The Reluctant Pony

Chapter 4

I hoped to get this membership registration completed quickly so that I could get back before the contracts were signed. So I followed Mrs. Hurst quickly as she led me away.

It didn’t take long for us to reach a small stable block. Oh how appropriate I thought. She led me into a small room, closed the door, turned to face me and then looked me up and down.

Then a warm smile spread across her face.

“Welcome to the Wallinghurst Pony Club. It’s wonderful when young women are eager to join us. Now, let’s get you properly registered as a prospective member.”

“I need to take down some details and make some measurements. We find it much easier if we do this up front when we sign up a new member, it keeps the files complete.”

“Before we start though, I have an important question to ask. This stays between you and me. I want to know if you’re here under false pretences.”

I was surprised. I’d known this woman for only a few moments and said hardly a word to her and it seemed she’d already seen through my deception. I hesitated for a moment, and then decided that if she really had worked it out then she would have already exposed me. So once more I decided I couldn’t go back on my story.

“No, of course not. I really am interested in learning more.” I hoped I sounded confident, but I wasn’t sure.

“Excellent. You wouldn’t believe it, some of our less scrupulous members sometimes bring women along who had no idea what the club was about. So we’ve taken to checking in private that everything is above board. If it’s not then we just quietly forget the registration and say that the girl is not suitable – it saves everyone embarrassment later on.”

My guilty mind had played a trick on me. She was just checking that I hadn’t been fooled into coming here. Had I been? Perhaps, but just by myself. I’d had a chance to save face and I’d just blown it. I thought for a moment that I could just say something, but then decided that it could still adversely affect the deal between Mr. Hanson and Mr. Stirling so I kept quiet and the moment was gone.

“Firstly, I need to take a picture for your file, please stand over here in front of that white wall.” I moved and stood where she indicated. “Let me take your delightful sun hat, we want to have a clear view of your lovely face don’t we.” She reached out and I handed her my hat, shaking my long hair clear.

I followed her directions and took up the pose that she directed: standing straight, hands at my side, feet together, chin up and looking straight ahead at the camera.

“Yes, that’s right. Hold that pose for a moment,” and then “Good, that’s perfect. Now let’s get down some details.”

“Your full name?”

“Isabelle Marie Hatton,” I answered.

“Address?”

“15B The High Street,” and I proceeded to tell her where I lived, my birth date, that I was single and that I was employed as an office manager in answer to her questions.

“And you are here with a Mr. Andrew Hanson? He’s to be listed as the owner of your registration right?”

“Umm,” I hesitated for a moment, not really sure what she meant, but then stammered, “yes, I guess so.”

“Good, good. Now then, if you could just sign here?” She handed me the form she’d been filling in with my details, it had three or four pages of text attached and looked a little like lots of legal mumbo-jumbo.

As I paused trying to decide what I should do, she continued, “We need you to confirm your registration and of course it indemnifies the club against unfortunate litigation so there’s a fair bit of legalese, but we do need to have a signature. You did say you wanted to join the club didn’t you?”

I was nervous about signing, but I supposed that since I didn’t intend to remain a member of the club that in reality it didn’t matter too much. I guessed that when you have nearly naked women running around you probably need to ensure that members aren’t going to sue the organisers.

With a little reluctance I picked up the proffered pen and signed the form where she indicated and then at her urging initialled each of the pages. Then I turned to the door, ready to return to the others now that the registration was complete.

“Excellent.” She said. “Now I need to get some measurements for our records. I prefer to take these myself rather than relying on the girl’s ‘memory’.” I was a little taken aback that there was still more that needed to be done, but I thought ‘in for a penny in for a pound’. It hopefully wouldn’t take long.

“So, we’ll start with your height. Please slip off your shoes and stand here by this scale.”

I did as she asked, feeling the cold flagstones under my bare feet. I stood erect and felt the marker lowered until it touched the top of my head, measuring my height. Mrs. Hurst made a note on her clip board: 180cm.

“Right. That’s good. Now I need your weight. For this I want an accurate reading so please undress to your underwear.”

I was surprised and for a moment I didn’t know what to do. I supposed I did weigh myself without my clothes at home, and I guessed that Mrs. Hurst was used to viewing young women without their clothing.

“Now, I know you’re a little shy, of course you are, but it’s just you and me here, and you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” Mrs. Hurst used a soothing soft tone and gently placed her hand on my shoulder to reassure me. “I really do need to get an accurate weight.” Her hand gently stroked down my shoulder and upper arm.

She made me feel like I was being silly, that it was a perfectly normal request instead of being asked to undress before a stranger as she filled in a membership form. So I did begin to unbutton my dress.

“That’s a good girl,” she whispered encouragingly and continued to gently stroke me, now on my upper back.

