Debby's Plight
by SirJeff ©SirJeff (2002)
inspired by photos of Michelle's plight on
do not use story without the author's permission.

Author's Note: Debby's Plight currently consists of two sections. If you prefer this story with the photo-illustrations, visit SirJeff's Ponygirls. There are two sequels, Debby's Plight - Part 2 and Debby's Plight - Part 3.

I awoke, startled by the cawing of a crow. There were birds chirping and I could feel the itching tickle of coarse grass. The sun felt warm on me, yet it was pitch dark. Where was I?

Then I remembered. My Master, M, had said, "debby, insert your opaque contact lenses now and drink this."

Where was I? How did I get here?

As I sat up, there was the loud clinking of chains, something weighing on my arms. Sure enough, my wrists felt tight, as if in leather cuffs. They must be chained!

What's going on? I wish I could see.

I tugged, reaching for the contacts in my eyes, and felt the chain tighten. I am tethered!

My other senses seemed so much more alert. I felt my utter nakedness. Yet with the familiar sense of leather, on my neck and my wrists. And, judging by my toes, some kind of boots. Almost naked.

I could hear nature all around me. There was a fresh verdant smell. The flapping of wings on water, and a loud quack, told me I was near water. A smoky, ashy smell as I yanked the chain again indicated I was tethered near a campfire.

Was that footsteps? Yes. I could hear the crunching of the grass. Someone was approaching. Who? I felt a rush, fright, goose bumps.

My captor, surely He, tapped me lightly on my flank with what felt like a crop. He kept it up, here a touch, there a whack, until I was up on all fours.

I felt Him, smelled His musky scent, yet I heard no words, nor could I see Him. Who was He?

He tapped me atop my head, I lowered my head slightly. It was repeated until my lips touched His boot. A firmer slash across my rear instructed me. I started to lick by feel, cleaning His boots alternately, tasting the ash and dust.

It seemed like hours before His light tap told me to stop. I rose back on all fours. The crop explored my body, light slaps and slashes emphasizing my need to obey His control.

At last, it stopped, and I was pulled up to my knees by my long blond hair. I heard His footsteps as He circled me. When they seemed to be more distant, I was tempted to remove the contact lenses blinding my hazel eyes, but I remained as I was, fearful of being watched and dreading His crop.

After a while, I could hear His return. The crop put me back on all fours.

I waited, feeling the coarse Bermuda grass, hearing the ever present chirping and buzz of nature, and throbbing wherever the crop had found its mark.

Then He was behind me, one hand on the small of my back, the other spreading my legs wider.

Will He use me now? I felt something firm and slippery placed on my rump, then sliding down my crack! That was not He, it was cold. It was rolled around insistently, slowly yet firmly parting my sphincter. He eased it out and with strong fingers spread the slipperiness into me.

I wanted to bolt! But where was I to go, chained and blind?

The cool slippery firmness returned. It felt big, persistent. My anus betrayed me, yielding a little. Finding purchase, the phallus pressed ever deeper, opening my helpless body.

I braced and groaned as the widest part split me impossibly. Then it was in.

I heard Him walk away. Instinctively I tried to expel it. No! It was well seated, a part of me. As I moved something tickled my thigh. What? A tail? No! It must come out!

I remained on all fours until I could not hear Him, then rose to my knees, trying to reach back, tug it out. My chains, and the dildo's pear shape, frustrated all my efforts.

All too soon I heard footsteps, and the clinking of bells.

Still on my knees, I was arrayed in leather. He seemed to be harnessing my body, tugging here, buckling there. Several times He unbuckled some of it, only to buckle it impossibly tighter!

My crotch strap seemed thankfully loose as He pulled me to my feet by my hair. I felt Him fiddling with my tail, seemingly sliding it out through a slit in the strap. Then my last free strap was pulled very tight, pressing the phallus deeper and crushing my labia.

I stood there, blind, chained, tailed and harnessed. Fortunately, my pussy betrayed me, lubricating that implacable crotch strap. I waited.

Soon I heard the clinking of bells again. Fingers on my left nipple, then a terrible pinch. The bells chimed happily, insensitive to the incredibly pain on my nipple. I could only gasp and submit to the doubled ache, as my other nipple was similarly captured.

He gathered up my long blond hair, making it into a ponytail from the top of my head. What was going on with all these tails?

Once more I was left alone. If I merely twitched, the bells would sing out merrily. So I stood motionless, overwhelmed by the assaults on my senses.

