Pony Girl, UK.
1 members like this


Views: 748 Created: 2007.10.16 Updated: 2018.10.21

A Pony Tale

Chapter 17 - Boots and peeing

Lucinda awoke to the taste of fresh brewed coffee as Peter's lips replaced the part of his anatomy she'd last recalled kissing. He kissed her. 'Come on sleepy head, work to do!' He commanded and ripped of the covers. She curled into a foetal ball and cowered. The crop he carried cracked only once on a naked buttock and, without a sound, she shot out of bed and stood to attention like an army recruit at reveille. Peter smiled as he prodded her breasts then ran the crop up between her legs. 'Very impressive. I hope this is a sign of your obedience for the rest of today?' Lucinda nodded, eyes downcast. Peter led the way out of the bedroom, 'Come!' he called. Lucinda smiled at his swaggering back as he left, 'Oh yes Master, that I have every intent of doing that!' she muttered under her breath as she followed mimicking his gait.

He'd placed the new boots on the floor near the other pony items arranged on the table. Lucinda was very pleased to see a tray carrying a blonde tail, the assortment of phallic objects, latex gloves and the ubiquitous bottle of gel. Sadly no pegs in sight though. She trotted to the centre of the room and stood proudly on the plastic sheet, arms behind her and legs slightly apart. He didn't seem prepared for such immediate acquiescence and spent a few moments fiddling with the computer and cameras. Finally her double image appeared with a golden glow cast by the morning sun that bathed the room from the large picture window. She looked out over the Thames and Battersea. He had certainly managed to land a great flat for his time in Europe and she compared it with her utilitarian hole in Wimbledon. It was disturbing how quickly one could get into a dull routine and regard it as living she thought with regret. OK, she went clubbing and 'had a good time' with her colleagues from the agency. But even their partying seemed proscribed. This was possibly due to the number of clients that expected her to persuade them to tag along. In the reality of the morning light it was also clear that bedding the aforementioned was also often expected. Was she really simply a common slut dressed up to look 'professional'? She reflected upon the implied general availability of 'slaves' she'd read about in the references Peter had given her for homework the previous week. At least they knew they were available and were able to make that choice. Pony-play took this freedom of choice to a new level and was bounded by strict rules about behaviour as she was finding out. And today was the day she felt she would truly become a pony. Behind Peter's back she waved her arms in a silent cheer with her virtual sisters on the screen as they performed their last act as a female humans for the rest of the day.

Peter's attention caught the screen. He muttered from the corner. 'What are you doing?' She smiled sweetly and, bathed by their golden halos, she and her images made a triptych of naked innocence and vulnerability. All was needed now was a long blonde wig and a scallop shell, she thought. She covered her pubis and pouted coyly. He turned off the projector and she let out a small noise of disappointment. 'You can see the final result' he said.

At last Peter was done. He stroked his chin as he pondered the tack. 'Boots first' he stated.

They had found two shops that supplied what Peter wanted, the first was an amazing craft cobblers in Covent Garden that, to Lucinda's surprise, had not only heard of pony-play, they actually took commissions to make boots. For the time being, however, Peter bought her a lovely pair of simple, brown leather ankle boots with moderate heels that were made for 'petite' women to give extra height and were both flattering and practically comfortable. 'For exercising' Peter explained as Lucinda peered him at almost eye level. Lucinda was so taken with them, he let her wear them on the way back to the flat and, for once in her life, she could see over the aisles in the supermarket.

After the sublime, came the ridiculous. Peter insisted they visit a fetish shop in Soho that was a veritable Aladdin's Cave of mostly tacky 'bedroom wear' that polarised into the fluffy pink end of the spectrum to the studded black. No stereotyping there then, Lucinda thought. He chose some ludicrously high boots made of some form of stretchy vinyl with spiky stiletto heels and a tangle of laces that were supposed to run up the front. To Lucinda's immense relief even Peter's fastidiousness stopped at having the assistant, a person of dubious gender that came from the studded black clan and who's skin was more studded that his/her clothing, lace them up for Lucinda to try. She merely tried the shoe part for size - 'M'. Lucinda was no twinkle toes, so who were L and XL aimed at? Rugby and basketball players unwinding after a hard day's play? Even Peter could have probably got into XL. 'Now there's an interesting variation' she thought.