In for a penny, in for a pound I’d told myself and I guessed she was getting her money’s worth as I slipped my dress off my shoulders and revealed my bra to the older woman’s gaze. Then my dress was sliding down my legs and I was stepping out of it. I felt a little shiver as my skin was exposed to the cool air in the small room. I stood there for a moment clutching the dress in front of me trying to keep myself covered.

Mrs. Hurst held out her hand for it and, feeling very embarrassed, I handed it to her before quickly folding my hands over my crotch and bra covered breasts. She deftly folded my dress and placed it into a small plastic box on the little desk in the corner of the room. At least it won’t get dirty I thought.

I hated being so exposed. No-one but my doctor has seen me in my bra and panties before. I didn’t even own a bikini, I always wore one piece swimming costumes when I went to the swimming pool.

Then, gently taking my elbow she guided me to a set of scales, onto which I stepped and from which she took down my weight: 69.4 kilograms.

“Good girl,” she said again, and I was about to rush over and get my dress when she said, “now stay there I need to take down your measurements and it’s easier if you don’t put your dress back on just yet.”

So I stood there clutching my hands over my crotch and breasts, blushing bright red.

“First though, the most important measurement for a ponygirl is for her bridle and bit.” Those words sent an involuntary shiver running down my spine. I just hoped she didn’t expect me to try out one of those wicked looking devices. Unfortunately, it seemed that that was exactly what she intended.

She explained that a badly fitted bit would be extremely uncomfortable so she wanted to get the measurement right. She was going to pick the best fit she had and let me test out the bit so that I could “get accustomed to the feeling and make sure that it was right for my mouth.” I’d be able to try it out while she took the rest of my measurements and completed the registration process. She said that the longer in which I had to try it out the more chance we had to get it right.

It did sort of make sense. I could definitely imagine that if I were a ponygirl I’d want my bit and bridle to be as comfortable as possible. The problem of course was that I didn’t want to be ponygirl. However, I was the one standing there in just my bra and panties having assured her that I was excited by the idea of prancing around in the nude like those girls outside, and she was the fully dressed one advancing on me with combination of leather straps and rubber coated metal!

“It’ll just be for a little while right?” I asked nervously after she’d had me hold a measuring bar in my mouth for a moment to determine what size bit would be the best fit.

“Today is just a chance for you to find out more about the club and get a feeling for what goes on,” she reassured me.

I just didn’t know what I could say to avoid trying out the bit without unravelling my whole story. So, like a fool, I stood there and allowed Mrs. Hurst to fit the bar of the bit between my teeth and then fasten the bridle around my head. She gathered my hair together at the back of my head and fed it through a ring in the back of the bridle’s harness forming it into the familiar pony tail that most of the girls seemed to sport.

I definitely felt strange. I was standing there in my undies, my mouth filled with a bit and strapping around my head. I tried to speak but the flange on the bit effectively silenced me. Only a gurgle came out together with some unintelligent grunts.

“Hush, don’t try to speak. Ponies don’t have voices after all,” Mrs. Hurst shushed me, “Now, we’ll leave that in for a while and see how you get on with it. Though, I must say it looks like a perfect fit to me.”

If this was a good fit then I’d hate a bad one. The contraption was definitely not comfortable. I could feel my lips stretched around the bar and the bridle held it firmly in place, its straps dissecting my cheeks and pulling up over my forehead.

“Right,” she continued, picking up a tape measure from the table, “now for some more measurements. Arms up,” and she motioned for me to raise my arms.

I realised that I would have to uncover my underwear and expose myself further to this commanding woman. I timidly lifted my arms up and away from body while she passed the measure around my waist.

Then she moved onto my chest and measured around my rib cage just below my bra strap and then suddenly I felt that strap come loose.

“If we’re going to get an accurate measurement of your breasts then we’re going to have to remove this I’m afraid,” she announced matter of factly. Before I knew it my bra was being whisked down my arms and into the box with my dress. I tried to complain but the bit meant that nothing understandable came out.

It was just going from bad to worse now. I could feel myself blushing deeply now that I was topless. My instinctive reaction was to clutch my hands over my naked breasts to hide them from view.

“Oh don’t be such a baby. I’m only taking some measurements,” she chided. “Now raise your hands again so that I can get these figures down. We don’t have all day you know – you were late after all.”

Once again, she made me feel guilty and silly for getting in her way, as if my modesty was childish and unjustified. And to my regret it worked, I released my breasts and moved my hands out of the way again so that she could pass the tape measure around me.

“Good girl,” she complimented me once more, “you have lovely breasts my dear. You shouldn’t be shy and ashamed of them. They are a perfect handful,” she said, and then to my surprise she accented that by cupping them. I just stood there looking down at these alien hands holding my bare breasts before me.

“I see you have good sensitive nipples. I like that.”

