knew there was something going on and I felt her press herself against me.

'Bryony always was very possessive.' Rubber Dolly's eyes roved over Bryony's captive body. 'Deliciously dominant.'

I frowned trying to understand her comment but her hand continued to press mine against her breast in a very distracting way.

'She certainly seems to have you well trained.'

'I think it's me who's doing the training.' I smiled quite pleased with myself.

'Just because a woman offers you her body doesn't mean she's giving up control.' She looked down at my hand and squeezed gently forcing my fingers to squeeze her breast.

'No, she's a submissive.' I tried to keep my voice steady despite the excitement of her touch. 'I thought you were a submissive too.'

'The-Cat and Cream might give you a very different impression.'

I was aware of the story or her taking the two blondes in hand after catching them in the school-yard naked and handcuffed and licking whipped cream off each other's bodies. Their presence in the village hitched to Rubber Dolly's double chariot had been the highlight of the summer a year before my arrival.

'So you like to switch roles?' I asked.

'It's not switching.' She said. 'There's nothing binary about sex; all the kids these days will tell you that.'

'Really?' I suspected she'd had a few drinks.

'Really!' She encouraged my fingers to play with her nipple. 'I take it you know what a Moebian strip is?'

'One of those strips of paper that's looped on itself twisted so although it appears to have two sides but it only really has one.'

'Something like that.' She smiled. 'Though I'd expect my year tens to give me a better answer.'

'And...?'

'Dom and sub.' She smiled. 'One and the same.' She reached out with her free hand and began to tease Bryony's right nipple which responded immediately, the flush of pleasure spreading across her chest clearly visible through the bodystocking.'

'Has she had you running in harness yet?' Rubber Dolly looked at me.

'No. Of course not.'

Rubber Dolly laughed again. 'You should try it some time. It's very liberating.'

'Bryony likes to kept as a slave.' I told her.

She was clearly amused by my discomfort.

'But you've thought about it.' She persisted.

'Of course not.'

Her smile told me she knew I was lying but she didn't say anything.

'Perhaps some people are naturally one or the other.' I said trying to ignore the insecurities I felt dominating Bryony. It wasn't that I was particularly submissive, it was just that it was sometimes hard work being the type of dominant Bryony wanted.

'Perhaps they are.' She used Bryony's nipple ring to pull her closer in. 'But that's a very narrow minded approach.' She leaned forward and, pulling on the ring, licked Bryony's stretched nipple. 'I would say such people are missing out on a whole world of corporeal pleasure.' She lifted her head, lips parted, tongue out. 'Which reminds me, I don't think I've congratulated you on your engagement.'

'Thank you.' I looked down at her realising I still had my hand on her breast.

'You must let me know what I can give you as a wedding gift.' She gave me a suggestive smile then leant in to whisper something to Bryony who stiffened, her lips quivering around the bit gagging her mouth.

'You don't have to make a decision now.'

'I'm sure we'll... think about it.' I said though I'd no idea what the lovely brunette had suggested.

'I'm sure you will.' Miss Carter smiled and gently brushed my hand away from her breast. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and find Reuben. I'm just dying to tell him to restrain me like you're lovely fiance here.'

She turned away and I watched her go, tail swishing behind her as she went.

*

As the evening progressed, I tried to keep an eye on Justin; PLT might be the one on the leash but poor Justin was equally hooked and, to be fair to him, the Goose was a shiny leather goddess whose appearance alone commanded worship. I wasn't surprised when the three of them left together or when Justin didn't reappear at breakfast or lunch...

I did get a bit worried when he hadn't texted and didn't show up for his lift to the station that afternoon. I tried calling a few times then tried Goose's number too but didn't get an answer

In the end, I a drove up to the old manor house where she lived. It really was a nice place; Tudor in parts; naturally, it had a stable.

After a bit of hammering on the door, the Goose herself appeared her blonde hair slightly disheveled and her make-up a little smudged. She and Justin had clearly slept in or maybe she and PLThad slept in and... I tried to think of the possibilities.

Goose was wrapped in a white silk robe decorated with pink roses that gave me a nice glimpse of full creamy breasts and dark cleavage; interestingly, she was also wearing a pair or pink wet look patent leather boots which, when she moved and the robe parted slightly, I saw, went up to the thigh. I wondered if she was wearing any more of the outfit a drunken Cat had once waxed so lyrical about in the pub.

'Oh, yeah.' She gave me a predatory smile when I asked if Justin was home. 'He did say something about it last night.' She ran a hand through her hair. 'I guess you'd better come in.'

She lead me into a plush sitting room, her heels clicking on polished wooden floorboards, moving a pair of handcuffs off an expensive looking pink sofa to allow me to sit down. The wallpaper was white with embossed pink roses and the curtains matched.

'I'll go and see if I can get him up.' She said with an arch of her dark eyebrow and a faint smile.

Getting Justin up probably wasn't going to be a problem even if getting him out of bed might be.

*

When he emerged some twenty minutes later, Justin looked chastened or, perhaps I mean chastised. He was walking stiffly and had what could only have been rope burns on his wrists.

'He's so naughty.' The Goose said with unaccustomed girlishness as she followed him in and Justin turned to look at her with that rabbit-in-headlights expression on his face which turned instantly redder.

The Goose was still in her robe though it was now hanging open to reveal the rest of her kinky little pink outfit: corset with half bra-cups that didn't quite cover her nipples and a little skirt that just about reached the top of her thighs. She was carrying a riding crop; pink naturally, with a little bow on it.

She smiled as she noticed me looking. 'I can give you some lessons too, if you like.' She said tapping her crop onto the palm of her hand.

Even as I declined, I noticed Justin lean down to fiddle with his boot in an attempt to cover the redness on his face.

'Well, if you're sure.' The Goose placed her crop on the coffee table then took a leather bit out of her pocket. It was clearly wet and I could only assume that, until a few minutes ago it had been in my friend's mouth.

Seeing her like this made me wonder if the account fund manager thing was just a cover story; perhaps she worked as a high class dominatrix from the flat she had in London. I knew half a dozen guys who, I suspected, would be more than willing to pay to grovel at her feet.

I assumed Justin had been allowed to do it for free.

I had no idea what part her pert little blonde pony had played.

***

CHAPTER 5: SLAVE TRAINING

***

Bryony's legs were shaking. It was the Thursday after the Dryad Festival and we were back into proper pony training which meant wrist and ankle weights and the weighted collar had, once again, become more-or-less permanent fixtures on her body. We'd normally finished by this time in the afternoon and it was dark outside the stable, however, she was doing a little extra today; a mixture of punishment and training for earning a couple of demerits.

It was the end of the afternoon and after a healthy run in harness (and leg weights) she was squatting with her thighs parallel to the ground holding her wrists out at shoulder height, forced to stay in position by a clamp in her clitoris that stopped her straightening her legs and chains from the beam above her connected to her nipple rings to stop her sitting down; to add to her discomfort and ensure she kept her arms out, there were clover clamps on her nipples that were attached via pulley above her head to her weighted wrist cuffs.

She'd been there twenty five minutes and was sweating profusely, steam rising off her body in the chill air of the stable.

