Day X Month XX Year XXXX
Dear Diary,
They say everyone has a story. A tale they could tell to just about anyone and give a perspective on the life they'd lived. But what do you do when your story is rather, adult in its content? Do you modify it? Or do you just keep it to yourself?
You see, for me. My day-to-day life isn't even remotely what I'm proud of. Sure, I enjoy it. I've worked my butt off to climb the corporate ladder and get my position as the VP of a company I hate, yay for me. How can I be proud that the company I work for is the face of most of the biggest environmental spills the world has seen in the last twenty years?
Sure. It's good money. But that's about it. But I'm getting off-topic here.
Recently a friend asked me about my exercise routine and what I'm most proud of in my life and I was at a loss for words. Am I supposed to just blurt out that the reason I'm in immaculate shape is that I get strapped up into intricate horse tack, boots that end in hooves, and bust my ass while jumping over three-foot jumps? Or that I'm hooked to a plow and made to till fields through the day?
Absolutely not. Because for me, sharing the thing I'm most proud of is only appropriate in crowds of people I trust and those people generally don't talk about their proclivities in the open either.
Oh well. I'm proud of what I've achieved. Even if it is in private. But if you're reading this, I've been willing to open up to you. Let me tell you the story of how I went from corporate lackey to muscled and competitive pony.
- The one and only, Daisy.
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Shake, Rattle, and Roll. You'd think the bus bringing people to and from a ranch located in the middle of nowhere would be a little more well-maintained. But the bus that she was sitting on seemed to be lacking a suspension. The strawberry blonde let out a small squeak as the old bus went over a pothole and nearly launched her out of her seat. She wrinkled her nose a bit and huffed.
"Has the bus always been like this?" She asked the driver over the loud hum of the engine that filled the cabin.
She was the only person on the bus, as it had been explained to her she was coming to the ranch in a bit of the off-season. So it was likely she wouldn't see too many people on her trip in. That was certainly the case, she was the ONLY one on the bus.
The driver, a raven-haired woman, chuckled a bit in response to the question.
"No. This is the spare. The good bus took a bit of a nasty bump last week that busted the suspension. So it's being repaired. No bigs though, this old girl has been making this trip for years now! Consider it a treat!"
The girl rolled her eyes a bit, "A treat. I feel like I'm riding in a paint shaker." She mumbled, flopping back in her seat and gathering up her backpack in her lap. At least the bus trip wasn't terribly long. An hour and a half at the most as it had been explained to her. She'd already been on it for an hour and fifteen minutes, she glanced out the window, unable to spot their destination just yet.
Leaning back into her seat, the woman would let her mind roam a little bit as they trundled along, back to how she'd ended up on this bus.
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This whole trip had been a little unplanned. The woman, Charlotte, had always been active in the online kink scene, and in her browsing, she'd come across a group connected to this facility she was headed to. One of the few of its kind, run by a multi-generation family that specializes in this particular subset of kink. What subset was that? One that involved hooves.
It hadn't been easy to get any information on the place at first. The group was private, and what little information was floating around online seemed almost shrouded in mystery and intrigue. After several unsuccessful attempts at contacting someone in the group, Charlotte had simply gone about her business. Interacting with the groups she normally did and chatting about attending a few local conventions near to her home and being vocal about the things she wanted to explore.