It was true, as she held my breasts and ran her fingers over my skin my nipples had stiffened and were projecting from my apple sized bosom. I felt mortified with humiliation and began to reach down to cover and protect my vulnerable breasts. Unfortunately, before I could do, Mrs. Hurst captured and pinched my nipples between her strong fingers. I winched with pain and let out a yelp of alarm. I moved my hands closer but as I did she squeezed even harder.

“Clasp your hands behind your back,” she ordered. “I need to see how big your nipples get when they’re fully aroused. I don’t have time to do this any other way, if you’d been on time then we could have taken this more slowly.”

“There, that’s better,” she said as she released her tight grip once I’d complied with her demand and placed my hands behind my back. She returned to gentle stroking my sensitive flesh. I couldn’t believe it. I tried to ask her to stop but of course no intelligible words came out.

I was a little fearful now. She’d been so soothing and calming before but it was clear now that if she didn’t get her way then she could show steel. I felt ashamed at how she’d so easily cowed me. I was a professional young woman who ran an office and was responsible for decisions worth tens of thousands of pounds but yet here I was dressed in just my skimpy panties, gagged with a bit and bridle, and with a stranger caressing my naked breasts and teasing my nipples to full erectness. Even more shaming though was that her expert fingers were most definitely succeeding. My nipples have always been very sensitive and her ministrations had brought them to attention. The worst part of it though was that I could already feel the beginnings of a dampness in my cotton underwear.

To my relief she released my breasts before it got any worse. Mrs. Hurst returned to her tape measure, a set of callipers and notes and took down intimate details of my engorged nipples’ dimensions.

Meanwhile my head was spinning with turmoil. I couldn’t believe how meek I was being and I was trying to understand how I was beginning to be aroused by her treatment. I was still trying to resolve this when Mrs. Hurst stepped around me and stood behind me for a moment. I felt her touching my wrists above my clasped hands. I was just thankful that she wasn’t still stroking my breasts to wonder what she was doing and that was certainly a mistake for I was suddenly brought down to earth with a bump when I realised that she was tightening the strap that she’d just placed around my wrists. I attempted to struggle but it was already too late to get free and I found myself without the use of my hands.

As I tried to jerk my hands free, Mrs. Hurst brought her hand down with a loud slap on the back of my thigh.

“Calm down dear. I just want to see how supple you are, I want to see whether I can get your elbows to touch behind your back or not. The very best ponies can do that, and while I don’t expect to get there today I can measure it and, then as time goes on, see if there is any improvement. But I can’t do that if you’re flailing around. Sooner we get this  done with the sooner we can get back to the show.”

I wasn’t happy by this, but the prospect that this ordeal would be over with soon helped me calm down. The whole registration had gone way beyond anything I’d expected. So, perhaps foolishly, I allowed her to apply another strap just below my elbows and pull it tighter. I felt like she was pulling my shoulders out of their sockets as it tightened and tightened further and further. My shoulders were pulled back forcing my breasts forward and making them more and more prominent. Eventually the tortuous process was complete, I was sure that my elbows must be within millimetres of touching, but I was rudely disabused of that notion when Mrs. Hurst announced: “Good, good, three inches apart. That’s excellent for a beginner. We’ll have another go in a few minutes.”

No! I tried to scream but of course it just came out as “Nnggg”.

Mrs. Hurst then walked back around in front of me and I watched in nervous trepidation as she picked up more straps from a box on the table.

“We might as well try on a harness while we’re here,” she said. I began to turn to try and get away from her but there was nowhere to go. She was between me and the door and beside with my hands fastened behind my back I couldn’t reach the handle. Even worse, where would I go?

She gave me a smack on my bottom to get my attention once more and gave the sharp command: “Stand Still!” The harness didn’t take very long to wrap around my torso. The main part of it comprised a wide belt that cinched tightly around my waist. Next, a collar quickly followed encircling my slim neck. A strap joined the two going right down the centre of my chest between my two jutting breasts, a similar one traced my spine. From these vertical straps two bands circled my chest, one just above and one directly below my breasts; finally the straps restraining my arms were fastened to the new harness constraining my body. After some final tightening, Mrs. Hurst took a step back to admire her work.

“Very nice indeed. You look lovely in the gear. And even though you’re a little shy, I can tell that you love it too.”

I wanted to shout out that she was wrong, that she didn’t know anything, but of course I couldn’t. She just smiled broadly and with an unexpected movement she brought her hand forward and pressed it right into my crotch, pressing it up against my pussy. It was a complete surprise to me. I had not expected it at all and I took a step backwards, but she followed me keeping her hand glued firmly to my most intimate of places. I went to take another step back, it was all I could think of, and I came up short when my bottom hit the table behind me. With nowhere for me to go Mrs. Hurst now began to apply more pressure with her hand and to rub it back and forth.

