Pony Play, Long
Walking downstairs, you see a note attached to the calendar. A flier more specifically. Advertising a pony triathlon, at the club. It says the pre games show will happen at one pm, and contestants should be there no later than noon. Eying the clock, it's already just after ten. You spend the next hour walking around the house poking at little bits of chores at a time. Wash a dish and some flatware, then go and put half a basket of laundry up. Vacuum half the living room, then anxiously look at the clock. Almost half past. Sighing, you shoulders slump.
Deciding to spend the rest of your time freshening up, you walk back to the bedroom. By the time you finish it is almost time to go. On your way out the door, you check in the dressing room. Seeing the bag of pony gear already gone, you lock up and head to the bus stop. Another slow uneventful ride. A stop every few blocks, and it eats up most of an hour to arrive at the stop. Thankful for the temperate spring day, you briskly walk from the stop, through the streets of warehouses, to where the club is set up at.
As you walk you see club staff already blocking off streets for today's event. One of the benefits of renting out in unused warehouse territory is it's easy to get approval to block off the streets for an afternoon. A busy night's worth of people is forming a crowd outside. Swallowing firmly, you tamp back the anxiety and look through the crowd for me. Finding me near the entrance, you trot up to me and grab hold of my arm tightly. Turning my body, I wrap my other arm around you and squeeze. “There you are!” I break the hug and pick up a large bag. Thrusting the dark green duffel bag in to your arms “You need to get dressed, and registered.” Stumbling back a step, you nod and the bouncer opens the door for us.
Inside many other competitors are already dressed and stretching for this afternoon's games. I find us an empty playroom for us to prepare in. Quickly stripping, you dig out the harness and tight leather shorts. Draping the harness over your shoulders, I do the clasps while you squeeze in to the shorts. Smack! My hand swats your ass. “Sorry, it just looked so tempting.” Bending forward over the room's bondage bench, I spread open the rear seam in your shorts and pop in the horsehair tail plug. You whine as the plug plops in to place, knowing you have all day to get used to it being in. You stay in position while I place the bridle on your head. “Hooves, pet.” Holding your hands up, I place the hoof cups over your hands. They close with a satisfying click around your wrists. Sliding your feet in to the thin leather soled shoes completes the ensemble for now. I pull you by the collar as you get up to leave though. “Not yet.” I kick the inside of your leg, and you stand spread apart. A cold sensation along your thighs and legs. You look down and see me rubbing a layer of sunblock in to your thighs and legs. Handing the tube to you, I tell you to do your arms and chest.
You pay extra attention to your breasts, they rarely spend time out in the sun. Your face flushes bright red. You are going to be outside, and running. None of this clicked in your head until just now. “Pet!” You snap back and finish your arms as I rub the cream in to your back. Again, you start to walk away and I stop you with your collar. “Pet, we go when I say we do. Now, close your eyes, and breath.” You do as I command. Deep, slow breaths. In, and out. Finding a calm place, I spread your legs out again. Another cool sensation on your legs.
Not as cold as the sun screen though. Your legs glisten as you look down. “My beautiful pony girl is going to gleam in the sun for the show at the start.” You bite your lip anxiously as you start to think about that, in addition to the competition. Rubbing the oil on your shoulders and back, while whispering to you. “All you have to to is look striking and hold a pose or two.” My voice gently fills your ears, as my lavender perfume fills your nostrils. Feeling your muscles relax, I finish with your back and arms. You sigh gently as the oil is applied to your breasts too. A soft pinch and tug at your nipples. “You know, if I made a habit of taking you out topless, these should get pierced.” You whine softly again, and I kiss you forcefully as you do. “Now, we are ready pet.”
Everyone else is being herded out of the club, and in to the noon day sun as we leave the the playroom we were preparing in. You blink a few times, the bright light a change from the perpetually dimly lit warehouse turned club. There must be twenty other ponies milling about. Club staff directs you to the throng of other ponies, behind velvet rope. The crowd slowly mills past looking over all the competitors. Some of the ponies are at least as shy as you are and are attempting to still be modest, but lines of spectators on both sides prevent that.
The oohs and ahs of the crowd overcomes your shyness and you stand up straight, showing off for everyone. A loud whistle breaks through the noise. The crowd quiets and a voice booms through the loudspeaker. “We will begin presently, If the contestants would order themselves.” Several staff members come along checking names off lists, and placing the numbered cloth squares on the backs of the assembled ponies. You find you are contestant nine, from the contestant behind you. Standing in line you watch the one at a time procession across the stage. Some of the ponies flex, or twirl as they cross, showing off muscles or finely made tails and gear. You strike a pose, leaning forward towards the crowd a bit to show off your oiled breasts in the midday sun. Smiling as you walk off stage, you join the rest on the far side.
