The Reluctant Pony

Chapter 6

I blinked my eyes as I became accustomed to the bright sunlight after the dimness of the tack room. I know that I blushed all over my exposed naked body as I saw a young man a few metres away who had watched us come out and then taken the few paces over to talk with Mrs. Hurst. He was probably about my age or maybe a year or two younger. In some ways that seemed to be worse than being like this in front of a middle aged woman.

“Ah James, please take this novice filly along to the paddock and pass my apologies onto Mr. Trune. This is the other novice of the day and she was a little late arriving so she missed the initial walk through. Let him know that I’d appreciate it if he could fit her in now instead.”

I couldn’t believe that this was all happening to me. She wanted me to be led by this man, no doubt right into the middle of the people at the show. I would be paraded naked in front of dozens of people. I was trembling in shock. What had I let myself in for? I’d almost convinced myself to accept the indignity of the registration process for the sake of keeping my subterfuge hidden. This was a completely different level though.

“Oh and watch out for her. No experience at all, completely new and a little nervous, but a natural and I’m sure will respond well to a firm hand,” she turned back to me, “isn’t that right dear?” She accompanied that with a firm strike of her crop against my buttocks which led me to do the only thing I could think she’d accept and that was to nod my head in agreement. I tried to copy the exaggerated head movement of blonde ponygirl’s nod from earlier. 

“See, a firm hand and she’ll do what she’s told. I bet she’ll be a pleasure to train. Anyway, can’t stand here chatting all day,” she handed the leash to James, “here you are, now hurry along.”

A shiver convulsed through my body as he grasped the leash and took up the slack, I felt my pussy clench and I gulped realising that I no longer had any control over what happened. I’d willingly gone with Mrs. Hurst into the tack room, but now it seemed that it was up to her and now James to decide where I went. I hadn’t realised it at the time that each small step took me further. I’d always thought that I still had some control over the situation. Now I had no power to stop it. She had given me over to James without any thought of whether it was something I wanted or not.

I knew that they would put up with no protest from me. They would consider it just nerves from a new ponygirl. Mrs. Hurst had demonstrated that she thought my arousal was a clear indication that I really wanted all this to happen despite my reluctance. The worst of it though was that I was wondering about that too, I couldn’t understand why I was so turned on and why I felt this frisson of excitement as she treated me as no more than a animal who needed to be guided and controlled for her own good.

A tug from the leash confirmed the reality of this new situation. Without a word to me James had turned and began to lead me out of the courtyard. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was leading an essentially naked young woman by a leash. Clearly this was not something novel or strange to him. To me however this was shocking and terrible.

Each step took me further and further away from the safety of the tack room and my clothes within. Each step led me nearer and nearer to dozens of people who would treat me not as the independent woman and professional office manager I was just a few hours ago but as a ponygirl. A girl who loved to be paraded naked, to be controlled by leash and crop, reins and whips. A sexual beast who couldn’t make decisions for herself.

I felt that he ought to somehow acknowledge this titanic change in my position, that he didn’t even seem to bat an eyelid at my predicament made it all the more surreal for me. In some ways it made me feel detached from the situation. My mind was trying to analyse the situation. I could hardly believe that I was allowing myself to be taken like this. Why wasn’t I kicking and screaming? Why was my pussy so wet? Why was I excited as the bells on my nipples tinkled as my bare breasts bounced? Why did I accept the plug and the tail swinging behind me?

The noise of people grew louder as we left the courtyard and suddenly there were people ahead of us. While there were some other ponygirls in the vicinity, most of the people were the patrons of the club and their guests.

In my detached state I wondered what they would make of the new ponygirl being brought into their midsts. Would they admire her or find she didn’t live up to their expectations of beauty. It was strange, but I wanted them to find her attractive, I didn’t want the further humiliation of being rejected.

A few people turned to watch us pass between them but I couldn’t discern their thoughts and no-one made any comments.

Then it hit me that I had allowed myself to be led into the middle of the crowd, I hadn’t baulked at being brought here. I could feel that my pussy was flooded with my juice and I marvelled at my own arousal. I knew that that was why I was here. I wanted more of the intense pleasure I’d been feeling. I had to admit that I loved the orgasm I’d had earlier, I wanted more. I’d always felt too guilty to masturbate and bring myself to orgasm. Now though, I had no control. Mrs. Hurst has forced the orgasm upon me without me having the ability to deny her. I couldn’t feel guilty about that, could I, I tried to rationalise to myself. Losing control meant I also lost the guilt.

“Who do we have here James?” A new voice interrupted my chain of thoughts and I found myself blushing again as the newcomer looked me up and down with obvious interest. He was quite a bit older than me, probably in his fifties judging from the grey hair and faintly lined face. He was a tall man, just a few inches shorter than I was in my boots so I guessed he was a little taller than me normally. He had the broad shoulders of a man who’d worked physically hard through his life. It was clear he wasn’t poor though, since he was immaculately dressed in expensive riding clothes and spoke with a clear upper class accent.

“Mr. Trune, this is the other novice filly sir. Mrs. Hurst sent her over,” James passed on all of the instructions from Mrs. Hurst as the older man walked around me and examined me closely though he did not touch me.

“Yes, she is indeed late, the other two have already been presented, but I think I can fit her into the schedule.” I didn’t know what he was talking about and dreaded finding out.

Mr. Trune took the leash from the younger man and tugged me along behind him without a word to me. I was going to have to get used to not being consulted I supposed. In front of us was a cleared roped off paddock. He took my leash and then tied it to one of the posts circling the field.

Most of the people were gathered around the rope watching a ponygirl prance and leap around a course laid out in the paddock. She had pale skin with a sprinkling of freckles all over her body and a beautiful shock of red hair gathered into the ubiquitous pony tail. Her harness and boots were in a bright red leather. She looked magnificent.

Her movements were very graceful as she stepped around the cones and leapt over the bars and fences following a carefully laid line. She raised each knee high for every careful deliberate step. It was a display of poise, control and skill. Every time she successfully negotiated an obstacle, without knocking a ball off a cone, a bar off a fence or ringing a bell threaded on a ribbon she stepped over, the crowd gave polite applauds.

Her display came to an end and a male voice came over a loud speaker, “That was Firebird. Her time was four minutes, twenty five seconds with four faults, and a score of eight point seven for artistic presentation. A good score which puts her in the silver position so far.”

A man entered the paddock, attached reins to Firebird’s bridle and led her from the field as another man led a dark haired, dusky skinned pony into the paddock. She was shorter than Firebird with more muscular legs, but a graceful and seductive gait in her very high ‘heeled’ boots. Unlike Firebird and me, she had a tight leather corset constricting her waist and her hands were both fastened to it at her side rather than behind her.

“Next is Comet from Adam Frobisher’s stable. She’s a twenty two year old filly and favourite for the four hundred metres. Lets see how she handles the dressage.”

I watched in fascination as Comet followed the same course that Firebird had. I heard a few bells as she caught ribbons. The crowd remained appreciative, but it was clear that she wasn’t going to score as well as her predecessor. Another four pony’s followed, all graceful and beautiful in their own way, though none of them scoring as well as Firebird who was awarded the silver rosette behind a pony called Comanche.

All through this display, I couldn’t help but worry that I would be forced to do something similar and I knew that there was no way I could perform like that.