CHAPTER 8: PONYGIRLS IN TRAINING
*
The flight to Buenos Aires passed unremarkably, the only hiccough being the need to take a party of girls with a variety of interesting piercings through security at Heathrow. The-Cat and Bryony had been frisked while Rubber Dolly was lead away and we waited for an anxious thirty minutes especially after a young woman whose badge identified her as Dr Collins, followed her into the holding room carrying several packets of latex gloves. However, after her detention and presumably intimate examination, the enigmatic brunette emerged smiling and apparently laughing with the young woman doctor beside her.
'I have a G-spot piercing.' She said with a grin when quizzed. 'It's not a crime.'
Apparently the piercing was inserted under guidance of an ultrasound probe and consisted of a bimetallic strip that, in the depths of her pussy generated minute electric currents.
'I'm constantly horny'. She confided at the end of her explanation. 'And when Reuben's tongue stud catches it, I couldn't stop myself climaxing even if I wanted to.'
She concluded by revealing that the young doctor who'd just examined her had taken details of where they were available.
Perhaps, the sensations kept her amused through the flight although, I noticed somewhat jealously, that she slept through most of it, her head lying gracefully on Reuben's shoulder, her face in a half smile while the rest of us flicked through entertainment channels and tried to find a comfortable position.
Thus, as most of us emerged from the fourteen hour flight bleary eyed, the lovely brunette strode out bright eyed if not bushy tailed.
We were clearly expected; there was a very fit looking senorita waiting for us in arrivals dressed in a blue jacket, crisp white blouse and very tight white jodhpurs. She was clearly an athlete, standing upright with her head up and shoulders back, hips thrust slightly forward; a woman who was proud of her body and worked to maintain it. Even if she hadn't carried a sign saying 'Mares-de-Launce Pony Club' I think we'd have spotted her, especially when I realised the shiny black leather knee high boots she wore ended in the shape of a hoof.
She had typical Hispanic features with dark eyes and full lips though her hair was dyed blonde and drawn back in a sleek, oiled pony tail. She introduced herself as Jacintha in a strong, lisping Spanish accent, something that wasn't helped by the tongue stud that clicked against her teeth as she spoke. Jacintha clearly remembered Cream rather fondly judging by the way they'd said their 'hellos'.
After welcoming us, she lead us out of the terminal through an almost overpowering wall of heat to a waiting minibus where a man in a peaked cap loaded our luggage while we climbed aboard.
*
Ezeiza International Airport is just outside the city and we bypassed it in air-conditioned comport before heading west towards the distant Andes soon passing into farmland where cattle grazed as far as the eye could see.
At some point I nodded off and awoke as the bus wound its way up a mountain road through a mix of vineyards and coffee plantations until we began to follow a high wall that eventually gave way to a huge steel gateway. I could see a driveway stretching beyond flanked by a wide area of grass and scrub that then gave way to vineyards. A figure in black stood on the other side of the gate and as the bus pulled up another appeared. The men were both Hispanic, well built and suited; both carried automatic rifles. Don Hernan clearly took no chances with security. However, formidable as they appeared, a moment later the electric gates swung open and we drove inside, the black clad security detail waving as we passed.
It was clearly a vast estate and there was no sign of the Hacienda as we climbed steeply through the vineyard I'd seen from the road. Disappointingly there were no herds of pony girls sweeping majestically across the grassland, manes and tales streaming behind them, just a few workers, tending to the vines.
Then we rounded a bend and there they were, a line of carts ahead of us, harnessed ponies trotting between the shafts as they toiled up the steep road. As the bus overtook them we all looked out. The ponies were all dark skinned brunettes, small and pert like our guide though probably a little younger; and were all naked aside from their harnesses, boots and bridles. The harnesses were fashioned in the more modern polo style but more substantial, looking a little like Bryony's training harness but with with heavier shoulder straps running to rings round their breasts and a leather girdle; there was not crotch strap were leaving the girl's sexes exposed and no thigh straps either. Their arms were bound in an arrangement I'd seen in drawings of pony girls but never in photographs; each girl had her arms folded behind her back with her hands touching the opposite shoulder leaving her elbows pointing down towards her bottom, one over the other in the middle of her back; their arms, thus restricted were entirely encased in a triangular leather sheath. They weren't hooded but were bridled in a fairly traditional way, although this appeared mostly for show or, perhaps, discipline as the girls were all pierced and controlled with nipple reins. A couple, I noticed, had a single rein between their thighs too like that seen on a dressage mare.