Owners and trainers congregate behind where the contestants have exited the stage. Once everyone has crossed, The master of ceremonies announces today's triathlon events: A sprint time trial, a marathon race, and an obstacle course. You follow the other ponies being led away. A large tent makes up the outdoor stables for ponies to rest between events, out of the sun but also away from the screens the crowd will use to watch. Staff assemble the carts for the events. “The time trial will be a test of the pony's skill. Sandbags will replace riders.”
Feeling the bravado from being on stage drain away, You shift your weight back and forth. Sitting next to you, you feel my hand stroke down your back repeatedly. “Don't worry about winning, pet. Just perform as well as you can.” Closing your eyes you take another deep breath. Your stomach still bubbles as staff wave you over to a cart. Number 8 is at the line, and you need to be ready to approach. The cart itself is lightweight, black metal. Attaching the cart to your harness you rock the wheels back and forth, testing the feel. Nudging the long handles you can turn the cart quite well, with your hoof cups on. Judging from the cheering, number eight has started the run. I walk up to you, and give you a good luck kiss. “Open up, pet.” The familiar bit gag goes in place, and you bite down on it. Attaching it to the bridle, I smack your ass and you start hauling the cart to the line. Facing down the street, you can't see any of the screens and you can't sneak a look without turning the cart. You watch intently as an attendant holds a green flag in the air.
The Flag drops. You lean forward as you start the cart from a standstill. The weight isn't totally alien to you, but isn't easy at the beginning. There is a turn to the left at the end of the block. You slow as you approach the turn, nudging the cart hard to the left. You swing through the turn wide, slowing more than you had meant. Looking up as you strain to speed up, the next curve is three blocks away. The road ahead doesn't look well maintained. Within several steps your foot lands roughly in a pothole.
The rough bottom of the hole bites in to the sole of your shoe. It hurts but you continue on, without any injury. The cart jostles as it hits the occasional hole, but you pay enough attention to not step in another hole so far. The second curve is fast approaching you realize. Slowing less, you nudge the cart left again. Taking the curve faster than the first one you keep your pace going. Looking up again instead of a curve, you see another staff member with a checkered flag. Pushing harder you cross the line at a full tilt and slow across a block.
As you stop, you realize how exhausted you feel already. Gulping air in across your gag. Walking up to you, I start to undo the harness connections to the cart. A member of the staff guides the cart back to holding to prepare it for the obstacle course. Leading you back to under the rest tent we sit out of the sun and I wipe you down with a soft towel. Once you are dry, I take the bit off of your bridle and you thirstily gulp down water. “Easy pet, don't choke on your water.” Slowing down, you still finish a second cup quickly.
Leaning against me, you watch as the other competitors slowly filter out to their own trial, then filter back in sweaty and exhausted. You much on a handful of trail mix to rebuild your strength. By the time the last pony pulls in to the rest area, it is past three. After a short break for contestants to be examined before the second event, the loudspeaker snaps back on. “The obstacle course will be taken one at a time. The pony shall be masked, taking instructions from the trainer.” This was a little complication you were not expecting.
I smile softly. “All you have to do is listen to me, while we navigate the obstacles.” Nodding you pace around, limbering up before being harnessed to the cart again. The runs take longer than the sprint trial did. And the finished teams are obviously tight lipped. It's almost five when you are told to get staged for your run. After hooking you to the cart again, I put your bit back on to your bridle followed by a blindfold. You feel the cart drop some as I climb on. “Forward, turn right. You remember the lead up to the line.”
Slowly you navigate by memory and my command to the line. Leaning slightly you wait for my command to start. The flag waves in the breeze “Go, pet! Straight” You hesitate to pull all your weight in to it. “Slightly right, too much!” one of the cart's handles bumps a wall. The handle catches and the cart comes to a stop. “It's alright, left and forward.” The two wheeled cart is easy enough to rotate off the wall. Deciding to throw all your weight in to start up easier we take off again. “It's farther along than the sprint went, slaloms ahead.”
