Hoofbeats: People are ponies too 2 Copyright Bound Jenny

 

Sorry for the long delay - I've been in a sort of writer's rut for a while. It's simple: if I don't feel inspired, it won't work! I got a little bit of inspiration lately and finished it off.

 

In case someone needs to come up to speed on this story, here's the link to Part 1: Hoofbeats: People are ponies too part 1

 

 

Now the long-awaited second part of Kim's adventures at Liberty Stables! Enjoy!

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Warning! This story might contain activities that might not be suitable in selfbondage. Please play safe.

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Sleep I did. In fact, ever since coming to Liberty Stables, I have never slept better. I suppose that working out every day, often in the open air, helps a lot. I didn't lose any weight, because any fat lost was replaced by muscle mass. This place is better than the gym.

 

I dreamed of going to "perform" at the other... facility. The tight bondage and very erotic predicaments this man puts his models through were at the center of my unconscious brain's reality. I dreamed of running the treadmill, pulling a buggy, and being bound so tightly that I could only blink. One might call the dreams prophetic, but in that place, it's just business as usual.

 

Of course, when I woke up, I was horny as h-e-double-hockey-sticks... It was still early, so I lay there pondering my choice. My current state of arousal certainly tipped the balance toward the positive, but some of my inhibitions - yes, I do have some - kept me teetering on the pivot, undecided. Then I remembered that often, their models are gagged in such a way that the lower half of the face is completely hidden - one only sees the eyes and the nose. That clinched it. I was going. In any case, Ms. Spencer seemed to highly regard her friend, and did stress that a visit there would benefit me to some degree.

 

Heck, it would also be fun.

 

-

 

Trudy brought me my breakfast, about an hour later. No, not in a feed bag. My face isn't long enough for that. Even if I was living essentially like a horse for the past five weeks, I was still eating very well. The meals were healthy and delicious, better than a lot of hotels and restaurants. I was pampered. I was just finishing up when Ms. Spencer appeared in the doorway of my stall. Before I could look up, I heard her firm voice asking, "Good morning, Sparkle. What have you decided concerning yesterday's offer?" I looked up at Ms. Spencer, and the expression on my face probably told all. "I take that as an affirmative. I know that look." she said. I giggled, and replied, "Yes, Ms. Spencer. I thought it over carefully and decided to accept the offer." I explained the conditions - that I remain anonymous save for my pony name - and why. A faint smile turned the woman's lips upward slightly. "Excellent! Your extra gear will arrive tomorrow - I had anticipated this. Believe me, you won't regret it. Now I will leave you to your training."

 

My day's training was a bit off the mark that day, by sheer distraction. Gwen was training me today, and she was cropping my fanny more often than usual. After lunch, I did a little better, pulling the sulky along the trail that snaked along the property. Gwen noted that, and left me in the corral for the rest of the day. She knew I had accepted the invitation, and correctly assumed that was the source of my distraction.

 

I was tired, but I had no choice but to remain standing. My arms were tightly pinned behind me in the most severe armbinder I have ever worn in my life, which made getting down or up difficult already. Add the heel-less hoof boots, and I would be stuck if I sat or lay down. So I trotted along, with the other ponies. One of them, a young woman who was obviously new here, got my attention. She was naked, in a rope harness, with her arms tied behind her. Drool ran down from her mouth, which was forced open by the bit. Her eyes told volumes about how she felt - she was in way over her head. I had practice speaking around the bit, and I managed to communicate with her.

 

Her name was Lindsey, and she decided to try this on a lark. She had not expected the nudity, nor the physical training regimen. I told her to stick with it, to just let herself go, to immerse herself into the role of a pony. Her eyes widened when I told her that I had arrived five weeks before, and that I had another three to go. I gave her some tips on proper gait and deportment, and how to pull through the exercise schedule. I decided to ask Gwen and Trudy to arrange to have me join Lindsey in the corral whenever time permitted, to continue to coach the girl and encourage her to enjoy her stay.