Rain began to spatter on the stable roof.

'Keep them up.' I tapped her right biceps with my whip and she glared at me over the large ball gag I'd inserted during the circuit session in the morning when she'd earned the demerits by making some remarks about how hard I was driving her so early in the year. I think sometimes she wanted to be gagged; despite the discomfort, it meant she had no choice but to obey me. I'd made her wear it all day, removing it only briefly once to allow her to drink some water after our first afternoon run.

I checked my watch; twenty seven minutes, I'd told her it would be thirty.

Her arms dropped again, jerking her clamped nipples upwards and she wobbled slightly making her grunt into the gag as the clamp between her legs tugged at her clit.

'Posture!' I brought the whip down on her right thigh.

Twenty eight minutes.

'Ugghhh!.' Her eyes focussed ahead as she tried to steady herself.

I walked around her again, throughly enjoying the sight of her naked body; shiny with heat and sweat; her back marked by the whip. I could smell her scent.

The air was getting colder, outside the rain became heavier.

Twenty nine.

'Nnnggghh!' She moved her head and I could see her trying to work her cramped muscles, trying to meet the target I had set.

If only all my athletes were as determined as this.

'Thirty minutes.' I reached out and freed her nipples.

Her arms flew towards her chest, hugging her breasts.

It was just as well she was gagged.

Then I freed her clit.

'Nggghhhh!'

She straightened her legs.

I gave her a moment then coaxed her arms away from her breasts and unclipped the chains from her nipple rings.

'Down!'

She dropped to all fours.

'Walk to heel.'

I stepped out into the rain and she followed me, crawling on her hands and knees across the courtyard towards the kitchen door.

'Stay.' I opened the door and stepped inside, turning to ensure she was kneeling up with her hands behind her back, head bowed.

The rain was falling more heavily and the wind starting to circle in gusts in the yard, stirring her wet hair. She would soon be shivering.

'Do you need to pee?'

She looked up, blue yes wide, anxious over the straps of the harness gag, mouth stretched around the ball; nodded once.

'Very well.'

She crawled to the drain and came up onto the balls of her feet, knees wide. She'd told me she loved the humiliation of doing this in front of me. Despite the heat of her skin I thought her cheeks coloured slightly but then she bowed her head.

In a moment, a jet of steaming liquid splashed into the drain beneath her.

I waited, watching her until she looked up.

She was definitely blushing.

'Inside.'

She gave me a grateful look and scampered in through the door.

*

'Go and shower.' I told her. 'I'll join you in a moment.'

She smiled round the gag and crawled towards the stairs looking back to make sure I was watching as, still on all fours, she began to climb them.

I gave her a few minutes, taking the chance to grab a drink then went up.

There's something about seeing water running across Bryony's freckled skin, droplets beading, coalescing, trickling down her nubile body; whether it be rain or sweat or when we are together in the shower. Showering with her is something I particularly enjoy; there's something about the sensation of warm water running over us; her standing there naked aside from her collar and cuffs.

Entering the bathroom, I could see her silhouette through the frosted glass, her pert body side on to me; her small breasts and the tight curve of her bottom; her head was back, face turned up to the shower; it looked like she was trying to drink the water around her gag as it splashed across her face.

I undressed and slid in beside her enjoying the way she looked at me; the need in her blue eyes, the expectancy; noticing how she fought against the instinctive desire to push herself against me, making herself stand awaiting my command. She wavered for a moment caught between desire and her submissive nature. Then, slowly she slipped her hands behind her back and bowed her head, the water running over her wet hair and streaming down her body.

I teased her for a moment but I knew she could see my stiff cock; I guessed she was looking at it hungrily. If she wasn't gagged, I'd probably have made her go down and suck me off but, though I could have removed it, the gag made me pause and think about what I wanted. I reached up and toyed with her nipple rings, watching her little buds stiffen; the sensitive flesh was bruised from the clamps and the punishment they'd endured in the last few days harsh training.

My hands slid down her body, her skin, slick with soap, was warm now, pink and glowing from the heat of the water but she shivered slightly as I slipped a finger into the ring on her weighted collar and gently pulled her towards me. She took a small step forwards but still she kept her head bowed and her hands behind he back.

I lifted her chin and she looked up at me, her eyes shining.

I pulled her in and kissed her around the gag.

The self imposed tension melted away and she flung herself at me, hands sliding up around my neck and pulling my face towards hers as she strained against the gag, pushing her lips against mine, her hips pressing urgently against me; making it clear despite her enforced silence that she wanted me inside her. I held her like this for a few moment and then pulled her head back.

'Wash me.'

She nodded and then soaping her hands then began to run them over my body. I knew she enjoyed touching my body like this; something that was so frequently denied her because she was usually in bondage when we made love. She kept her head down but I could see her smiling around her gag as she ran her fingers over my shoulders; I'm a sports coach; I have a pretty ripped body. She moved behind me, hands running over my chest, the barest brush of her nipple rings against my back and then she embraced me, her breasts pushing against my back as her fingers teased my nipples. Her hands moved down my body and I felt her cheek rest on my shoulder.

My hand went up automatically to stroke her hair.

Then she took hold of my shaft, caressing it gently, milking it, her fingers teasing my balls.

When her hands moved away, I nearly commanded them back but I knew there was more to come as she knelt beside me running the soap over my legs, her face nuzzling against my thigh mere inches from my cock.

She moved lower, bending forward, brushing her gagged lips over my feet in a gesture of total submission.

Then she knelt up in front of me, her face in front of my cock, her hands falling to her side.

She clearly expected me to remove her gag and use her mouth or, perhaps, she hoped I would do more for her.

'You've been a bad girl.' I told her.

She nodded submissively, not looking up; her body shuddering with the excitement at being treated like this. It was a part of her submission I enjoyed too.

She knelt up, taking my cock in her hands and rubbing it against her cheek, her fingers expertly teasing my balls as she toyed with me.

It didn't take long and as my cock spasmed, she leant back ensuring I came across her face and breasts. She was just outside the jet of the shower and I could see the thick white liquid running across her body.

I knew what she wanted next but it would take a few minutes.

She knelt waiting patiently, as I washed myself down.

Then, when I was sufficiently soft I pissed on her, washing the cum off her body.

*

She came down the stairs about twenty minutes later still naked and gagged.

I'd left her to wash herself and the look in her eyes told me she'd been playing with herself too and had quite probably cum while she'd been doing it. At the bottom of the stairs she dropped to her knees and crawled across the kitchen then knelt up beside the table slipping her hands behind her back.

'Behind your head.'

Her shoulders were probably aching from the training earlier but she obeyed immediately, pushing her little breasts forward and spreading her legs wide. I picked up the crop from the table and brought it down on her breasts with firm a slap to show her I'd guessed what she'd been doing. Her blush and her smile told me I was correct.

I finished cooking dinner leaving her to kneel on the hard stone flags and served out two plates.

'Remove your gag.'