Tapping your left side with the crop you twist a little, far less than if you were taking a curve. Tap tap on the right, you correct back and continue to the right. Tap on the left, you center up. Another left tap, lean slightly left. One more tap right and you straighten again. “Hard left” Figuring this is where the roads meet and the track bends you turn down the street. “Change to the right lane, then be prepared for a hill” You estimate how far right you need to be, with another crop tap on your left to stop you over steering. “Faster!” the crop taps on your shoulders. Suddenly when stepping you find the slope of the hill. It's only a foot or so, and you are on level ground before having to pull the cart up. With a loud heave you drag the car over the slump. “Slow here, the platform bends.”
“Slight right” You nudge one handle with a cupped hoof. The wheel of the cart just clips the corner of the platform enough for you to feel. Tap tap on your left, then a tap to the right. Confused you straighten out instead. Another shoulder tap. With an effort you speed up. Tap, you shift left a little. Tap. Correcting right. “Here is the slope down.” Preparing for the cart to push forward you speed up again. When the wheels hit the small slope the whole cart shifts forward faster than you can run. The chains pull you along for a moment.
Regaining control of the cart you speed back up. “Banked curve to the right. Build speed and hold the left side of the cart down.” You can feel the crop tapping your shoulders as I instruct. The dirt of the curve feels slicker than the asphalt road. My weight shifts to the left. With your arm holding the left steering pole down the cart stays on both wheels as you take the banking curve high. Running as hard as you can to keep the cart from dragging you along you come out of the curve. Tap tap to the right. “Mogul run ahead.”
The small mounds of dirt jostle the cart. Tap left. Tap right. Tap tap left. You try to follow the crop commands as best as you can. The small hills are unevenly placed and you ride the card over a few of them. Tap tap tap on your shoulder. “Home stretch.” You give all you have. Unending seconds later “Whoa girl! You can stop now!” You can feel me apply the handbrake as you slow, stopping the cart quicker than you had alone in the sprint. Exiting the cart, I undo the connections to your harness. Taking off your bit and blindfold you blink hard.
We quietly walk back to the tent again. You gulping air down, the sweat glistening off your back and chest. Me stroking your back softly. “You did very well on the court, pet.” As we return to the rest area you slump next to me, drinking more water. “The race is a while still.” Unexpectedly, You feel me squeezing your leg. Slowly working out the soreness from the two events. Laying on your back you cry out softly as I press and rub your sore, tired, sweaty legs. Working the exhausted muscles. Fingers digging in, palms rubbing out. Your eyes water.
Relaxing, the soreness drops out of your body bit by bit. Sitting up sometime later I put my arm around you and kiss you softly again. “Race soon, then I have a little surprise for you!” That perks you up. Leaning in to a cuddle we relax until called for. This time, all the ponies will be running at once. The staff lead away each racer by the order they will start in, based on the sprint time trial. You polled fifth in the time trial. Your heart beats faster as you get attached to the cart for the last time today.
Approaching your starting mark I lean forward in the seat “This will be too crowded for voice commands, so pay attention to the crop!” Nodding your head, you champ on the bit a couple times. The minutes pass as you hear the rest of the line up assemble. A staff member climbs up a scaffold and raises the green flag. The crowd's murmurs die out and everyone eyes the flag. The street lights start to flicker on. Shifting your weight back and forth, you wait anxiously. Finally the flag drops, and you feel the crop on your shoulders.
The pack behind you starts to spread, and soon the closed off street is filled four abreast with pony carts vying for the front of the pack. The race is a blur to you. You slowly gain on the cart ahead of you, but the carts to either side box you in. Gentle crop to your right and you lean the cart, trying to force an entrance. That side unyielding I hit your left side, and you oblige to trying to force the cart on the left away. The first curve is still a block away. As far out as it felt the obstacle course was.
The cart you are forcing out lets up and falls away in preparation for taking the curve. The bite of the crop on your shoulders and you speed up for this curve. As you take it, you feel me toss my weight to the inside, keeping the wheels of the cart on the ground. As you exit the first curve, you see there are only three carts ahead of you. Smack smack smack, frantic cropping on your left side and you cut hard, trying to pass the third place pony. Your chest starts to hurt as your uncontrolled breasts bounce in the late evening sun.
First place is a good block ahead of you. And second is at least six cart lengths. The pony you just passed, curses as they fall behind your push. The first place cart falls out of site as it rounds the second corner. When you hit the curve, second has started to break away. Gulping air down, your shoulders burn and you fall in line behind the second place. Ahead of both of you the first place cart has reached the third curve. Each time you try to pull to one side or the other of second, I have to lead you back in line with the crop. When the pony cart ahead of us starts to slow for the upcoming curve, the tapping on your left pulls you to the inside of the curve again. Already trying the same move as we passed third place with by the time my warm your shoulders with my crop again. Second pulls next to us.