 

-

 

The next morning, both Gwen and Trudy arrived with the new gear. The most impressive were the thigh-high ballet-heeled boots. They were accompanied by splint-like leg trainers, which I was to wear at night, while sleeping, to get my legs and ankles used to the unusual position. I doubted that I needed those, because my hoof-boots were already quite steep, and my ballet training as a girl had not worn off. Nevertheless, my trainers insisted that I be put into these devices, whether I wanted to or not. That prospect turned me on, the idea of being forced to comply appealing to the submissive in me.

 

A body harness was also revealed, with an armbinder integrated into it in such a way that once all the straps were tightened, not only were my arms pinned together most strictly, elbows touching, but they were pulled against my back in such a way that I could not move them at all, not even a millimeter. A large posture collar, with straps going down under my armpits and others attaching to rings on the body harness, would keep my head stiffly erect. The head harness attached to that, and that guaranteed that I could not even move my head. And the hood with the breathing hole for the mouth, that left my face exposed from just above my eyebrows to just under my nose. I remembered to start breathing again, after taking in the sight of these masterpieces. Once I was all trussed and harnessed, only my legs would be able to move, and that would be difficult because of the ballet boots. Gwen giggled at my blank expression, and Trudy said, "Sparkle likes her new gear!"

 

Naturally, I was very willing to wear my new gear! After donning my latex body suit and the corset, the ballet boots were produced. They were, by the obvious (and sensual) smell, of excellent quality leather. They did not zip up, but lace up, and since they rose all the way up to my thighs, halfway between my knees and my crotch, the lacing process was long and tedious - for Gwen and Trudy. I enjoyed every second of it, as I felt each leg being gradually encased tightly in the shiny black leather. My legs looked much longer with these magnificent boots. My head was swimming already, I felt euphoric.

 

My arms were free, so I could use them to balance myself, but that would soon be a thing of the past, since my training would now be to get me to perform in full gear, without use of my arms. In fact, with the heavy, stiff corset I already had, my entire upper body would be completely immobilized from my hips upward.

 

At first, I teetered unsteadily on the impossibly high heels, but I quickly gained confidence after a few steps. "You will practice on the treadmill before we take you outside in those." Trudy said, commandingly. I shook myself out of my reverie, and answered, with a conspiratorial smile, "I'll practice anywhere you want, dear trainers!"

 

The body harness was strapped on, and Gwen made sure that it was securely fitted with no possibility of movement. "We don't want you using parts of your body that you're not supposed to." she quipped. Before my arms were pinned into the armbinder, the posture collar was fitted, and strapped to the body harness. This collar had a very stiff, wide extension under the chin, keeping my head perfectly erect. As each piece of equipment was added, I was progressively losing my mobility.

 

Gwen held my arms in her iron grip - she was very strong - while Trudy zipped the armbinder closed, then started drawing the laces to tighten it, inexorably pulling my arms back, until they were completely touching from my elbows down to my fingertips. There is no more simple and effective mechanism than laces on a garment to squeeze the human body. And no more sexy way to bind a girl's arms than an armbinder. Gwen held the tension on the laces as Trudy then pulled every last millimeter of slack out of the laces, closing the angle of my upper arms even more, pulling my shoulders hard. My bosom was pushed out with this, in addition of the pushing-up effect of the corset.

 

Straps were tightened, pressing my useless arms hard against my back. A crotch strap pulled at the bottom of the armbinder, ensuring that even my hands would be completely immobilized. I turned my head slightly to look at my trainers, but Trudy said, quickly, "Oh! We can't have that. Gwen, the head harness, please! No hood for today though." Gwen proceeded to attach the head harness to the posture collar, and tightened the straps. Trudy inspected the work, and decided to take another notch. "Now she can't move at all." I was smiling from ear to ear, and that was about the only thing I could do other than blink. In fact, I couldn't open my mouth very far since the harness was pressing my head down into the collar. And I was aroused like nothing I have ever experienced before. This sensation of total helplessness was far more erotic than I had anticipated. In fact, I was starting to get bloody horny.