I did not notice His return, until He suddenly pinched my nose shut. My yelp of protest was cut short as He pressed something hard between my lips. It tasted of rubber. He tugged and buckled, always tighter. In no time I was bridled and bitted!

Still no words from Him, but I thought I heard a grunt of satisfaction as He walked away.

I stood there and stood there, blindly, in shock. My body ached in many places. My mouth was wedged open. My head and body were captive in webs of immense pressure. My rear was brutally spread, my nipples unbearably crushed. My nostrils flared as I breathed, my saliva pooled and dripped, and my tail sometimes tickled. Yet nature continued its delightful din, joined by my cruel bells.

Still I stood there and stood there. After a long while it dawned on me - He was turning me into a ponygirl! Incredibly, I was juicing, excited, almost orgasmic! What was happening to me?

At long last, I stirred from my stupor, alerted by something. Squeaking wheels? What on earth? It must be a pony cart!

He seemed to be placing the cart behind me. I felt my chains being removed, only to have my cuffs clipped to the carriage rods. Without warning, he cupped my generous breasts, then caressed my flank. My knees almost gave, as I gushed in heat and pleasure. Now I was truly a helplessly captive cart pony.

He gave me no time to feel much pleasure for myself. That crop returned, whacking my rump. I stood there, alert. He placed the crop behind my left knee and pressed. When I did not react, He cropped my thigh and pressed behind my knee again. It took four whacks before I understood His wordless instructions and raised my left leg. Clearly incorrectly, as He kept at me with the crop until I raised my leg the way He wished, thigh horizontal, calf vertical, toe pointed.

We repeated this until I had it down perfectly, needing a mere brush of the crop to comply.

I felt something being clipped to my bridle. Surely the reins?

He tugged and walked me around slowly. Any time I did not raise my leg perfectly, we would stop and I would feel the anger of the crop on my offending thigh. In no time He had me fully under control, high stepping the cart about, the squeaking wheels and the singing bells adding to the cacophony of the birds.

He pressed my head, and tugged my reins down, making me kneel. I heard Him walk behind me, felt the weight of the cart rods as He got into riding position. I kept kneeling. Twice He pulled hard on my reins, forcing my head back at a painful angle. He then pulled left, right, left, right, firmly in control.

There was an incredible cracking sound by my right ear. I almost died of fright, before realizing that the buggy whip was being tested.

A tug on my reins and a light use of that frightful whip on my rear told me to stand. A shake of the reins, followed by another loud crack of the whip, urged me into motion.

The cart did not move easily at first. Another insistent crack, and I was successful. I pulled the cart forward.

I had no idea, blinded, where I was going. But there was no need to see. The reins told me when to turn. The buggy whip told me when I was not pulling hard enough or not high stepping to perfection. The painful welts on my back and rear soon taught me to be the obedient, effective cart pony.

As I pulled, half dazed, I pondered if I was still debby, M's slave girl, or debby, the ponygirl of He, the firm and silent stranger. My body clearly betrayed me, in response. I instinctively pressed my thighs together. My high steps faltered. The kiss of His buggy whip jolted me back to the now, and I walked on.

Debby's Plight Part 2

Section I. An Ominous Evening.

At sunset, my unknown captor drove this very tired ponygirl back to the warmth of a camp fire. Oh, the sense of freedom when He unhitched me and removed much of my tight harnessing!

How I yelped into my bit as those devilish bells were unclipped. It felt like a thousand pins were tormenting my tender nipples. My knees buckled from these overwhelming sensations and I almost fainted.

My boots and my tail were removed roughly, without ceremony. As He freed me of my bit, a vertical finger momentarily pressed on my lips. Wordlessly, He had demanded my complete silence.

He put a bar of soap in my still-gloved hand, then reined me, almost naked, stumbling, to the lake's edge.

Loud cracks of the the whip urged me into, then under the water.

The refreshing liquid eased the aches, quenched the thirst. Slowly, lazily, languishing in the temporary freedom, I soaped the grimy sweat off.

A firm yank on my reins brought back reality.

I was led back to the heat of the fire, and rebitted. My hands were cuffed before me, chain-tethered once more.

He pressed my face down into something squishy and messy. My fleeting revulsion quickly turned into joy. Food! After my arduous day pulling the cart I was tearfully ravenous. My urge was to just shovel the food in, yet sensed eating with my hands would not be acceptable.

Greedily, despite the bit, whatever my lips and teeth found was consumed. The mush of chopped fruits and grains was totally gourmet. And the crunchy carrot cubes tasted like the absolute height of culinary delight.