She reached behind her head, struggling with the buckles; her shoulders were probably burning and the weights on her wrists weren't making it any easier. Eventually, she managed to do undo the strap and then she eased the huge red ball out of her mouth. She'd been wearing the gag almost constantly for eight or nine hours now and she gave a little cry as the ball came out into her hand, saliva running over her lip and spattering onto the floor. Her jaw must have felt like her shoulders and I saw her wince as she closed it.

'Keep you arms up.'

A flicker of pain crossed her face as she lifted her hands, still holding the gag and put them behind her head.

I put her water bowl on the floor and she licked her lips with an expression of longing. Then I took the gag from her hands, the leather was soaking and the ball slick with her saliva.

'Drink.'

'Thank you, Master.' She dropped forward as eager, I'm sure, to rest her shoulders as to slake her thirst.

I watched her for a few moments as she lapped at the water and then walked behind her admiring the tight curve of her bottom, criss-crossed with bruises from the whip; her dark brown ring was puckered, tight and enticing and her glistening pink sex gaped below it.

She knew I was looking and lifted her bottom higher, spreading her knees a little wider on the floor and the lips of her sex parted invitingly. It was tempting; Bryony was always tempting, but we had all evening.

I fed her while she knelt beside me, using my fingers and sometimes a fork. When I'd finished, I made her lick my fingers which she did eagerly and lasciviously.

I sometimes missed the days when I held her in my arms to feed her; enjoying the warmth of her body nestled against mine; I did it occasionally but mostly she liked it this way, Master feeding his slave.

*

After dinner, I left her to wash up; I had cooked, after all; and went into the sitting room, where I dropped onto the sofa and switched on the TV.

When she came to join me, crawling again, she stopped in front of me on all fours to allow me to rest my legs on her back.

She had replaced the gag; a sure sign that she was horny as hell; it must have been pretty painful for her to push it back into her mouth again. There was a part of me that would have preferred to have her in my arms and, I suppose as Master, I should have insisted on it but this is how she was when we were training, completely focussed, utterly obedient and she expected me to dominate her completely.

We (I) watched TV for an hour as she knelt almost unmoving save her breathing and the occasional slight stretch when her muscles started to stiffen. In the end, I commanded her up beside me, pulling her into my arms, where she snuggled warm and soft in my lap.

I held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair, still slightly damp from the shower and the soft musk of her body that had become so familiar.

'Your drooling on my shirt.' I said as I felt a patch of wetness on her chest.

She jerked, moving her head quickly; she was clearly almost asleep.

'U. oo.. y. ash. a!' The gag was huge and made her speech completely unintelligible.

She tried to climb back down on the floor but I held on to her and then made her sit still while I undid the gag. She whimpered again as the ball came out of her mouth.

'I'm shorry, Masder.' Her tongue slurred her words with its newfound freedom.

'You will be when I punish you.' I tried to say it lightly, teasing her but she stiffened.

'Yes, Master.' Her expression was serious. 'Slave is a bad girl.'

She was clearly angry with herself for falling asleep though there was no reason to be; it wasn't weakness; I'd been working her hard for the last four days and she'd spent three cold nights in the stable, one in her punishment cage.

I pulled her towards me and kissed her cheek sensing her reluctance to engage with me in any other way than as a slave with her Master.

'Slave.'

'Master?' She turned to look at me and I kissed her on the mouth pulling her more tightly against me. Her body was deliciously firm and, after a moment, she was once again eager.

'You should be punishing me, Sir.' She said as we came up for air.

'Oh, don't worry.' I said with a smile. 'I plan to do that.'

She smiled, her eyes softening and I wanted to tell her again how much more I loved her when she was like this, submissive and loving rather than the cold obedient slave she made herself become. Perhaps, if I was lucky, she'd be deliberately naughty.

I thought of my conversation with Miss Carter.

Then I remembered she'd whispered something to Bryony.

'What do Rubber Dolly say to you in the pub?'

She looked confused for a moment and then clearly remembered.

'Oh, nothing important.' She looked away as she spoke.

'Are you lying to Master?'

'No, Sir.'

She clearly was. She was smirking about it too.

'That's two demerits!' I told her.

A smile spread across her face and I feared it was an excuse to slip back into her slave persona. Instead she slid her arms around my neck and kissed me full on the lips.

It was wonderful.

We were both breathless when she finally stopped.

'You can't get around me.' I warned.

'You can give me a hundred demerits, Master and cage me naked in the stable all winter but I'm not going to tell you.'

'Really?' I reached for the whip on the sofa.

'It's a wedding surprise.' She said quickly. 'Sir.'

'Well, I guess I'll just have to wait to be surprised.' I kissed her gently. 'And you're drooling again.'

My trousers had damp marks on the crotch.

'Actually, Master, I think that's you.'

To fair to her, it was probably both of us.

*

I tossed her unceremoniously onto the floor and stood up taking off my belt looping it around her neck over her collar like a choke leash. Then, I lead her out into the hall and up the stairs to the bedroom with her crawling on all fours behind me.

In the bedroom, she knelt up placing her hands behind her head and thrusting her little breasts out.

'Sir?' She said as I began to undress,

I knew what she was going to say.

'Yes?'

'You could give me a collar, I mean a proper collar, like Pretty's.'

'You have a collar.'

She touched the one currently locked around her neck, it was thick, weighted, part of her training regimen.

'You know what I mean, Sir.' She fingered the collar. 'Something permanent... I'm sure Tom would weld it shut.'

'Most girls just want a nice ring.'

'I'm not like most girls, Sir.'

I removed the belt from her neck. 'Up on the bed.'

'Yes, Sir.' She scampered up.

'Use the wrist cuffs.'

'Yes, Sir.'

There was a set of shackles locked to a ring bolted through the headboard of the bed; they has a longish chain making it easy for her to lock them around her wrists herself; there were similar ones on each end of the footboard. One Sunday she'd taken it upon herself to ensure she was suitably prepared for Master. She'd been in London at a shoot with Terry and had been sending me selfies of her in kinky rubber and leather outfits; there were a few that clearly weren't selfies too unless she'd found a way of taking them with her nose and in one she was muzzled so even that option was out. I was in Birmingham at an athletics meeting. Then, that evening, she'd sent a link to my phone. 'Don't be too long.' She said. 'I can't get out by myself.'

And there she was, naked, lying back on the bed, legs spread, ankles shackled, wrists cuffed above her head; there were clamps on her nipples and she'd collared and gagged herself. The link was to a web-cam set to show her, helpless and waiting.

It had been a bit of a shame that there was a traffic jam that day and it took me nearly five hours to get down the M5 from Birmingham.

She was utterly desperate by one o'clock in the morning when I'd finally reached her, but mostly for a pee.

We'd used the shackles a few times since though mostly when I went out to the shops than further afield.

I watched her lie back and shackle her wrists to the bed.

She was right, she wasn't like most girls.

I took some rope and passed it through the ring in the weighted cuff she wore on her right ankle then passed it through the ring that held the shackles she'd just locked around her wrists; then I did the same with her left ankle. Then, I pulled her ankles up so her feet were held over her face.

'This is vary undignified, you know, Sir.'

She was lying on her back with her legs folded up and her bottom exposed. I suspected many girls might find it uncomfortable.