 

-

 

For those of you who don't know why it's such a turn-on for me to be so absolutely and tightly encased in bondage gear, a little insight into my mind's workings. I like being in bondage, especially tight, extensive bondage. The less I'm able to move, the more I get turned on. Ditto for how much of my body is covered in bondage. The pressure on my body amplifies that effect.

 

Naturally, sexy items of clothing and footwear just add to the fun. I like to feel sexy. Clothes, shoes, boots and other accessories enhance the experience. The first time I put a corset on was a revelation. The pressure on my chest, waist and hips made me feel tingly all over, and my eyes went wide, just as my lips made a small "o". I was hooked. Boots are a fetish of mine, especially when they go to the knee or higher, and have sharp, high stiletto heels. Oh, and they have to hug my legs. So the lace-up variety particularly stimulates me, a bit like a long, thin corset around my legs. And I just love how high heels make my legs look longer, slimmer, sexier.

 

Any bondage that immobilizes at least a part of me is thoroughly enjoyable. Armbinders are definitely in that category. Since I'm also a bit of painslut, the discomfort inflicted is a constant reminder of my inescapable predicament, my arms pinned together behind me, my shoulders pulled far back, and no way of making it more comfortable.

 

So you can guess that with all the stuff I'm wearing at this moment, I am on a hair-trigger for the orgasm of a lifetime.

 

-

 

They made me teeter precariously around my stall a few times before leading me out into the corridor, toward the training room. Even so, as Trudy led me along with the reins, Gwen steadied me and was ready to catch me if I faltered, which came close a few times. Along the way, I practiced my proper gait, raising each leg up ninety degrees before planting it down again, though Gwen told me to wait until they got me into the treadmill. But I'm a stubborn mare, so I kept trying. The sound of the steel-tipped heels hitting the floor was delicious.

 

We finally arrived at the large gymnasium-like room where indoor training was conducted. There were already a few ponies on treadmills, and I was led to the one with the large overhead frame. Chains were clipped to my body harness, replacing Gwen's steadying hands. "We'll start slow, so you can get your gait properly done in those heels, then speed it up gradually if we see you're getting used to it..." Trudy said as she began to manipulate the controls. The belt started moving slowly, and I started to step forward. It wasn't as easy as I thought. Even if the chains were there to catch me if I tripped up, they did nothing to support me.

 

A few light snaps of the crop encouraged me to put more effort into my gait. I was glad that they didn't gag me, because I was breathing hard - the effort was considerable, though I suspect that the stress of teetering precariously on those toe boots had a lot to do with it. The adrenaline rush heightened my excitement.

 

The speed was increased slightly, so I had to work harder to keep up. The crop stung behind my thighs a few times as my gait faltered a little, reminding me to properly raise my legs for each step. This slowed me down, so I found myself at the end of the safety chains on more than one occasion, then hurried to catch up again. "She will need some time on the treadmill, to get her used to this." Trudy said. Gwen agreed, "Oh, yes. I know about that. Ballet heels are not easy to walk in. But by the end of the week, she should be able to go at a normal pace."

 

Even if my speed was lacking, my confidence was improving. I didn't teeter as much as at first, and was finding it increasingly easy to keep my balance. I was using my hips to finely adjust my center of gravity as I moved along. The precarious wobble started to look like a decent trot. Gwen and Trudy decided to take me outside. They un-clipped the chains from the harness, and kept a watchful eye on me as I stepped off the treadmill. I practiced my newfound balance and confidence by solidly tapping the hard tips of my boots on the hard floor, the sharp sound echoing nicely through the long corridor. I love that sound.

 

Another sound I like is the sound of the leather harness and corset rubbing together as I breathed. The creaking sound that made just added to the erotic predicament I was in, reminding me even audibly that I was a helpless prisoner. I tried to move against the iron grip of my restraints, but it was futile. The leather creaked slightly, but I could not move a muscle from the hips up. Well, my face could move, but it didn't do much else than smile, a glassy-eyed smile that told all about what I felt deep inside me.

