Aunt Anns Pony Life Ch 05

There are words and phrases that you read, you know, if you're widely read in a certain genre, but never really expect to apply to the real world. They're literary devices, little rhetorical flourishes to make a point. In erotica, it's phrases like, "he sprang erect," or "his cock jumped," things like that to indicate how what he saw or felt or touched or tasted or smelled affected the male character.

It turns out, they are not only literary tricks.

I sprang erect, my sudden boner requiring that I physically adjust my pants to avoid painful binding.

Oh, I recognized her all right, but she was transformed. It was still Aunt Ann but she was, well,

transformed

is the only word that fits. She was also a Pony, a gorgeous animal and I wanted to, well, to "handle" her, to "tend" to her.

"Are you okay?" Gloria asked, her hands on my arm, almost steadying me, and her mouth close enough to my ear that I could feel little puffs of warm moist breath as she asked the question.

"Dammmmmmm," I breathed softly, and she giggled.

It's hard to capture in words and get across how complete her transformation was, but I'll try.

The overall image, hell, the overwhelming image, was PINK. If I had seen her in another environment I would have thought Flamingo rather than Pony. The bright pink leather almost glowed with the color and the, well, the shininess of it.

Her headgear was a tight cap, almost a bathing cap like competitive swimmers wear leaving only her face exposed. Very realistic pink pony ears were prominent on the top of the headgear and a tall plume of a very soft feather in a matching color added two feet to her apparent height.

Andi was working her around a small circular track, obviously well used since Dakota, and it was impossible to not think of her as Dakota, was moving in a shallow trench, clearly worn in from thousands of feet. As she moved toward me I could see two delicate chrome chains running from the top of the headgear to her nostrils, wide chrome hooks holding her nostrils slightly distended. On some analytical level, my brain thought BreatheRight strips and I wondered if they were designed to help her breathe as well as look sexy as hell.

A bright silver, I assumed it was chrome, collar made her neck impossibly long and I would later find out a sharp spike at the top of it forced her into a chin-up posture.

Her breasts had wide leather collars against her body, that bright pink color, of course, forcing her mammary glands forward, distending her nipples. Those collars were part of the general harness that included a waist cinch that had her down to about a twenty-inch waist. She looked like I could span it with my two hands. Straps running between her legs made the tops of her thighs bulge, her incipient cellulite dimples prominently on display. A long flowing tail, not quite brushing the dirt, was part of the lower back of the belly cinch with a chrome rod, something I assumed, the way it disappeared between the crack of her ass, was an anal hook to lock everything together. Her forearms were covered with marching hooves.

Her thighs were bare between the straps that ran between her legs and the tops of her, well, her hooves. Something about the hooves made my dick throb even harder. They were the same pink color, of course, and were laced from within an inch of the bottom all of the way up to just below her knee. They were form fitted around her calves. The front of the hoof was, basically, a straight line down her shins to the bottom. The bottom had a slight angle. Picture the highest, most radical stiletto heels you've ever seen, without the heel, and you have it.

Her harness was attached with a well-worn rope to a long bar mounted on a swivel to a beam about ten feet overhead. As I watched, she was moving around the circle. Each step was her knee brought up very high, with a tiny hesitation, and then down hard enough to make an audible thud.

Occasionally Andi would touch her with the long buggy whip in her hand as she walked along inside the circle Dakota was making, drawing a little snort.

"You see," Gloria said, startling me out of the way I was staring, my concentration complete, "that is not your Aunt Ann, David. That is a Pony named Dakota. Isn't she beautiful?"

"She is," I said, my own voice very soft, and I meant it.

"Andi," Gloria called, "bring her in."

Andi flashed a thumbs up and started talking to Dakota in a soft voice, I thought I caught something like "easy girl," and, "whoa now," and over the next two laps around the little circle, she slowed until it was a parade step, almost like a drum major for a major league marching band, knee very high, held for a long count, and then thudding down hard to the ground.

As she came to a stop, right in front of Gloria and me, I had my first chance to look at her up close.

What I saw gave a whole new meaning to the word "exotic."