All too soon He pulled me up by my hair, dripping food and water. With my head back, He lubricated the dark opaque contact lenses covering my light hazel eyes, with eye drops. What did it mean, that the trainer who so easily whipped me also seemed to take such care of His captive?

Bells chimed faintly, teasing my heightening sense of hearing. Something sharp prickled my nipple lightly, startling me. He repeated it, again, and again, on each nipple.

What on earth? Slowly, His meaning dawned on me. He intended to pierce and ring me, very soon. Those bells would become a permanent part of me.

My head bowed to Him, in wordless resignation and acceptance. A cold chill ran down my spine. I shuddered.

He must have stoked the fire, because the logs crackled. Then, there came a feeling of heat radiating, something very hot getting much too near my left ass cheek.

OH NO! It can't be possible! He means to brand me, like a horse! I lost it. Mad with fear, I pulled away until my tether brought me short. I could not run away, sightless, always chained and controlled. Those accursed opaque contacts were so effective! What was I to do?

When His thigh brushed my cheek, I reacted instinctively, bending low, kissing His feet, silently, ever so silently begging Him not to use the branding iron on me.

He never said a word. Only the crickets of the night talked to me. He walked away, abandoning me in my bit and bridle, chained by the fire on all fours, trembling at what will be. Thankfully, despite my anxieties, my exhaustion brought a deep, dreamless sleep.

Section II. The Morning's Ordeal.

The lashing sting woke me, still groggy. Chains clinked as I rose to my knees. My eyes beheld nothing! What was that tightness that seemed to enclose my head?

Oh, my bridle and bit. It had been no dream! The plight of yesterday flooded back. The sore muscles, the stiff jaw, and the well-whipped ass were clear reminders of my transformation into a cart ponygirl.

Another sting brought me back to the present. Wielding the whip, He yanked my reins this way and that, until He had me positioned on all fours.

There I was, ponygirl in bit and bridle, ready to receive my tail. It was as uncomfortably painful as yesterday, but my body somehow seemed to accept it more readily as an integral part of me.

Quickly, I was pulled to my feet, tightly harnessed, all done with calm competence.

That damned tinkling bell! I tensed, squirmed for the anticipated piercing. None took place. Again the cruel clips bit deeply into my tender teats, and again the merry chimes mocked my plight. Still, immense relief washed through me at my reprieve.

Who was being fooled here? Perhaps only me. He lightly caressed my left ass cheek, then gently pricked at my nipple, mocking me. My fate was sealed. Would it be tonight?

He unchained me and led me to the cart. My long-sleeved gloves were re-clipped to my harnessing, high on my back, and my waist reattached to the carriage rods.

A sting on my left thigh, then some light well-placed taps, commanded me to raise my left leg, until just so.

He seemed to move away. The chirping of the birds and the intense buzzing of the cicadas serenaded me after His footsteps died off.

Once more, I stood there, and stood there, blindly, in anguish. My body ached in so many places. Beads of sweat ran down my face. My mouth was wedged open. My head and torso were captive in webs of unyielding pressure. My arms were pinioned back at an impossible angle. My rear was brutally spread, my nipples unbearably crushed. My nostrils flared as I breathed, my saliva pooled and dripped, and my tail sometimes tickled.

Those infernal bells seemed to laugh even more, both at my inability to stay steady on one leg and at my fear of the consequences if I did not. Then, when two flies landed on my breasts and walked about, I was certain I'd go mad. It seemed forever that He was away.

More bells announced His return. He twisted my still-raised leg at an angle, making me point my toes. He brushed a dirt clump off my sole, then something leathery encased my bare foot. A boot? He seemed to be lacing it on all the way up my calf, its bells terribly noisy. OWWW! This one was really tight, and unusually heavy, very different from yesterday's.

His whip bade my booted foot down. It felt somehow wrong! My left leg seemed longer than my right. The weight was forced forward on my toes, reminding me of my bygone ballet lessons. The whip kept at me until I stood only on my longer left foot and raised my right leg.

The bells pealed incessantly, especially since balancing on my strangely booted toes was a lot harder than it had been barefooted. Fortunately, the attached carriage rods helped maintain stability.

Soon my right foot was similarly shod. There I stood, tottering, tall on my toes, boot-bells ringing. He let me be, until I settled into some sort of equilibrium. The bells quieted down. A fleeting irrational worry hit me, a hope, then the certainty - I felt I looked delectable like this, attractive and sexy. My spirits lifted.

Section III. Beyond Dressage.