'It's very functional though.' I smacked her bottom.

She giggled.

I sat down beside her and smacked her again.

'A girl could get to like this.'

I gave her about a dozen slaps; not a particularly harsh punishment but I had other things on my mind and she knew it.

'You are obsessed by anal sex.' She said, her face flushed.

I smacked her again.

'Alright then but just get it over with.'

'You are very impudent for a slave.'

'If you gave me collar, I might be more obedient.' She retorted, squirming.

'Perhaps I like my slaves to be a little rebellious.'

'Slaves is it now?' She continued to struggle. 'How many of us do you want.'

'I thought a pair might be quite nice.'

'Funny you should say that what with Pretty coming to stay for the week.'

'Yes.' I smiled at the thought of having the little blonde to play with alongside Bryony while Goose was up in London. I'd minded The-Cat for her a couple of times during the previous year but it was the first time she had asked me to mind her latest muse. The thought of having the lovely young blonde as a willing pet between the shafts of my chariot and at my beck and call was certainly exciting. She really was gorgeous, those green eyes and that firm young body still gently rounded in places... and those surprisingly large firm breasts.

I'd been rather cautious when Goose had left The-Cat with me and really hadn't taken advantage of the situation despite Goose's suggestion that I use her as if she were my own. I'd patted her bottom and stroked her hair; I'd even handled her pretty intimately; it's hard not to when you're strapping a pony girl into harness. I'd enjoyed watching her perform too. However, although the suggestion that I use her had been there, I'd felt uncomfortable doing this in front of Bryony. My beloved, on the other hand, had shown no such scruples and I'd caught the pair of them 'hard at it' in the stables on more than one occasion.

Bryony had teased me about my 'chivalry' afterwards but I think she'd been flattered in a way. It was shortly after this that we had decided to tie the knot (pun intended). Incase you are wondering, it was her who asked me; she had, after all, been down on her knees anyway.

***

CHAPTER 6: PRETTY IN PINK

***

The Goose dropped Pretty Little Thing off early on the Monday morning. I heard the huge Nissan pick up truck pulling into the stable yard and went out to meet her, smiling as the Goose in her power suit and heels swung down from the cab. The Goose scrubbed up well, blonde hair braided, pale lip gloss, eyeliner and a very expensive looking pink suit.

'She's in the back.' Goose gestured to a square box about two feet high covered in a tarpaulin.

It was clear I was going to have to climb up and get her.

Opening the tailgate, I climbed into the back, undid the restraining straps and pulled off the tarpaulin.

Wow!

The little blonde was locked in a cage, naked save her pink enameled collar, crouching on her knees with her wrists shackled behind her back; her ankles were shackled too and she looked out with huge green, slightly tearful eyes over a thick black leather muzzle that covered most of her face.

With some difficulty, I lifted her down.

'She was a bad girl yesterday so I locked her in her cage overnight.' Goose told me matter-of-factly. 'If she's naughty it's the best punishment. She enjoys the whip a little too much.'

Goose had obviously tried the whip or, more accurately, the cane looking at the marks on PLT's bottom that clearly weren't from training.

'Be a good girl for mummy!' Goose squatted beside her helpless pet and slid her fingers through the bars.

PLT nuzzled them.

'Thanks for agreeing to look after her, Mike.' The Goose stood up brushing her hands and looked at me. 'She can't be trusted on her own. Cane her if you need to and use her as you see fit. I'll be back on Friday.

She pulled a bag out of the back of the truck.

'This is her tack.' She said. 'Make sure she cleans it after use.'

PLT pouted as far as a girl who's face is almost entirely hidden can.

And with that, Goose climbed into her pick up and drove off.

*

I looked down at the helpless blonde kneeling somewhat dejectedly in her cage then squatted down. The bolt to the cage was across but not padlocked and, as far as I could see the keys to the girl's shackles were clipped to her right nipple.

I threw back the bolt.

'Use her as you see fit.' Goose had said.

I was going to enjoy this.

'Out.'

PLT crawled forward wiggling her shoulders and then knelt up stretching her back.

'Stand up.'

She stood, placing her feet about six inches apart, shoulders back, head bowed and pushing her breasts forward; her ankle chain hung slightly slack.

I undid the tack bag and pulled out Pretty's sleeve and harness; as a racing mare, her harness was like Bryony's only providing a little more, alright, a lot more support for her breasts (D-cup, Bryony had informed me, considerably bigger than Bryony's little fried eggs).

It was lovely stuff; Goose certainly hadn't spared any expense on her pony's tack. It was pink, of course; Goose seemed to love pink, somewhat in contrast to the 'one of the boys' ladette behavior she liked to adopt.

Shaking out the straps of the harness, I hefted it over PLT's head, settling the shoulder straps in place and then pulling the chest strap in and positioning breast rings.

'You'd better make sure you strap them in nice and tight.' A voice behind me said. 'Don't want them bouncing all over the place.'

PLT shot Bryony a glare.

I turned and scowled. 'Silence.'

'Yes, Master.' Bryony assumed the model of contrition and dropped to her knees.

I unclipped the keys from PLTs right nipple drawing an audible gasp from the pretty blonde. Her nipple was bruised where the clamp had been and I guessed it had been there all night. Then I guided her breasts into the breast rings and ensured the leather cups supported them. The cups came to just below her nipples and were designed for use with a mare who had piercings although, as yet PLT's nipples remained 'virgin'. There was an unwritten rule in Mares that a 'pony', a girl in her first year between the shafts, was not allowed to have piercings. PLT was twenty and had raced twice but it wasn't unusual for a girl to wait a few years before taking the plunge; Morrisey piercings were large and, once there, were pretty much there for life. Bryony had not had hers done until she was twenty six.

Pretty's breasts were delightfully firm and the nipples swelled as I handled them; bits of me swelled too.

I waited for a sarcastic comment but none came.

I tightened the chest straps and then the girdle to hold the harness in place and then fastened the thigh straps; PLT's thighs were deliciously firm. Then I removed her shackles and slid the single sleeve up her arms. I'd noticed Goose always did her slave's single sleeve up to full tightness, 'bedroom tight' as Bryony called it.

Bryony watched as I laced it up and I could see her pushing her elbows together behind her back.

Then, I had her step into her pony boots, in shiny pink of course, and laced them up to her thighs.

Finally, I bridled her; I think this is my favourite part of tacking a pony, pulling the bit between her teeth and tightening the straps. PLT held the rubber covered bar firmly in the teeth as I adjusted the harness and pulled her blonde hair into a pony tail.

*

When I'd finished, I had the perfect blonde pony, standing obediently in harness rocking slightly on her toes, her breath just visible as steam emerging from around her bit between her gently parted lips. I turned to find Bryony watching me. She was still on her knees naked and from the paleness of her skin, clearly starting to feel the cold

'Well, don't just kneel there watching me.' I said. 'Go and get your tack too.'

'Yes, Master.' She practically sprinted to the stables.