It was this pair that Peter selected for the training session. He steadied her as she slipped her feet into the boots. As she teetered atop the ridiculous heels, half expecting to be able to see the South Downs now, she listened to Peter cursing and sighing as he threaded and threaded yards of lacing. He worked his way up a few inches per boot at a time. As the sides came together Lucinda felt both supported and restricted and it became much easier to stand without fear of plunging head first into the Thames. At last he sat back on his heels and looked up at her. From the look on his face, he seemed very pleased with his handiwork and Lucinda realised how used to seeing the screen images she'd become. He stood and held her left hand. 'Lift your right leg,' he commanded and she wobbled terribly for a moment as she raised her leg. The tight boots considerably reduced her flexibility and after a few feeble down kicks with her heel, Peter told her to put her leg down and squat a little. She bobbed down and the laces and boots creaked alarmingly but eventually eased. When she now lifted her leg, it bent gracefully at the knee. She repeated the action with her left leg and spent a few moments doing an exaggerated high stepping march on the spot. 'Good?' Peter asked. Lucinda nodded and squeezed his hand. 'Not too tight?' She shook her head. Peter started to fold up the excess laces and threaded them down the front of the boots. He walked to the table and picked up another of his mysterious rattling velvet bags. With a flourish he produced a pair of tiny padlocks that appeared to be more show than function, but he still attached one to the top of each boot effectively making the knots impossible to undo without the keys that, disturbingly, she'd not yet seen. He stood back and nodded, looking even more pleased this time. Lucinda looked down and saw her naked thighs merge into two slender shafts of shiny black. The taper of her legs coupled with the ladder of the laces enhanced the perspective and made her legs seem to go on forever. She beamed at him. They did look very good indeed and, with great care, she gave a couple of unsupported steps. Her confidence growing, she swayed a little to make the locks jiggle and to impress Peter. He then produced a pair of long gloves that matched the boots. Now she knew why he'd been so eager to return for the boots. He slipped these on her laced them up with the same frustrating diligence. He locked these into place as well and she flexed her fingers and performed an opening Tai Chi form by caressing an imaginary ball of energy between them. Her limbs looked like sinuous black serpents.