Dakota, and it was impossible to even think "Aunt Ann" at that point, stood before us, her eyes forward, almost seeming unaware we were even there. Her nose was running, those distended nostrils just pouring thick clear mucus. She was drooling around the bit, her saliva joining the mucus in a thick flow that hung from her chin to those oddly displayed breasts. And she was sweating. Not perspiring or "glistening" as one southern girl I had known at one time had put it. Sweat was just pouring off of her.

"Our Pony Milk," Gloria said into my ear, "that drink we give our Ponies before we tack them up, has a few extra ingredients. There's

glyceryl guaiacolate

, that's the active ingredient in Mucinex, gets her nose running like that to keep the dust we make around her out of her lungs."

She giggled.

"And, well, to add to the image.

Clozapine

, an anti-psychotic, helps smooth her out," she went on, "and drooling is a lovely side effect.

Sertraline

, the active ingredient in the anti-depressant Zoloft keeps her happy and, as an added benefit, helps keep her cool because of how it increases sweat gland production."

I couldn't take my eyes off Dakota. She stood, not quite perfectly still. Occasionally a muscle would twitch, reminding me of my few times around horses when a fly would land and skin would do that sort of little jerk.

"Okay, David," Gloria said in that soft sultry voice, "Andi will show you how to take care of Dakota. We'll talk later." She patted my shoulder and walked away. I'm pretty sure she put some extra swing in her hips. They were worth watching.

When I turned back Andi was watching me, a knowing smile on her face.

"Okay?" she asked and I chuckled.

"Teach me, Mistress," I said, and that drew the first hint of a smile I had seen from her.

"Okay," she said, and handed me a riding crop, a word I learned later. It was about 18 inches long, made of tightly braided leather making it stiff but flexible, and ended in a little flat leather paddle.

"This," she said, very serious now, "is called a Crop. It's your primary tool around the barn. You won't need to slap her, just a touch will do, she's a good girl," and she emphasized that final phrase with a soft pat to Dakota's hip and caress to her ass, a word I quickly corrected mentally to "rump."

I said nothing. So far I figured it was pretty self-explanatory.

"Okay then," she said, "first, I've been working this girl pretty hard so let's get her some water."

This time she waited me out so I asked, "Where and how?"

She smiled. "The trough is over there," and she pointed to the far wall, "so first we need to unhook her."

That turned out to be one of the easiest things I would learn to do that day. The harness had a big shiny "D ring" in the middle of the back, attached with a carabiner so I just pushed the spring-loaded section and unhooked her from the beam.

Andi was grinning at me.

"Good job. Now talk to her, tell her what you're going to do, then just TOUCH," and the way she said the last word made the emphasis clear, "her rump to get her moving."

I stopped and asked, "Why did you say it like that?"

"Because," she said and the aggravation in her came off in waves, "many, hell, maybe most of our new Handlers want to whip our Ponies, and that's not fair to them."

"Gotcha," I said, "but trust me, hurting An," and I caught myself, "Dakota is the farthest thing from my mind."

"Okay," she said, not exactly smiling but at least not scowling like she wanted to kill me, "tell her and touch her and lead her."

I followed Andi's example and lightly patted Dakota's hips and said, "Okay, girl, let's get you a drink." I gave a very light tug on her reins, touch to her rump, and a light pat with the crop, and she started moving.

"Remind her of her steps," Andi said, walking beside us, "she can be a lazy girl."

So I said, "Steps," sharply, and used the crop with more authority. That drew that odd little snorting sound again, but her steps were better after the "touch up," another term I would learn later.

At the water trough, I realized just how, well, no longer fully human she was. The trough was a couple of feet high, forcing her to get to all fours to use it. But she didn't get onto her hands and knees as you usually associate with being on all fours. Rather, she bent sharply at the waist until the hooves at the end of her arms, it was almost tempting to call them forelimbs, were on the ground, supporting her upper body. The little bits of hay or grass, the dust thick enough that it clumped, the dead bug floating on top, or the general thin layer of scum, to which her mucus and drool added, didn't bother her at all as she lowered her face to suck water gently.

I couldn't help but look and see that the mucus membranes lining her vagina were overactive as well. There were shiny trails high on her thighs.

And Jesus, I wanted to so badly I thought my cock would explode.