 

-

 

Practicing my pony gait in those heels was not the only part of my supplementary training. I was also introduced to the most strict bondage I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing. This time, the gag and hood were fitted, so I could only breathe through a small tube leading into my mouth. I was so tightly bound, in addition to my gear, that the extent of my ability to move was blinking and wiggling my nose and eyebrows. My legs were folded up and strapped together, pressing the heels of my boots hard into my butt. Each time a slight amount of movement was detected, the straps were ratcheted a notch tighter. I tried to wriggle, to squirm against my bonds, but the only result was some creaking leather - which only served to heighten my state of arousal.

 

Naturally, a vibrator was also fitted, controlled by Gwen, who skillfully held me at the brink of a climax for some time before letting me finally gain satisfaction, only to tease me again at the edge of orgasm, over and over. The tight bondage, the total immobility, the crushing grip of the corset, the tight hold of the collar around my neck, were all amplifying my physical reaction, and I was experiencing the most intense, mind-blowing, toe-curling orgasms of my life. My eyes rolled up so far that they must have gone a full three-sixty like slot machine wheels. The gag did little to muffle my low, gutteral growls and roars of delight. My muscles tensed hard, trying to find a release for the energy of the orgasm. There was none. I couldn't move, squirm, scream or claw away the power that built up inside me.

 

Time after time, teased at the edge, tormented with the prospect of release, just out of reach, building up to the eventual explosion of raw sexual power. I didn't want this to end. When it did end, I was breathing hard, as hard as my corset and bonds allowed. And I was exhausted.

 

After I was released from my bonds, I was limp. Just barely able to walk, I was led back to my stall, where I was relieved of my gear, and washed before being given my meal. I slept soundly that night, even with the training splints.

 

-

 

I was reunited with Lindsey in the corral again, and found her in much brighter spirits this time. My little pep talk with her had helped, and she even chose herself a pony name: Starlight. She admitted that she really enjoyed it here, and thanked me for helping her out. I told her that we both had the gift of kink, otherwise we wouldn't be here, doing this very, very kinky stuff. We giggled, and frolicked about in the corral until our respective trainers came to collect us. Before we parted, Starlight said she would be leaving on the weekend. But she promised that she would try to keep in touch after that.

 

That day was also a special one for me - my stall was upgraded, more luxurious compared to before, but the most interesting touch was the addition of an engraved plaque on the door, with my pony name on it, in calligraphic lettering similar to the official letterhead font of Liberty Stables. Heather J Spencer was there, of course, to explain.

 

"You have shown that you have a special attachment to Liberty Stables, dear Sparkle. And I must admit that I have become somewhat attached to you, too. There are also a few other ponies here who have developed some fondness for you, after meeting you." She paused a few seconds, and it seemed that her usually calm, composed air was slightly perturbed by some emotion. "So we have given you a privilege that few other ponies have - a permanent place to come to whenever you wish. I know, it's a little far from home to come spend a weekend on a lark, but I just wanted to let you know that you have a place here, a home away from home, a familiar comfort where you can return. A bit like your parents keeping your old room for you." Now it was obvious that she was emotional. I trotted over and leaned against her, my arm restraints preventing me from hugging her, but Ms. Spencer returned the hug, warmly. Now I was becoming emotional myself.

 

I had become some kind of unofficial counselor, for many of the other ponygirls. I did have a degree in psychology, so it sort of came naturally. But I didn't quite have this kind of counseling in mind when I did my studies. Giving advice on how to act like a horse to a group of kinky women was, to put it mildly, not on my to-do list.

 

But it's naughty and fun.

 

-

 

It was an off day for most of the trainers, attending some kind of seminar. We were put into the care of a junior trainer by the name of Irene. She was obviously not used to handling us, but her instructions were simple - in the corral except for meals, when we would be taken back to our stalls. The morning air was cool, and many of the pony girls were happy to see me again. I was in my full regalia, with the pony boots and hoof-mitts. As Irene watched over us, I got the rest of the girls together in some exercise to pass the time. It was going to be a long day, left to ourselves. A couple of hours of corral time a day is not bad. The whole day, without activities, is another matter.