This time, when He pressed my head down, my kneeling was instant in obedience. Anything to avoid a repeat of yesterday's whippings.

His weight shifted the cart, as He sat and made Himself comfortable. Then the tug on my reins and a light use of that frightful buggy-whip on my rear. This time I stood, knowing what it meant. A shake of the reins, followed by another loud crack of the whip, and I was off, by now trained, conditioned to that slow high-stepping walk.

Fortunately the grass was soft. Still, it took a few hours for me to get the gait just right in those cruel belled boots. The proud high-steps he demanded made my breasts bounce, my nipple bells sing, my ass wiggle, my tail move, and my insides ever aware.

When He saw me demonstrate full confidence at this pace, He shook my reins and whipped me up to a trot.

Once, He lashed me into a full gallop, until I was ready to collapse. I silently thanked my gym's personal trainer for the excellent conditioning that let me live through it.

All day I pulled His cart. We ranged far and wide, up hills and down slopes, with many bursts at the faster paces, without a mishap. Sometimes I smelled the grass, sometimes the dust the wheels kicked up. But I did not see, nor could hear anything except my bells and my heavy breathing through the bit. Only His reins guided His cart and ponygirl, anywhere He chose, with a light touch and the even rarer whip lash. Expertly, He always knew just how to pace me, to hydrate me, to drive me all out.

I was almost spent, foaming at the mouth. Ever aware of my limits, He eased me to a slow-walking high-step. As he cooled me down, my breathing quieted somewhat. On a flat, paved roadway, I was surprised to hear over my panting the hooves of a real horse.

CLIP. Chime. CLOP. Chime. CLIP. Chime. CLOP. Chime.

Wherever I walked, that horse always seemed close. My mind sometimes felt it was wandering. So was this rider really accompanying us?

Doh! The bells finally gave it away. That horse was me! There had to be horseshoes under my boots, a-clipclopping. I actually giggled, relaxing, to enjoy the music that my bells and hooves made as I toiled. They certainly defined and framed the reality of this new existence as a ponygirl.

Section IV. Choices.

At long last He reined me in, and we stopped. I knelt to let Him off the cart, feeling beyond tired. When I rose, he watered me though my bit. I was so happy it was over.

No, not quite. Alternately, He caressed my ass left cheek, and pricked my nipple. Again, and again, repeating until He made me understand in this non-verbal ponygirl way.

In a cold sweat, sobbing, I had to choose what came next, rings in my nipples or His brand on my cheek. I shuddered at the inevitability.

"Who was this silent man?" I pondered, distraught. "Was He M, my Master, or was He not?" In truth, He controlled me, fully. If I picked His brand, I'd choose Him exclusively. But if I chose the rings, I could still hope to be another's, perhaps finding my true Master.

Clearly, I was now trained to obey Him. But was I ready to totally accept Him unseen and unheard, to be branded as His, unconditionally? No way! Never!

Anxiously, with closed eyes, I pressed against Him each time He pricked my nipple, and drew away each time He caressed my ass cheek. Frightened, needy and soaking wet, this ponygirl silently gave Him her answer.

Section V. Needs.

That night, after I was washed, fed, watered and rebitted, I knelt unseeing and chained, awaiting my fate. He teased my left nipple, fingering and circling me.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm... His scent, His touch, His power, seduced me, and I wanted Him, desperately. My hardened bud totally adored Him, even though I feared Him so.

Incredibly, my loins were suddenly on fire, soaking in involuntary excitement at my predicament. I yearned for this dominant trainer's caress, His manhood, His words. I longed to passionately surrender myself to this stern Male, to service Him. Yes! Now!

He eased out my bit and unzipped. My reaction was primeval.

I licked His delicious Manhood in needful worship...

...kissed Him, caressed Him with my lips, took His shaft in fully...

...served him with abandon.

My heart pounded impossibly, I had given my all. I prayed He would be well pleased. Surely He could never brand or ring me now!

He came, powerfully, in waves. After He was sated, He seemed to mark something on my left breast with His seed. Then He casually replaced my bit, as if nothing happened.

Section VI. The Inevitable.

Indifferent to my needs, He took my traitorous nipple between two fingers...

...pinched hard, pulled, then...

...firmly pressed a needle through, horizontally!

"NNEEEEiiiiihh!" My blind, bitted protest was quite useless and surprisingly equine. The inevitable was done, quickly, clinically. To my relief, He pulled the weapon out. But right away, He drove it through again in the reverse direction, leaving me whimpering,

An eternity of agony later, I felt something thick working into me, then a loud CLICK of finality. When His hands released me, I shied away from Him, and another infernal chime echoed my motion. My left nipple was ringed permanently, and belled!