Close enough to smell the other runner's salty sweat. Her driver flogs her back, trying to drive her faster still. Each smack to the other pony seems to stall her though. Every step shutters. My taps to your back, propel you faster yet though. First has slowed their pace. They still reach the last curve first, though you have been gaining ground. Drifting to the far outside of the curve, not slowing their pace. Following a similar line to them, you fall in line behind the other cart. Your lungs and legs burning after many blocks of cart pulling.
The other cart flags more. More taps to the left, the line slides in to your view, from in front of the other cart. You can hear the other driver cropping their pony as frantically as the last, to more effect. The other pony vies for first with you. The finish line approaches. Flash of cameras as the two carts cross the line. You slow as your whole body burns and aches other carts catch up as they cross the finish too. Slowly driving your cart to the curb, I unhook you from the contraption for the last time tonight. You hear the crowd cheer last place. Taking seats with the other ponies back under the tent we wait as scores are totaled and penalties applied. The club manager takes the stage and conversation quiets. Calling out the fifth place name, one of the ponies sitting next to us gets up and walks up on the stage.
The fourth place is called, then the third. Calling the silver medalist, and you hear your name! Sitting up sorely you walk across the stage to join the other top finishers, soft evening light still reflecting off your sweaty, oiled breasts. The medal rests firmly between them. First place, a large breasted gelding, walks across and takes her medal. Everyone stays on stage long enough for videos and pictures to be taken. As you walk off stage, I gently take you by the collar and lead you back over to the club. “I reserved a playroom for us, pet.”
Your eyes brighten as you hear that. Sore or not, you still have enough in you for some fun. You follow me in to one of the downstairs rooms, one with the large steel breeding rack. In moments, I undo the harness you have been wearing all day letting it land on the ground. Slipping your tight bottoms off of you, your constrained girlcock pops up. “My my, you ARE ready to be bred.” Attaching your collar to one end of the rack, I lock your arms and legs securely in place. The ring in your collar is pulled tight enough that you can't turn your neck.
The blinders snap easily on to your bridle so you can only see straight ahead. It's now you realize the door never swung shut. Noise from the main club bleeds in some. You start to ask about it. “Oh, my of course I forgot.” Next thing, the bit gag is locked in place again. Warm water drizzle on your back, followed by a soft sponge. You relax as you feel me scrub the layers of sweat and oil off of your body. Your legs ache at first. The pressure on sore muscles morphs from pain to pleasure as you shiver. Up your legs, rubbing your flanks. Warm sponge up your sides, and over your neck. You flick the tail plug as the warm water washes down and drips to the floor. The soft sponge washes along the cheeks of your ass, water dribbling down your girlcock. The sponge drops to the ground with a moist plop.
You can hear people milling through the playroom, though your binders and the collar keep your eyes forward. “After a long day, make sure you wash and breed your pony. It's very important to their long term health.” You feel a tugging feeling inside you, then pop! You moan quietly as the tail comes out of you, and is carefully set aside. Blushing when I press my girldick against your ass, even after a day of waving your breasts around to everyone. Taking a firm grip on your hips, I plunge into you. Biting the bit, you close your eyes.
Back out. In again, much slower. You try to buck your hips, shaking on the the rack you are locked in to. My nails drag up your sides, and grab your breasts. I twist my hips up and down, while pinching your nipples softly. You champ and snort softly as I keep pushing in and out. Just the faintest whisper passes your ears “I love it when you are spirited about it.” My breath heavy on the back of your neck, and sweet in your nostrils. Exhausted, you still push on the metal frame. Locks jiggling and clacking on the restraints. Me pushing harder and faster.
With the last of your might, you push yourself off the top of the frame as I am continuing to speed my pace. The assembled audience claps quietly at the display after such a long day. Remembering people were filtering in to the open room, gives you one last burst of adrenaline. Slamming your hips up in the air, you buck me part way out before gravity pushes me back in. After repeating this several times, you bit the bit hard and moan loudly as you blast the floor of the room with your girlseed. My hips dig in to your ass as move in and out of you now. I wrap my arms around your shoulders and pull myself deep in to you as my own girlcum fills your insides. Realizing the show is over, the club patrons quietly file out of the room. The last one out closes the door quietly, allowing me to hold you in peace. “ My good girl.”