From the smile on his face, she judged this an opportune moment to bring up a subject that had been worrying her since he was about halfway up her legs. 'May I speak please Master?' He looked at her sternly and glanced at the ball-gag lying on the table. She put on her most plaintiff look and, after a few moments impasse, he said, 'Yes, what is it?' 'I absolutely love the gloves and boots and all the effort you've put in, they look and feel wonderful, but I didn't quite realise we were going to start so soon.' Her rambling seemed to annoy him further as she feared it might. 'And...?' he asked. She blurted it out, 'I need the loo and wasn't sure of the correct protocol as I'm supposed to be silent.' She smiled at him expectantly and, to her great relief, he laughed. 'Oh that! Well that's not a problem at all, I should have told you yesterday but we were both a bit pre-occupied. But you were right to ask. Let me show you a few simple signs.' Having feared his wrath and the crop, this was much better than she expected. 'Thanks love' she smiled. He suddenly gave her a black look. 'Oops, sorry! Thank you Master.' There was no mistaking the bounds he was setting her. 'Just remember that you are a pony from the time we start until I say we are done. Ponies do not speak.' She hung her shoulders and nodded. 'As you rightly indicated, however, there are some occasions when some simple questions need to be asked. Now, different Trainers have their own signs, but mine are all that matters for you for now.' 'Horses for courses?' Lucinda mused silently, 'or different strokes for different folks!' She barely suppressed a giggle, which didn't help her impending incontinence one iota. Peter continued, 'There are only a couple of basic signs...' Lucinda sighed with relief that this was not to be another seminar. 'Firstly, if you want to gain my attention, paw the ground like a horse would. Try it now.' Lucinda lifted her right foot and clumped it twice on the ground. 'Hmmm, hardly elegant, but I get the drift,' he commented, 'maybe some more practice will help?' 'No, please! Not now!' she silently screamed. 'Once you feel you have my attention, for most things just simply nod your head at the item or in the general direction. For example, a water trough, food, something unpleasant in the bedding, open the gate, and so on.' As he recited the list, Lucinda wondered how the Hell she was going to 'simply nod' her head at her bladder. 'In general though, just do what a horse or pony would. Think 'Pony Body Language'.' Lucinda recalled the amazing erotic display of this that Princess and El had given. P continued, 'When a pony intends to urinate or defecate and is stationary it raises its tail, stands with its legs slightly apart and sort of quivers before letting rip.' As an afterthought, he added, 'Of course on the move it's a very different matter, they just go!' he chuckled, 'but more about that another time.' If it wasn't for the damned boots Lucinda would have crossed her legs but at last he'd got there. 'So, where were we?' 'The bugger' she thought and suddenly realised he'd planned all this and was relishing her anguish. She dutifully patted the floor with her foot and looked at him. He casually looked her way and gave her a questioning look. She then arched her back a little, wiggled her rear and made a show of plonking her feet apart and thrust her crotch forward crudely. For added effect, she bent her head down and peered at her pussy then at the door a few times. He roared with laughter. 'That's great!' he cried. Much relieved, she stood up straight and held out her hand for assistance in staggering to the loo. Whether she'd actually be able to sit when she got there was another matter, but 'softly, softly, catchee monkey'. Peter totally ignored her. He strolled over to the wall where most of the furniture had been pushed and withdrew a stack of old newspapers. Lucinda had a sudden sinking feeling that was confirmed moments later when he unfolded between her legs a copy of the Financial Times. She peered down, mortified. Now, appealing as it was, pissing all over the London Stock Exchange wasn't quite what she had in mind at that very instance. 'You can't be serious!' she cried, to be rewarded with a stinging blow from the crop. 'You want to pee, pee!' he ordered and tapped the paper. Her eyes filled with tears of frustration and exasperation more than the pain. 'But...' she began. Another blow. This one hurt - a lot, and the tears started to flow. Peter went and sat in an armchair and stared at her crotch. She swallowed hard and sniffed back the tears. 'Make or break time, I guess?' she considered, then started to squat as far as the boots would let her. She moved her hand to part her lips with her fingers as she'd heard friends do when they'd had pissing matches against boys at school. At the time it didn't feature highly on her personal development plan but now she wished she'd been more attentive. Peter shot forward like a snake and her fingers recoiled instinctively before she even registered the blow. 'No hands woman! Do you want to be a pony or not?' Had he read her mind? Shaking, Lucinda put her gloved hands behind her back and rubbed her stinging fingers as she tried to urinate. To her horror, she couldn't! It was like those embarrassing occasions when she was in a deserted public loo in a strange place. Just as she was about to give her all, somebody would burst into the cubicle next to hers and noisily deposit their own Niagara and her urethra would act as though it was sucking up lemon juice. Peter tapping the sodding cane on his foot didn't help. Inspirationally, she stared at a barge on the Thames and all the surrounding water and, thankfully, the dam broke. She dared not look down for fear of stopping, but heard her cascade splatter all over the paper... ...and splatter... ...and splatter. When the final drop had dripped she looked down. 'Chri...!' she started to exclaim when she saw the puddle she, Colossus like, now straddled. Thankfully it came out as a cough. Lucinda thought Peter was as surprised as she was, he was like a child with a new toy, he marvelled at the mess and bent to fold over the sodden paper until he held a soggy pink bundle in his hand. He wrapped this in more paper and walked to the door. 'Remember. No hands.' He cautioned. 'I can check the recording.' Lucinda revised her previous rating to 'slimy, sneaky bugger' and stood trembling with desire to wipe the drying spray from her sex and thighs. Moments later the 'Swingometer' rocked back to simply 'sneaky bugger' as he returned with a handful of kitchen towels which he used to carefully wipe and polish her boots, but only finished with a, very rough, cursory rub between her legs. Peter's current status: add 'insensitive'. 'You can close your legs now,' he said softly and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks and eyes before cupping her breast in his hand then kissing her lightly on the lips. 'Well done, my Lucky Lady' Peter's current status: forgiven. Lucinda's current status: emotional puddle. She felt like crying.

Smiling, she pawed the floor. 'Yes?' he asked. She tossed her head, partly closed her eyes and pouted a 'Thank you' kiss at him. 'For that, my precious. A reward!' he laughed and she filled with delight.