I turned and looked at the pretty blonde standing beside me. She was about the same height as Bryony, a little over five feet but slightly stockier; giving her enough flesh that it dimpled beautifully around the harness straps and breasts that, as I've already mentioned were a good handful, she had big red nipples that were, at that moment, stiffly erect, it was, afterall, a fairly chilly morning. Her skin was honey tanned and currently covered in goosebumps and her hair gathered now into the ponytail, hanging just below her shoulders was straw coloured. Like all good mares, she was smoothly shaved.

And, of course, she was now completely helpless in the single sleeve.

It was hard to resist touching her.

Fortunately, before temptation overtook me, Bryony returned and I buckled her into harness too.

Then, I lead them to the double chariot.

They were clearly excited as I clipped their harnesses to the shafts and traces, glancing at each other, rocking on their boots or, perhaps they were just cold.

I climbed into the chariot and flicked the whip catching Bryony on the bottom as I shook the reins and my two lovely ponies stepped out pulling me behind them.

*

There is something beautiful about driving a pair, especially when they are running in step. Mares is very much driven singly in the village and, as far as I am aware, the chariot I was driving was the only one built for two. As I've mentioned, village gossip said it had originally been made for Rubber Dolly for use with Whipped Cream and 'The-Cat'.

The story went that Miss Carter, the village schoolteacher (also known as ultra-hot dressage mare, Rubber Dolly) had caught them sneaking into the schoolyard one summer. Before anyone goes off to inform social services, I would point out that the girls had both left school that summer and were both eighteen!

Anyway...

I'd learnt from Cassie at Cream's welcome home party that the name 'Whipped Cream' had come from a game she and 'Pussy' (aka 'The-Cat-That-Got-The-Cream') were caught playing involving a can of squirty cream and four pairs of handcuffs. Needless-to-say, both girls were naked at the time they were found and, thanks to the handcuffs, rather intimately entwined. It wasn't clear why the lovely Miss Carter had gone into the school out of term time but Bryony hinted that she had a locker there in which she kept some interesting 'toys' and the kinky brunette might have been going there to play a few games of her own. However, she'd discovered the girls, former students of hers but now very much grown up, and apparently changed her plans.

From what Cassie told me, the two blondes had spent the summer as virtual slaves of their former teacher enjoying the benefits of her considerable experience in a number of fields that went well beyond trigonometry and algebra. She'd trained them both as ponies in preparation for the upcoming race even asking Tom to rig up the double chariot so the lovely pair could run side by side as she put them through their paces. I'd also been told that nobody had raised objections to Kate and Tessa (to give them the names they'd been Christened with) practicing openly before the event and that, when the pair were out prancing together the village virtually ground to a halt. There were a number of near miss road traffic collisions which probably explained why the committee were now so rigourous in their enforcement of the rule about training in public.

Miss Carter had been planning to drive the better of them in the race and it became clear that Tessa (soon to be know as 'Whipped Cream') had the edge. However, both showed equal enthusiasm and the lovely Rubber Dolly knew that Kate (The-Cat) would be disappointed not to race. In the final couple of weeks, she thus trained Kate as a field mare.

Neither won, of course, but both girls entered their first Mares day competition under the whip of Miss Carter and (rumour has it) thanked their mistress diligently for the opportunity she had given them. She was clearly enjoying their relationship as much as the girls were and, perhaps it might have continued except that, at that stage, Reuben (Rubber Dolly's master) returned from Germany whence her periodically disappeared. Miss Carter went back to being Rubber Dolly and the girls were left to fend for themselves. There was a sneaking suspicion that Kate would be the dominant one but for some reason it ended up the other way around leading to speculation that when 'The-Cat' got 'the Cream', she'd been forced to lick it from between Tessa's legs.

Whatever the details of the story, I did know that after ensuring her domination over 'The-Cat', Whipped Cream had subsequently gone off for a gap year in Venezuela (leaving her 'Pussy' in the care of Goose) but had heard about the Buenos Aires PonyGirl Polo Club and relocated with all possible speed to Argentina.

*

I trained Bryony and PLT hard and, at the end of the day planned to stable them together. It seemed unfair to take Bryony to bed and leave PLT chained in the stable, besides, the thought of them snuggling together for warmth was rather appealing. I was pretty confident that Bryony was up for it.

Perhaps, if they were good girls, I'd give them a blanket to share. (There is a heater in the stable, it's not good but it stops Bryony's water from freezing over).

So, when I released them from harness, I left them sleeved though I did loosen these a little. (Bryony clearly didn't want to be outdone by her visitor and both had trained all day with their elbows touching). Then, I left them kneeling in the stable, Bryony chained by her nipples and PLT by her collar.

I'd made a stew at the weekend and reheated this; then I took it across to the stable in two metal bowls that were clearly designed for use by pets. It was getting cold and the stew was steaming when I placed it on the floor infront of them; both girls were starting to shiver, their sweat cold now on their bodies and they were hungry from a day's training. I watched them crouch eagerly over the hot food on their knees blowing on it and sucking chunks of meat into their mouths even though they were hot.

Their complete submissiveness was a joy to watch.

I was rather coming round buying Bryony a proper collar.

'Sir.' Pretty Little Thing looked up at me with her lovely green eyes.

She was so beautiful, so submissive and, somehow angelic; or would have been if she didn't have her dinner plastered across her face.

'You may speak?'

'Sir, Mistress told me to thank you for looking after me by sucking your cock every night.'

'Did she now?' I hadn't expected that.

I glanced over at Bryony who was still crouched over her meal though her body was suddenly tense and she wasn't eating.

'I think your Mistress is being a little too generous.' I told her. 'I'm happy to look after you.'

Bryony bent and took another mouthful of food but I could tell she was listening intently.

'But, Sir.' Pretty Little Thing blushed. 'Mistress said it was something her slave needs to learn and that you would teach me how to do it properly.'

Bryony choked, spraying a mouthful of stew across the stable floor.

'Did she now?' I looked anxiously at Bryony as she began to cough violently.

'Yes, Sir.' PLT continued demurely. 'She said she would put my skills to the test when she got back and punish me if I was no good at it.'

Justin appeared to have landed on his feet!

Bryony's coughing fit continued unabated and for a moment I feared she was going to need the Heimlich manoeuvre but after a few moments she managed to catch her breath as PLT knelt with her head bowed like a good little slave girl.

'If I may speak too, Sir...' Bryony knelt up with her head bowed, her breathing still a little rapid. 'I would hate to see my sister in bondage punished, Sir. And it is a useful skill for a slave girl to master.'

I looked down at her but she kept her head bowed.

'So, may I suck your cock, Sir?' PLT looked up and smiled shyly.

How could I refuse?

I opened my flies and slipped my cock out. Not withstanding the fact I was feeding two chained naked girls, the thought of what one of them had just offered to do had made it swell and I saw PLT look up at it with mixture of anticipation and anxiety.

I watched her part those lovely plump lips as she leaned towards me.

She really was beautiful with her little heart shaped face and those lovely green eyes. It would have been perfect if she didn't have stew smeared across her face and my fiance wasn't watching.

Awkwardly she took the end of my cock in her mouth and licked it with her tongue.

Goose had been right; the girl clearly had a lot to learn.

Even so, as she slid her lips down my shaft, little ripples of pleasure cascaded through me.

