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Subject: {ASSM} A Pony Tale - 17/?? - Pony (story,MF,rom,cons,bd,exhib) - Boots and peeing
Date: Sat, 26 Aug 2000 19:10:12 -0400
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Chapter 17 - Boots and peeing

This work also appears at http://www.ranch.demon.co.uk/



Lucinda, an attractive 26-year-old advertising executive, is bored
with her shallow job. Peter, a 39-year-old ex-football playing
network trouble-shooter from America, introduces her to the world
of pony-play. She seeks a hedonistic but trusting relationship
whereas he wishes to add her to his long list of trophies.
A Pony Tale chronicles her experiences and challenges during
this journey.

         *** WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! ***

This work contains adult material. It explicitly describes
heterosexual, homosexual and group sex activities and covers
many aspects of submission and discipline.
It is NOT to be viewed by minors or residents of countries
where the depiction of these acts is illegal.

         This work is Copyright (c)2000 Pony Girl, UK.

You are responsible for any copies you make. By downloading this
work you agree to indemnify the author and any of her agents
regarding any action howsoever arising from misuse either deliberate
or otherwise while this work is in your possession. You also
agree to use all reasonable precautions to prevent minors or
unauthorised persons accessing the work.

You are granted the right to download, copy and print the work
for your personal use only.

You may copy the contents to bulletin boards, newsgroups and
similar fora provided this copyright notice is included with
the copy and the work is complete and unmodified in any way.
The author would, however, appreciate an email informing her
where you have posted this. (See signature)

Under no circumstances may you use the work or parts thereof
for any form of trade or commercial gain whatsoever even under
'fair use'.





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.



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 Copyright (c)2000, Pony at The Ranch in the Country, UK
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