He left me there, kneeling and sobbing, absolutely shocked. The repreive was short lived, maybe fifteen minutes. He returned and again drove the needle through me, in the same terribly expert way.

I was still singing horsie "NNEEEEiiiiihh!" encores of protest, but he was finished, my adorned teats a matched set.

Much later that evening, as He removed the bells, I mused in mock relief that only the rings were permanent.

While I chomped and drooled into my bit, He caressed my breasts, gently applying generous dabs of cooling salve to my violated nips. He clearly was a Master at what He was doing. Everything He did was executed with admirable confidence.

The fare-thee-well bites of His whip lingered long after He had left. Chained for the night, I felt so confused. My body felt submissive to His Mastery, completely. My mind too, letting Him train me, tease me, use me, and ring me. Yet my heart and soul were not ready to accept His unconditional ownership.

Drifting off to an achy, tired sleep, I deluded myself, dreaming of my future life as a beautiful, magically independent equine, running wild, enjoying the open prairie. And yet, deep inside me there was no doubt the next sunset would see me visionless, worked hard in harness, His personally owned, freshly-branded ponygirl.

Debby's Plight Part 3

Section I. Time Heals.

The morning after He ringed me, He roused me with His whip, as usual. I immediately knelt, and He watered me, put drops in my eyes. The whip bade me to all fours to accept my tail and then on my feet for my ever-so-tight harnessing. He clipped on my reins and drew me forward, to be hitched to His cart. I neighed protests into my bit when He belled the rings in my very tender nipples, then moaned from the weight of those chimes. He was, as usual, gentle when He applied the salve. The routine continued, onto my knees to let Him into the cart, then up with the pull of the reins. I presented my flank for His whip, then we were off for His pleasure, His unseeing ponygirl trotting through the countryside, at His command.

In the evening, I was given my daily feeding of grain and vegetable mush, and watered. He casually used my mouth again, then replaced my bit and chained me. He left me horny, frustrated and abandoned for the night. I lay down, ever scared by the sounds of the evening, and wondered about the branding.

Days passed, with never a word spoken. My tenderness gradually receded when He belled my rings and applied the salve, increasingly replaced by an involuntary heat, arousal and wetness at His touch. Yet the routine never wavered. Whipped awake, then watered, eye-dropped, tailed, harnessed, reined, hitched, salved and driven all day. Bathed, mushed, watered, used and chained, every night, still frightened, wondering about the horrid branding.

Weeks passed, still in silence. The routine did not change much, but I certainly changed a lot. I adapted to my new reality. I still could not see, yet all my other senses became much more acute. I could hear, taste and smell my world like never before. Compelled by my improved sense of smell, I even explored the range of my tether one night, to learn how to handle keeping my bodily wastes downwind, and furthest away from where I slept. I began to discriminate the sounds of the varied fauna that lurked nearby. Incredibly, I could often smell Him even before I heard Him approach.

My nipples no longer ached from the rings. My body strengthened, and I lost any trace of fat. My stamina increased. I grew confident in harness, one with the cart, almost anticipating His commands. I high-stepped, pranced, trotted and ran, precisely to His exacting demands, until there was no more use for His whip, it had all become second nature to me.

I savored the mush feeding each night and delighted at bathing the day's travails off in the lake.

Incredibly, I yearned for his attention and looked forward his touch. I actually wanted to be driven, used, handled. I no longer feared the night, and thought less of the horror of branding. I had become a smug, raunchy ponygirl.

Section II. New Reins.

The whip still startled me immediately awake, after all this time. I obeyed, automatically assuming all the positions required of me in His morning preparations, only half paying notice. Then, something very different caught my attention. Why was He not clipping the reins to my bit, but threading them through its loops?

As He tugged the ring on my now healed, incredibly responsive nipple, it dawned on me. He was attaching the reins to my nipple rings!

My fleeting surprise was quickly overtaken by the most amazing sexual reaction. My nipples rock hard, my pussy soaking, my knees weak, I nearly orgasmed. My plight as a ponygirl reached another level, took on even more intensity.

He just ignored my excitement, finished His business with sure, capable hands, then led me to the cart. I knelt as trained, to let Him on. He tugged twice at each nipple rein to give me a sense of His new controls. An involuntary shudder went through me, when He tightened His grip even more on my reins and yanked. I rose, and presented my rear, ready for the road. Then, with a crack of the buggy whip, we were off.