As she did so, I could feel the sticky dampness, which her manipulation of my breasts had released, beginning to spread more and more on my panties. I groaned into my gag when I felt her pressing a finger right between my lips, pushing the thin material of my underwear into my tender flesh. At the same time her palm began to grind against my hidden clitoris, forcing it’s hood back away from the swelling pea. I had to bite down on the bit between my teeth and fought to remain in control of my body. It was a losing battle. My eyelids drifted down and I could feel my nostrils flaring to suck in the extra air my body seemed to need. I began to feel a little distant as my concentration on anything other than my rapidly dampening crotch waned.

“Good girl,” she said softly, almost a whisper, “Yes, you do love it don’t you. You’re getting so wet aren’t you.” Her questions clearly rhetorical given my inability to reply and the evidence from my poor abused body.

“Now then,” she whispered, as her fingers continued their casual stroking of my sex, “I think we can get rid of these panties now. You don’t need them any longer, do you?”

I shuddered when she removed her hand from my crotch and gripped the waistband of my last remaining item of clothing. It didn’t take long for her to slide them down my legs and remove them from my feet. I didn’t notice nor care what happened to them. I didn’t even consciously realise that I was now naked. All I did feel was the wonderful sensations that returned along with Mrs. Hurst’s hand.

Now with no material in the way her fingers could explore my petals without hindrance. I felt her fingers separating my lips and stroking the very sensitive flesh that they hid. Her touch on my now exposed clitoris was electric. I couldn’t help myself from pushing my hips forward to press myself against her hand.

“Good, good. That’s excellent my dear,” she encouraged and I began to rock back and forth with abandon.

My pleasure was building rapidly now. This was a completely new experience for me. I’d never felt anything remotely like this in my entire life. I was easy prey for her. She knew exactly what my body needed, how to overcome any objection my mind might try to mount by appealing to the animal instinct deep inside of me. I craved the release that was growing inside and there was nothing now that could stop me.

“That’s it. trot on, trot on.” As she said that her hand began to move a little faster and I adjusted my own pace to match it. The feeling was wonderful. I’d just got into the rhythm of her pace when she increased it again. “Now up to a canter.” I was rubbing back and forth quickly now.

Slowly the rapid back and forth motion of her hand reduced until she held her hand steady, but I couldn’t stop. She’d set the pace and then left me to keep it up, forward and back, forward and back, grinding myself onto her steady palm.

“You’re almost there now, can you feel it? Can you feel it?” Her voice was right besides my ear now and I could feel her hot breath on my skin. “Are you ready for the gallop? Yes, yes. Now gallop; gallop as fast as you can.”

With her encouragement I was pumping my hips as fast as I could. My breath was ragged, pulling in air as best I could past the bit. I could feel my breasts bouncing on my chest as I gyrated my body, trying to get the best friction against her immobile hand, my slick flesh slapping wetly against hers.

I felt like my body was going to explode. The pressure inside was enormous and still rising. I knew that there was a threshold just at the edge of my grasp and I galloped towards it as quickly as I could. Mrs. Hurst was expertly controlling my pace, keeping it racing onwards but not yet letting me crash over my goal. I couldn’t believe that my mind and body could take so much raw emotion and sensation.

Then suddenly I felt Mrs. Hurst crush her hand right against my tender clitoris. “Come for me,” was all she said, and it was enough. I exploded. That’s the closest word I can think of to describe the moment of my first ever orgasm. My body spasmed  and shook as it released all its pent up energy. I felt my crotch flooded with my juices. I screamed at the top of my lungs as best as the restraining bridle would allow. Oh it was wonderful. Of course anyone who has had an orgasm will know what I mean and it’s pointless of me trying to describe it to anyone who hasn’t. Suffice it to say, I felt like a piece of myself that had been missing before clicked into place. I was now a complete person.

I was consumed by the pleasure coursing through my body. I quivered uncontrollably as wave after wave of joy pulsed through my flesh centred on my engorged and abused clitoris. I had no strength to resist as Mrs. Hurst expertly prolonged my orgasm.

Eventually, unfortunately, the overwhelming sensations subsided and I was left weak and confused. I was having difficulty understanding what had happened. Oh I’d realised it was an orgasm, I wasn’t that naïve. However, I couldn’t understand why or how I’d experienced one then, of all times. I’d always dreamt and imagined that it would come during sex with tender and loving Mr. Right. Instead here I was standing naked in a tack room having been bound in leather straps by a middle aged woman, pretty much completely the opposite of what I’d expected. Yet, I couldn’t deny that I was extremely aroused by the way that she had treated and touched me.

“Well, well, well,” Mrs. Hurst chuckled, “I think you’re a natural. So wonderfully responsive and so clearly turned on. You’ll be an excellent pony!” She added almost as an after thought, “after training of course.” It didn’t register what she’d said since I was still reeling from the intensity of my climax.