 

Irene was glad that I was contributing to keeping her charges entertained. Starlight was on her last day, and would return home the next morning. She was literally bubbling over with excitement, which was contagious among the rest of the group. We trotted and ambled, practicing our gaits, until lunch time came, when Irene led us in pairs back to our stalls.

 

The afternoon was a little cloudier, but it was warm enough to be comfortable. Irene left us in the corral alone, saying that she had to tend to some duties inside. After an hour, there were some darker clouds gathering on the western horizon. I kept a watchful eye on them, and checked to see if the corral gate was barred - it was. If it were to start raining, or worse yet, a thunderstorm was to go through, things were going to get messy at the very best. I started weighing my options.

 

Though the gate was latched, it was not locked. One only needed to open the latch and freedom was gained. But with my pony-hoof mittens, it was out of the question to try it myself. Untying one of the other girls was also out. Some were in armbinders, others just cuffed or otherwise roped. Some had free fingers, and could unstrap my hoof-gloves, or at least one of them. Undoing them with my teeth was out of the question, with the bit in my mouth. And those clouds were getting closer, the air had a distinct smell of rain, and I thought I could hear a low rumbling.

 

It was a matter of minutes before the first drop landed on my nose. I looked around, at the stable entrance, and there was no sign of Irene yet. What was keeping her? It was time for action. I zeroed in on Sherry, one of the newer ponies that was still in a crude rope harness. I explained to her, through my bit, that we needed to get out of the corral and under a roof. As if to punctuate the necessity of the situation, a distinct rumble of thunder was heard. Sherry's eyes showed that she understood. I told her to turn around and unbuckle my right front hoof.

 

After fumbling for about fifteen seconds, blind behind her back, Sherry unbuckled the hoof-mitt and then I told her to grab hold of it and pull. In seconds I was free, and busy unbuckling my other hoof. Hoof-mitts in one hand, I unhooked one side of my bit and I called the others to the corral gate, as it was beginning to rain somewhat more intensely. A few of the girls were worried as the rolling thunder became louder and followed the lightning in progressively shorter delays. I unlatched the corral gate and opened it, and commanded the others to head straight for the stables, about fifty yards away. As soon as everyone was out, I was behind them, and galloped as fast as my hoof-boots could carry me to the door, mud splattering with every hoofbeat. It was raining hard now, and we were all drenched by the time I opened the door.

 

Irene was running down the corridor, and when she saw us, her face drained of color. Her expression changed when she saw my countenance - which wasn't friendly. "What the hell were you doing?" I demanded, in my most convincing indignant customer tone. A particularly loud clap of thunder resounded just then - nice touch. She stammered, "Can you give me a hand... please?" Irene was obviously not comfortable with the situation. I agreed, and told her that the issue of leaving us outside for that long would wait until later. There were nearly two dozen cold, shivering, drenched pony girls waiting to be put back in their stalls, dried off, warmed up and taken care of.

 

-

 

I never knew what Irene did during the time she left us alone. I didn't get that opportunity either. I did find out, however, that Lindsey - sorry, Starlight, blew the whistle on her. At Starlight's seeing-off celebration, I asked Ms. Spencer about it. Her succinct reply was "The young lady is seeking employment elsewhere." She paused for a few seconds, and as I was about to head off to see Starlight again, she said, "Oh, I wish to see you after this little gathering..." in her usual, even tone. I just couldn't figure her out. She was cold as ice, but could express uncommon warmth when she wanted to. When she was in her cool mode, it could mean anything. I think she enjoyed leaving people guessing. I suspect that she is one wicked Domme.

 

One last time before leaving, Lindsey/Starlight came to see me.