It is perhaps worth noting at this stage that, unlike the Morrisey piercings of Mares ponies with which, thanks to Bryony, I was intimately acquainted which consisted of a single heavy set vertically just behind the nipple and is used with a nipple bridle; polo ponies usually have triple piercings; a small light ring set horizontally quite for forward in the nipple and two heavier vertical piercings in the areole on either side. In harness, the heavy rings on the inside of the breasts are joined by a short chain that stabilises the arrangement a little like the horizontal bar of the nipple bridle, the outer rings take the weight of the reins; there is then usually a fine chain or, sometimes a rubber strip connecting the outer ring to the small ring in the nipple itself. The constant jostling of the reins which occurs during a polo match is thus absorbed by the outer ring while the link to the small nipple ring provides the fine control needed to manoeuvre a girl in the close quarters combat that is PonyGirl polo. The various stables of the Buenos Aires PonyGirl Polo Club that use nipple reins have their own ways to maintain the sensitivity of their ponies' nipples ranging from the use of plant stings (a little like stinging nettles), through insect venom (the Wasps, not surprisingly, use South American hornets to sting their ponies' nipples before the start of a game), electrical stimulation up to good old fashioned flicking, pinching and biting. (The 'nipple posts' in the stableyard of the Angels are there for precisely this reason and in the build up to a match the ponies endure an hour a day bound to them with a groom assigned to each nipple).
In passing I would also note that genital piercings are not universally used on ponygirls for much the same reasons as they are not used in the racing ponies in Mares-de-Launce; in short they can chaff and affect a girl's performance. When they are inserted it is mostly to control girls who have a habit of running on in defiance of their player's attempts to slow them down either through over-enthusiasm or, in some cases, a fear of the whip.
As we passed, the look of determination in each girl's face was evident, eyes focussed and teeth clamped tightly around the leather bits in her mouth, sweat running down faces and beading on firm, pert breasts. Their athletic prowess was unmistakeable as each girl performed a perfect rising trot in her thigh high leather boots despite pulling the short shafted polo style gig to which she was harnessed up the slope.
Their drivers were very similar to their ponies and, surprisingly, also wore harnesses and boots though not bridles. They all held driving whips in their right hands which they used almost constantly so that the ponies' backs, bottoms and thighs were covered in red welts and bruises.
The leader of the group was slightly different; though harnessed and restrained in the same way she was hooded and sported a horse-head tattoo with blue bridle and plume like Cream's on her right shoulder. He driver wore the colours of Don Hernan's stable, the tight blue leather bolero jacket and tiny shorts that Cream wore when we trained; she wore a hat too, a flat topped brimmed one in the typical Spanish matador style which offered her some protection from the sun.
'This year's potras.' Jacintha told us. 'You will training along with them.'
I saw Bryony glance up at me wide eyed in a mix of excitement and anxiaty then, as we left the group to their training, we rounded a bend revealing Don Hernan's Hacienda, a sprawling building in a Spanish colonial style that commanded views of the surrounding estate and the valley beneath stretching away into the haze of the late morning sun.
*
The bus pulled into the courtyard and we disembarked, again feeling the heat of the day although here in the foothills of the Andes it felt cooler than in the oppressive humidity surrounding the airport.
We were offered drinks on a terrace, iced water and juices and a seat in the shade while our luggage was unloaded. Jacintha waited with us. Then, a few minutes later, another woman in equestrian dress strode into the courtyard followed by a group of six others, three men and three women who were similarly clad though jacketless and carried what were clearly harnesses and bridles. The new arrival was a little older than Jacintha and rather stern looking; and wore riding boots rather than pony boots and black leather riding gloves; she also carried a riding crop. I could tell she was clearly more senior from the way our guide clambered quickly to her feet as the woman entered.
'Welcome to the estate of Don Hernan de Cortez de Medellin.' The new arrival said, addressing us in almost perfect English as her followers fell into line behind her with their burdens. 'I am Juanita Mendez-Garcia, StableMistress of Hacienda de Medellin.'
As she spoke she drew her riding crop across her bottom. 'Don Hernan bids you welcome. Neustra casa es su casa.' She nodded her head in a brief bow her eyes meeting mine and then seeking our Reuben and Charles. 'In a moment, I will have you shown to the guest rooms but first, the ponies will present themselves for harnessing.'
I think we were all a little stunned but Cream was the first to recover, slipping off her dress, kicking off her shoes and tripping forward to drop to her knees in front of the StableMistress.
Juanita cracked a smile and stroked the little blonde's hair.
'Welcome back pretty one.' She said in Spanish, reaching to touch the tattoo on Cream's shoulder.
'Gracias, Senora.'
The-Cat was only a moment behind, as naked as her lover and just as eager.