Then, with my cock deep in her mouth, she stopped and looked up at me before pulling back and sliding down my shaft again.

I tried very hard not to look at Bryony.

'Sir?' Bryony said suddenly.

I turned to look at her.

'Would you mind if I gave my fellow slave some instruction.'

'That would be acceptable.' I knew there was tension in my voice but I could't help it.

Bryony shuffled over on her knees, the chain to her nipple rings clinking on the floor.

Her face was covered in stew too.

'Like this when you start.' She said and ran her tongue down the side of my cock.

Pretty Little Thing let go of my shaft and leaned over to run her tongue down the other side of my shaft.

Fuck!

They knelt there for a few moments, teasing me and clearly teasing each other with their tongues playing together around my shaft.

'Now underneath.' Bryony slid her tongue along the bottom of my cock.

PLT followed her.

I swallowed hard.

'Most men like to have their balls licked too.' Bryony nuzzled my shaft with her cheek and lapped at my balls.

PLT did the same.

'Gently!'

My cock was being squeezed between their cheeks.

'Now you can take him inside you.'

Bryony demonstrated once then her lovely pupil took over.

My cock twitched violently.

'Gently!'

PLT slid backwards and forward, her lips apparently gliding over my shaft with a gossamer light touch.

'Very good.' Bryony smirked. 'Now, take him a little deeper.'

'Good girl.'

'And a little deeper.'

'Deep breath.'

'Deeper.'

The little blonde's chin nudged my balls and I felt my tip slide down her throat.

I couldn't hold on any longer.

My cum began to erupt into the kneeling girl's mouth and I heard her gasp of surprise, pulling back. Released from her lips, my cock swung, spurting wildly, spraying cum over her face and hair and then across Bryony's face too.

'Oh!' Pretty Little Thing looked around, shocked as the warm liquid ran down her face. 'Did I do that.'

Her smile said she knew exactly who'd done it.

'We may need to work on your ending.' Bryony said with a wink.

Pretty Little Thing laughed. 'It's a lot easier than pleasuring a girl.'

'Yeah.' Bryony said. 'Men are fairly simple creatures.'

*

CHAPTER 7: THREESOME

The week continued in much the same manner. During the day I put two hot wiling and gorgeously fit pony girls through their paces and at night I put two hot wiling and gorgeously fit pony girls through their paces.

I hadn't meant for any repeat of the first evening after training on the second day and had resolved to take Bryony to bed leaving PLT in the stables. After feeding my ponies, I chained Pretty Little Thing by her collar to the ring in the floor leaving her naked but unrestrained and could see her glancing at the blanket that lay folded in the corner as I prepared to leave.

'It would be unfair to leave her all alone, Master.' Bryony had said as I commanded her to walk to heel. 'If you're going to leave Pretty here, I should stay too.'

Having watched my two ponies in action all day I was a horny as hell and certainly wasn't about to let them have all the fun.

'Sir.' Bryony said. 'Pretty's Mistress said she was to be your slave completely this week.'

'Did Goose say anything else?' I asked.

PLT looked up, her green eyes wide with projected innocence. 'That she expected me to loose my virginity, Sir.' She said.

'You're a virgin?' I almost choked this time.

PLT gave me one of her cute dimpled smiles. 'Only with a man, Sir.'

Once again, I could hardly refuse.

They crawled beautifully to heel across the yard, both naked except for their collars and Bryony's weighted cuffs. Then they followed me into the house and up the stairs to the bedroom.

'Would you like us to shower, Sir?' Bryony asked as they knelt back side by side in the kitchen floor, sliding their hands behind their backs. There was mischievous quality to her voice. 'Or do you like dirty girls?'

The two of them giggled at the way she said 'dirty'.

I should probably have given her a demerit but I liked her suggestion of bedding two 'dirty' girls. I also liked the idea of showering with them too or perhaps watching them shower together but I wasn't sure I'd last the distance; my cock was already straining at my jeans.

'Are you going to tie us up, Sir?' PLT looked up with one of those 'butter wouldn't melt' expressions, all big green eyes and parted lips.

'I could tie Pretty if you'd like me to, Sir.' Bryony said rather too eagerly.

'That would be fun, Sir.' PLT fluttered her lashes.

Bryony's red single sleeve lay on the kitchen table and I tossed it to her. Still on her knees she crawled behind the kneeling blonde.

Though it's normally me putting the sleeve on her, Bryony was clearly very adept at applying it to someone else and I watched as she quickly slid it over her fellow slave's arms, then tightened it and adjusted the shoulder straps gratuitously playing with the blonde's nipples as she did so. By the time she's finished, PLT was panting, her chest and face flushed and her nipples were twice their normal size.

'Oh, I just love being tied up, Sir.' PLT gushed. 'Especially like this.'

She shook her shoulders for emphasis and I watched her breasts wobble.

'Perhaps I should get the other sleeve and restrain you now.' I said to Bryony as she knelt beside the little blonde.

'I was thinking it would be much more fun for all of us if I had my hands free.'

'Should we undress you now, Sir?' PLT asked.

'Let's go upstairs first.'

'Yes, Sir.' The chorused.

Without asking, Bryony stood and picked up her leash which she clipped to PLT's collar.

'Come along, Slave!' She said to the kneeling blonde.

'Yes, Mistress.'

I followed them up the stairs.

In the bedroom, Bryony stood behind me, reaching round to undo my shirt buttons while PLT crawled forward and used her teeth to undo my belt with surprising skill. Then Bryony pulled down my shirt and PLT got to work on my fly buttons.

'She spends a lot of time without the use of her hands.' Bryony whispered in my ear. Perhaps if you restrained me more, it could develop my oral skills.' She nibbled my ear as her hand extracted my cock from my boxers even before PLT pulled them down.

*

I could smell the sweat of their bodies, especially Bryony's musk. I'd fucked her dozens of times when she'd been hot and sweating from training. She wasn't the first girl I'd done it to either; quite a few of the athletes I've coached get very horny after training sessions and there's something deliciously dirty about the taste of salt as you rake your tongue over a girl's hot sweating body.

Then, I took them to bed, lying back with one of them on either side of me, stretching my arms up above my head as they pressed themselves against me.

'Would Sir like to be restrained too?' Bryony asked saucily as she nibbled once again at my ear.

The cuffs that Bryony used to 'prepare' herself for me were in easy reach.

'I'm fine thank you, Slave.' I told her firmly although the thought was appealing.

'Do you like to be tied too, Sir?' PLT asked innocently as she pressed herself against me.

'Do you tie your mistress up?' I countered, quite intrigued to hear the answer.

'Oh no, Sir.' PLT was clearly quite shocked. 'But she does play bondage games your friend.' She rubbed her thigh against mine, nudging it against my cock. 'He's very submissive.'

'Pretty!' Bryony warned. 'I think I should have gagged you too.'

'Sorry, Mistress.' PLT sounded suitably chastised but I was a little stunned at the ease with which she called Bryony 'Mistress.'

I might have said something but at that moment PLT's thigh brushed my cock again and she kissed the side of my chin.

'Sir is very bristly.'