I jumped when Andi said, "It's special, isn't it?"

I breathed out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Jesus," I said.

She giggled.

"You can fuck her if you want to," she said, "but I don't recommend it. She'll barely notice. It's not really good for the Handler."

I took a deep breath and said, "Yeah, I can see that. I'll wait until she's human again."

She giggled and said, "That's a good way to look at it. Now let's get her out on the track. She's had enough water."

"Lead on, Sensei," I said.

As she started to walk away I gave Dakota's rein a tug. She snorted and made a sound that can only be called a whinny but didn't move.

"Use the crop," Andi said over her shoulder.

So I slapped Dakota's ass making her flinch, and gave a little jerk on the rein, finally getting her moving.

"STEPS!" I snapped, finding real pleasure in using the crop, drawing that little snort, and seeing her knees higher with each step.

It was a fairly long walk to the track area. Part of it was an underground tunnel that opened onto the stable area along the backstretch. Her hooves made interesting echoes as we passed through it.

There were several sulkies parked in a row making me wonder how many Ponies there were. I could see the two still on the track, working out, and the two heavier Horses pulling their loaded wagon around in the infield, but the dozen sulkies still parked made me suspect there were a lot more.

"They're all alike," Andi said, "hell, identical. There are no mechanical advantages when we race the Ponies although Gloria maintains a complicated handicap system and we can add weight to make things even."

"I see," I said.

"Now watch," she said and took Dakota's reins from me.

So I stood back and got a lesson in how to hitch a Pony to a sulky.

"Forward, Dakota," she started, her voice that soft, low tone I could imagine her calming the cattle with at her other job. She was using her crop, and I could see it was a well-used tool with the leather very dark with what I assume was a combination of palmsweat and softening oils, lightly on Dakota's rump and hip, moving her slowly forward until she was lined up in front of the sulky.

"Good girl," she said, "now back." The crop was lightly touching Dakota's thigh and she was backing slowly.

"STEPS! Lazy girl," Andi snapped and the crop slapped across Dakota's thigh sharply leaving a little square red mark.

Dakota snorted but her knees started coming back up as they should.

"Stop now, girl," Andi said as Dakota was lined up between the two bars that extended from the front of the sulky.

"Come here, David," she said.

I watched as she hooked the left bar to Dakota's tack, using spring-loaded clips at three points on the tack.

"Now watch," she said, and then adjusted the straps until the bar was just a little bit above parallel with the ground and all three straps had equal tension. She showed me how to make the complicated knot to lock each strap in position.

"You do the other side," she said.

Hooking up the three straps wasn't hard and getting the bar height adjusted and the tension on the straps was pretty intuitive. But I felt like an absolute klutz as I had to be shown about five times how to do that knot. Once I got it, though, it was one of those things where I wondered, "Now what was so fucking hard about that?"

Then she showed me how to exchange the "lead" reins for the much longer "driving" reins and how to do a quick half-hitch knot to anchor the lead to the sulky.

"Now listen," she said, "Dakota's been a lazy girl for a while now, so don't overwork her."

"What do I do?" I asked, "Remember, it's my first time."

She smiled and said, "Then you'll be all over the track, but that's okay, it's not a race today. It's pretty basic," she went on, taking the reins and laying them in my hand. "You pull on one or the other to turn her, pull back both for slow down or stop, and just leave them slack for 'go.'"

"You'll probably need to use this to get her going," she said, and pulled the long buggy whip from its tubular holder, "but it doesn't take much, just a touch."

She whipped it back and forth and the little frayed end made a loud cracking sound. Dakota flinched.

"That'll usually get her attention," she said, "and all you need to do then is just touch lightly."

The buggy whip was long enough, I realized, that I could easily reach and touch her rump with the relatively stiff handle part. The actual "whip", a much thinner braided cord, was for the sound.

"Gotcha," I said.

"Now remember, she's been a lazy girl for a while, so no more than four laps and if she's tiring before that, bring her in," she said.

"Okay," I said, and I realized I was feeling exactly like I had that first time Mom had let me drive the car.

"Ummmm," I asked, feeling foolish but wanting to ask, "Is there a two-seat version? You know, like a training sulky."