It is an understatement to say this was the ride of my life. There was this new, high bandwidth, open channel between my nipples and my clit! The slightest movement of His hand travelled down the reins, through my nipples, to ring my chimes and my pussy simultaneously. I literally gushed my juices, orgasming as I trotted, with only my clip-clopping hooves rousing me now and then from my sexual stupor. I had never cum like this, even for my Master, M. It was beyond incredible.

Section III. Beware an Afternoon Off.

He was a sage handler of ponies, and knew I could not take a full day of this. He took me back by noon, trembling, lost, totally drained. He let me bathe, then left me, chained. I luxuriated in the sun and in the sexual calm after my storm.

I napped the afternoon away, until I was nudged awake by His boot. Grateful for the rest, horny and unfulfilled, I licked His boot, just like I had that first day. I was just finishing His other boot, when His whip forced my face sideways, away from His feet - to another boot?!?

What now...?

A cruel lash on my rump ended my hesitation. I, a good ponygirl, obeyed and went on, licking another set of boots. My speculation continued. Is He selling me to another? Could this be an auctioneer? What will be my fate?

The stranger, of the new boots, also had hands, hands that gripped my hair and drew me up towards His groin.

Immediately, my heightened senses recognized Him. It was M! My Master! I became frantic in my joy, whinnying into my bit, nuzzling His manhood.

He petted me, in a gentle acknowledgement of my recognition, then, realizing His let His guard down, He pushed me away.

I crawled back to M on my hands and knees, silently begging Him, kissing and licking His boots. M simply touched and caressed my left flank. He kept at it, until I finally understood. M intended to brand me with His brand, now, personally, with my consent! I was lost, not knowing what I should do. But my body knew, and responded, even while my mind was still numb. Each caress, I pressed against His hand, giving Him my answer and myself, for all eternity, unconditionally.

There was no ceremony, no music, no guests, no rose petals. My trainer simply held me immobile with His strong arms, on my hands and knees, rear skywards. M went off and returned with that hissing-hot iron.

My whinnies drowned out most of the sizzling sounds emanating from my left flank. But how I felt the intense pain, smelled the acrid smell. It was over in seconds, I was branded, property, ponygirl. But the pain would not stop.

I must have passed out, because when I came to, I found myself alone, collapsed on the grass. They had gone off somewhere, perhaps for celebratory drinks, leaving me to my misery. I wept and whimpered. Spasms and shudders went through me. It took forever to calm down, and somehow accommodate the interminable throbbing agony. Eventually I slept, drained and exhausted.

Section IV. My New Home.

Morning came, and with it the same inevitable whiplash. But things were permanently different. The events of the evening flooded back, along with the pain on my flank.

I was pulled to my knees, given a thorough inspection, then salve cooled my brand. The usual eye drops were applied. Then, to my surprise, my opaque contacts were removed! I blinked in the bright sunlight, catching only a glimpse of M, unable to handle the glare.

My M was patient, waiting. I squinted, looking around for My trainer. He had gone - I never got the chance to see Him nor hear Him speak.. Eventually, I could see M clearly. I looked into His eyes, and smiled, or at least tried to smile through my bit.

M returned my smile, and said, "Let's go home, debbypony."

Without urging, so well conditioned, I knelt on all fours, ready for my tail.

He laughed, then tailed and harnessed me, while I enjoyed Him, drinking Him in with my eyes.

M drew me to my feet, and attached my chimes to my breasts. It was wonderful. He drew my reins through my bit, clipping them to my nipple rings.

He led me to the cart. I watched my Master hitch me, then knelt for him. While He got on the cart, I snuck a quick peek at my new brand, but my blinkers blocked my lateral vision. He tugged at my nipple-reins. I rose, happily presenting my unmarked right flank for his whip. A lash, and we were off.

M had a light, easy control of the reins, even smoother than my trainer's. Even my ever-throbbing, branded, left flank could not stop my joy and arousal. He lashed me to a trot and I clip-clopped happily for Him, my eyes rediscovering the colors of nature all around me.

Hours later we came to a large, well-kept farm I had never seen before. M drew my left rein, and we turned in, passing an open gate with His initials on it - SJ, around a rose. So that's what my brand looked like!

He high-stepped me smartly up the farm road to a tidy looking barn, and reined me to a stop. Unhitched, I followed Him into the barn, directly to a stall with the name "debby" on its lower gate. Not surprisingly, M did not carry me over the threshold of my stall, but urged me in with His crop. Still, I was content, happy. Debbypony was home.