'Pretty!' Bryony admonished. 'I'm sorry, Sir. Shall I gag her.'

'No. I'm rather enjoying our little chat.'

'Yes, Sir.' Bryony tried to sound demure but she stiffened slightly; perhaps disappointed at not to be allowed to gag the little blonde or, perhaps, there was something she didn't want me to find out.

PLT moved her lips to the side of my neck and Bryony squirmed down the bed, wriggling onto her belly and kissing my right nipple, her hand sliding over my chest where it found PLT's nipple.

'Do men have sensitive nipples too?' PLT asked.

'Master's are quite sensitive.' Bryony told her.

'Justin squirms when Mistress uses clamps on him.' PLT told us. 'After a couple of hours last weekend, he begged Mistress to take them off.'

'Men are wimps.' Bryony licked my right nipple and I jumped confirming her comment.

PLT transferred her lips to my left nipple.

*

The girls worked their way down my body using their lips and tongues though Bryony's hands spent a good deal of time on PLT's body too. They finished up with PLT licking my cock while Bryony held her from behind, with one hand on her nipples and the other stroking her pussy while nibbling at her neck. I began to wonder just how much they got up to when Bryony was in the care of Goose.

'I think it's time you submitted yourself to Master.' Bryony said.

PLT smiled. 'Yes, Mistress.'

'Assuming Master doesn't mind.' Bryony said.

'Master doesn't mind in the slightest.'

Bryony knelt up and helped PLT to her knees, positioning her over my cock then she guided her down, reaching between her legs to take hold of my shaft and using it to tease the blonde's labia. They were very wet.

'Gently.' Bryony instructed.

'Yes, Mistress.' PLT's voice was unsteady with arousal though this probably had less to do with my presence and more with what Bryony had been doing to her for the last twenty minutes.

Kneeling behind her across my legs Bryony reached round in front of her to grasp my cock again. The fingers of her other hand then went back to teasing PLT's clit.

Women are so good at multitasking!

'Ohhhh!' PLT was very close to orgasm. 'I think i'm going to cum.'

Bryony's right hand stilled and PLT panted gently.

'Sorry, Mistress.' The blonde closed her eyes still fighting to stay in control. 'And, Master.' She added as an afterthought.

Bryony smiled at me over PLT's shoulder. 'And you think I'm submissive.' She whispered.

Slowly, Bryony pushed PLT onto my cock.

'Ohhhh!' PLT whimpered as she slid down onto me.

I was pretty close too.

'Please can I cum?' PLT opened her eyes.

'Only if you want to be punished.' Bryony's right hand was free now and it went immediately to PLT's nipples.

'Mistress.' PLT gasped. 'Please.'

Bryony held her close and begin it move up and down on her knees pulling the girl with her, making her rise and fall with her pussy stretched around my cock.

It was heaven!

PLT came quickly, throwing back her head and howling as she shuddered violently. I could feel her internal muscles spasming around my shaft and then I spurted up into her too, arching my back to push myself deeper inside her. This just made the blonde howl louder and a second orgasm ripped through her. Bryony did the rest, continuing to tease the helpless girl, tweaking her nipples and playing with her clit as she told her what a slut she was and how she was going to be punished for cumming without permission. The effect was to force another orgasm and then another from the blonde's helpless body until she couldn't take anymore.

Finally, PLT's head fell forwards and her body slumped. she was panting hard, her face red and her hair disheveled. Bryony held her as she recovered.

'Where the fuck did you learn to do that?' I asked.

Bryony shrugged. 'I've done porn. I know what men want.'

*

After giving PLT a few moments to recover, Bryony helped the exhausted blonde down onto the floor and clipped the chain at the foot of the bed to her collar. Then with a surprising economy of movement she hooded and gagged the little blonde, bound her ankles and, after kissing her goodnight, covered her with a blanket.

Then she crept back into bed.

'I'm hoping Master has a little energy left for his devoted slave.'

She wrapped herself around me, naked save the weighted cuffs and collar.

Watching my fiance bind and gag the little blonde had started something and when she slid a hand down to tease my cock back to life, it responded. She played with me until I was fully erect, her hand sliding over it; it was slick and wet with PLT's juices and my cum; then she slid down the bed and slipped into her mouth giving it a few sucks just to make sure she had my full attention.

'Blondes.' She said as she gave my stiff shaft a final lick. 'They taste so bland don't you think.'

'I hadn't really thought about it.'

'God!' She rolled her eyes. 'Men are so unobservant.'

I watched her reach for the bedside table and pick up a set of handcuffs then lock her wrists behind her back.

'Can't let the blondes have all the fun.' She said, and I know how you enjoy your bondage.

She knelt up, shook her head to clear the hair from her eyes and straddled my cock; despite her cuffed wrists she had no difficulty sliding onto it.

'As you've already cum...' She told me sliding up and down my shaft. 'I'm hoping for a long slow fuck.' She smiled and arched her back thrusting her breast out. 'And I'd like Sir to play with my nipples.' She winked. 'Assuming Sir doesn't mind.'

Sir didn't mind at all.

*

After that, we took PLT to bed every night, Bryony was clearly up for it and I certainly wasn't about to let such an opportunity pass. I rather enjoyed my submissive fiance disappearing upstairs after dinner with the lovely little blonde crawling leashed at her heel to 'prepare' her for Master. Bryony demonstrated quite a dominant streak and seemed surprisingly good at bondage; but then, she had grown up in Mares-de-Launce. Presumably she'd got through a few cans of whipped cream herself.

Bryony seemed, particularly to enjoy using rope on PLT's body and especially the blonde's large firm breasts. On a couple of occasions I'd come in to find PLT helpless in pretty intense positions, her arms bound in a reverse payer tie and her lovely breasts dusky from a tight rope halter. Of course, the two of them clearly took the opportunity to indulge in a little girl-girl action and, while I should have punished them, the discovery one evening as I went in the bathroom to find Bryony wearing a strap on fucking the little blonde sub up against the wall of the shower simply made me want to encourage their experimentation rather than curb it. Needless to say, on that occasion, I took the 'droit de senor' and we finished up in bed with Bryony fucking the little blonde from the front while I introduced her to heterosexual anal sex. Being a pony, PLT was no stranger to having stuff forced through her sphincter and, after I'd removed her hood, she told me she actually enjoyed anal play.

Bryony just rolled her eyes but, the next evening did offer to be the filling in the sandwich.

***

Goose called out of the blue on the Friday saying she was tied up in London. I assumed this wasn't literal but I did wonder who she might have tied up with her. I was doing some circuit training with the girls and they were currently doing alternate burpees in the yard. PLT was clearly less used to this form of exercise than Bryony and had several more whip marks on her buttocks to prove it.

I let her pause briefly and held the phone to her ears.

'Yes, Mistress.' She said after a moment. 'Yes, Mistress... of course Mistress... yes, Mistress. Four times, Mistress. Yes, he's been very strict. All three, Mistress. No, I think it's about the same size as Justin's...'

She passed the phone back to me.