 

"I just wanted to say..." she hesitated, emotion-laden, "Thanks for helping me out. You showed me that being kinky is not something to be ashamed of, that I'm not some kind of freak, that so many others are just like me, that it's just a different way of exploring our sensual side. Before I came here, I never thought I'd enjoy being strictly tied up, that it would actually be a turn-on. You have no idea how much you changed my outlook on life, on pleasure. I'm comfortable with my kinks now."

 

She hugged me, tightly, and gave me a folded up scrap of paper. It held her e-mail address and a phone number. "Give me a holler sometime."

 

This is the part where I say I hate to say good-bye, and start crying, my makeup starts running, yada-yada-yada... Well, except for the makeup, that all happened. Ponies don't wear makeup.

 

-

 

I was among the last of the celebrants to leave. As I left the room, I was intercepted by Ms. Spencer. "Follow me, please..." she said in a maddeningly neutral tone. Nearly as maddening as the batteries cutting out in one's vibrator just before climax. I trotted along behind her impeccably dressed person. As usual, a dark business suit with pencil skirt, this time black with very subtle pinstripes. The jacket was tailored to fit her dramatically nipped-in waist, and the hard stiletto heels of her boots - I don't even remember her wearing anything else other than boots - made almost as much noise as the clip-clop of my hoof-boots (which were just about second nature for me now). We arrived in her office, where she graciously offered me a seat and closed the door.

 

"I trust all is well for you, Kimberly? You are enjoying yourself, from the reports." I had to make a conscious effort to respond to my real, human name. "Yes, everything is quite nice, and I am thoroughly enjoying myself, to say the least." I answered with a big smile. She seemed to crack a faint smile in response.

 

"It's good to know that the incident yesterday didn't tarnish your enjoyment of our services. We pride ourselves on impeccable service and this sort of embarassment is not compatible with the reputation I work hard to maintain." She was visibly displeased as she said that, but relaxed. "But I can see that you are mindful of your work. I consulted your resume - you did post it on a job search site - and I am impressed by your scholastic and employment records. You are the kind of person Liberty Stables would definitely benefit from having as a permanent employee." My face went blank for a few seconds, and I asked, incredulous, "You're offering me a job?"

 

My reaction seemed to amuse Ms. Spencer, for she chuckled slightly, in her customary restrained manner. "As a matter of fact, yes. What considerably contributed to my decision to make this offer is your performance in the corral yesterday. You showed leadership, initiative and decisiveness. I had been pondering this for a couple of weeks now, after receiving many positive comments from other ponies on your ability to pick up their spirits, to motivate them, to encourage them to let themselves loose and explore their fantasies and kinks."

 

Have any of you had one of those moments where all of a sudden everything around you goes sort of grayish and all that you're aware of are your thoughts going Mach 6? Well, I was in one of them. I had no idea how long I was phased out. I came back to my senses when Ms. Spencer said, "If you wish to have some time to think about it, there's no hurry. I understand; you have a lot of your roots at home, friends, family, and such. All that will be taken under consideration, however, when we discuss your working conditions and salary." I blinked. I would be paid to be kinky? To help others be kinky? "Yes, I will take the time to think about it. I am very grateful for the offer, Ms. Spencer." I said in a slightly disoriented tone.

 

-

 

I thoroughly enjoyed myself modeling for the other place. Everything I experienced there was far beyond my wildest expectations. Seeing videos and photos of the erotic predicaments does not do justice to actually being subjected to it. I asked for everything and got it. But the cherry on the sundae was an offer to come back, often, with handsome rewards at that. It seems that I have a talent for "performing". Adding that to the salary offered to me by Liberty Stables to be a permanent counselor, and I found myself with an irresistible incentive to change my career plans.

 

The planned good-bye party for me turned into a Welcome Aboard one. I accepted Ms. Spencer's offer, and accepted to go back to her friend's wonderfully erotic facility for more... performances as Sparkle. I'm even pondering starting my own kinky pony web site. One thing at a time. If you have all the fun at once, it's just going to be boring later.

 

Sparkle doesn't like to be bored.

 

The End.

 

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