She laughed and said, "Nope. That might be too much weight for one of our Ponies."

"Oh," I said, feeling even more foolish.

"Now quit stalling," she said, and slapped Dakota smartly on the rump.

I almost panicked when I realized there was no brake.

But we were moving sedately.

"Don't forget to watch her steps," Andi said to my back and I realized that Dakota was, indeed, getting lazy again so I reached over and sort of flicked her on the rump with the buggy whip while calling, "STEPS!"

She snorted and whinnied but got moving, with her knees coming up nicely.

I had another bad moment as we approached the track itself as one of the others on the track went by but she was plenty clear by the time we were getting to the track.

I pulled on the right rein, wanting to get her turning onto the track.

She turned sharply and we were headed for the retaining wall.

I pulled on the left rein and she turned sharply left. Now we were approaching the track in the wrong way.

Another pull on the right, this time very gently, and at least I had us pointed in the right direction.

And I realized what Andi had meant. Jesus, she was so sensitive to the reins that we looked like a drunk as we weaved wildly from side to side.

It took almost half a lap to get us moving in a more or less straight line but once I did I found it exhilarating.

I watched her ass, snapped the buggy whip, and called out, "STEPS!" and felt like a goddam king or prince or something.

As I grew more confident I would lightly touch her rump with the buggy whip and say, "Step it up, girl," and our speed would increase.

Now don't get me wrong. She wasn't remotely close to a sprint. It was more like a jog and not even a fast jog at that, but it was faster than we had been going and it felt very fast on that light-framed little cart.

By the end of the first lap, she had settled into a very pretty step and as I looked over my shoulder it seemed that we were at least keeping pace with those other two, obviously more experienced, sulkies.

The second and third laps were steady on pace and we didn't get passed but as we got into the fourth lap she was starting to flag. I couldn't see her face, of course, but I could see the sheen of sweat that covered her shoulders and her legs. I pulled back on the reins gently, slowing her down to a walk as we finished that last lap.

I did keep popping the buggy whip over her head and calling "STEPS, DAKOTA."

As I led her into the deceleration lane and then onto the ramp she was breathing heavily.

I pulled her up with the reins, set the brake, and got out to check on her.

"Good girl," I said, lightly rubbing her sweat-wet shoulders.

As soon as she stopped she started peeing and I waited until she was done before I mounted up and walked her over to the parking area. I wondered, briefly, if there was a way to back the thing in, but thought I'd pushed things far enough so I just dismounted and started unhooking the straps. The sulky itself was very light and easy enough to maneuver back into its parking spot by hand.

While I was doing that, Dakota wandered off and I had to trot to catch up to her and hook up the lead reins.

"Bad girl," I said and swatted her sharply on the rump with the crop.

"Note to self," I said aloud as I started walking her back to the tack room, "don't drop the reins."

"STEP," I said and slapped her, probably harder than I should have, across the rump again.

She snorted and jumped but those knees came back up.

Andi was waiting when we got back to the tack room, and for the first time, she was truly smiling.

"You're a natural," she said, "now have her drink this," she said and handed me a small cup.

"How?" I asked and she smiled, took the cup back, and showed me. She pinched Dakota's nose shut and when she opened her mouth she put the cup to her lips and started slowly tipping it back. I could see Dakota's throat working.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's the antidote, the neutralizer really, for the Pony Milk. We need to bring her back before she's ready to leave," she said.

"Now," Andi said, "let me show you how to get her ready to go back into the world."

"I do the belly band first," she said, and started unbuckling the straps that held Dakota's belly cinched down so small. I helped, amazed at just HOW tight she had them tightened.

"Now this," she said and gently pulled the tail loose. It turned out it was, as I had suspected, a butt plug, well, an anal hook really, supported by a separate belt cinched tightly. With that second belt off I could see Dakota relax.

"Now we free her teats," and the way she pronounced it, "teets," made that spelling necessary. As she undid the collar on Dakota's left breast I undid the one on her right and then we undid the shoulder straps and the final strap around her back before taking that harness off.

I couldn't help but notice how wet the leather was with her sweat and the way her nose was still flowing so freely and her mouth was drooling around the bit.