Sadly, it seemed I would have to keep the girls for the weekend. So I extended the training programme ensuring that I paid diligent attention to all PLT's training needs and on the Sunday, it was Bryony that lay hooded and restrained at the foot while a handcuffed PLT took a final oral exam to confirm she'd learnt what was required. I felt a little twinge of guilt about this but as Bryony lay hooded and helpless and, apparently utterly submissive despite what was happening a few feet away, I took the opportunity to extend PLT's training further; she was, after all, a very pretty girl and one blessed with marvelous tits. Kneading her firm mounds as I took her from behind was a real treat as was the way she thanked me afterwards, licking my cock clean before snuggling against me.

We spent the night in the arrangement, the little blonde pressed firmly against me and my fiance chained naked and hooded at the foot of my bed. It was the stuff of sexual fantasies even if it did happen largely because I fell asleep I could release her.

*

When I woke on Monday, the pert little blonde was still in bed next to me and I was a little nervous as I freed Bryony from the hood and sleeve. However, as I pulled the hood over her head, she simply smiled up at me and asked if Master had been fully satisfied before winking and drawing me into the shower as PLT still slept on our bed.

She had a shoot with Terry in London and I had to free her from the weighted cuffs for the day.

'If I had a proper collar, Sir.' She told me as I unlocked her. 'You could leave to on me. I think Terry would quite like to tell his members that his model was a proper slave-girl.'

I had a meeting about an upcoming international meet so I dropped the two of them off at Temple Meads just after eight in the morning and went on up the M5 to Birmingham. It was probably the first time Bryony had worn clothes for over a fortnight and watching her dress rather than strap her into harness had been a rather novel experience. Of course, as a bondage model, Bryony had a certain appearance to keep up: lacy black bra... check, tiny black thong... check, leather mini skirt... check, bare midriff jailbait top... check, five inch stilettos...

PLT hadn't been expecting to go out so Goose hadn't left any clothes with her. She, thus, squeezed into one of Bryony's more elastic minidresses; a red one; it was so tight on her it showed every curve and made her nipples stand out like buttons waiting to be pressed; at least, as there was no way she was going to fit any of Bryony's underwear, she had no visible underwear lines. She had bigger feet than Bryony too but managed to squeeze into a pair of wet-look patent black thigh boots that were in the back of the closet.

'They're Rubber Dolly's old ones.' Bryony said as if that explained why they were there.

I decided not to ask any questions.

I'm sure the guy at the station who saw me drop them off assumed they were whores I'd taken home for the night.

*

By the time I picked them up at a little after six in the evening, PLT was wearing a pink catsuit that drew even more attention to her lovely young body; she still wore the thigh boots. She was also wearing false eyelashes and pink lipstick that matched her catsuit. Bryony had apparently lost her bra at some point during a shoot and the crop top had been cut away so she was wearing the red mini-dress PLT had left the house in.

It appeared that Terry had taken quite a shine to Bryony's friend and offered her a day's shooting too but when she hadn't been able to produce any ID he'd had to say no. He had, however, let them play on set and I'd seen the results courtesy of WhatsApp. If they were ever shot properly they were going to be a popular set with PLT in the pink jumpsuit bound with black rope being dominated by Bryony in a white leather minidress. Bryony made a delicious dominant, a kind of smaller, perter version of Mistress Gabrielle, Terry's resident dominatrix. Seeing her like this, leaning over the helpless blonde, whip in hand with a predatory expression almost made me want to try a little role reversal. In a break in the afternoon, they had swapped roles and I'd got to see Bryony indulging in a little foot worship, her pink tongue working diligently on PLT's patent leather toe as she knelt with her arms restrained in a leather straight-jacket that was cut away to reveal her perky little breasts with their piercings.

They were clearly both on a high after their day modeling and talked incessantly about Terry, his make-up girl Tanya, the various restraints that had been used, vibrators and the gags they'd used on each other. I briefly wondered if they'd had a similar conversation on the train and what their fellow passengers might have thought.

'No Mistress Gabrielle?' I asked trying to squeeze a word into their excited conversation.

'Pregnant.' Bryony said. 'Babies are due next week.'

'Babies?' I asked.

'She's having twins.' Bryony told me. 'Terry's looking for a new dominatrix.'

'Are you thinking of applying?'

'Too far to travel.' She said. 'But I quite like the idea.'

'She can be really dominant when she wants to be.' PLT, sitting in the back, slid her arms around Bryony.

'Sub... dom.' Bryony shrugged. 'It's all much the same thing.'

I remembered Rubber Dolly's comments on Dryad's day.

They were still chatting when we pulled into the stable yard to find Cream waiting for us. She was clearly excited and had come in a hurry. The-Cat stood in harness, tethered to the post in the middle of the yard.

*

Cream rushed up to us as we climbed out of the car. The young blonde was flushed with excitement.

'I've had an email from Don Hernan.' She said waving a print out. 'I sent him some pictures of the Dryad's day match and he's invited us to come and train with the Cabelleras.' Then, unnecessarily, she added. 'That's the team played for in the Buenos Aires PonyGirl Polo Club.'

We managed to calm her down enough to get her inside and Bryony made coffee as she told us more about it.'

We were invited to stay at Don Hernan's Hacienda, his training ranch in the Andes and train alongside the 'potras', the young pony girls in the build up to the new season which kicked off on New Year's eve with a match in Buenos Aires.

By the time Cream had finished the explanation, PLT was almost as excited as she was.

'I'm sure Mistress will let us go.' She said.

'And what about, Master?' Bryony looked at me with a measured smile though I could see her eyes flashing with excitement.

'We do have some money set aside for our honeymoon.' I reminded her.

At PLT's insistence, we phoned Goose. She was up for it too.

The three girls hugged each other in excitement as Cream told the others about how she'd been kept in a stable usually wearing her pony boots and under constant restraint, chained at night alongside her training partner; how she'd been trained hard and punished at the whim of her coach...

I peered out of the window to check The-Cat was still alright, standing tethered and harnessed in the courtyard.

***

'And you're ok with all this?' Bryony asked later when Cream had gone, driving The-Cat back up to the village.

PLT was upstairs peeling herself out of Terry's catsuit so she could take a shower.

'All what?'

'You know what happens to ponies in the stable, don't you Sir?' Bryony was finishing her coffee and eating some toast. It was probably the first time she'd been allowed to feed herself for a week.

'You mean the fact that they are open to abuse by anyone?' I asked with a grin.

'Yes, Sir.'

I shrugged. 'As long as nobody damages my property.'

'You really are beautifully dominant sometimes, Sir.' She winked at me. 'And may Sir's property ask if he will be sharing his dominance tonight as he has done this week with a certain pretty blonde?' She pointed upwards.

'Is it any business of a slave?' I countered.

'Of course not, Sir.' She bowed her head. 'But this Slave hopes that Master will not forget her or be too distracted by a stable full of hot dusky maidens to visit his her once in a while.'

'I may consider it.' I told her. 'And what about you, Slave? How do you feel about being kept in a stable tightly restrained where that lovely body will at the beck and call of all?'

Her eyes flashed with excitement and she blushed beautifully though she tried to hide it by lifting her mug to take a sip of coffee.

***