JG-L Fiction-Page-015

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FICTION SECTION

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FEATURED STORY - 003

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The author has, at the suggestion of several friends who know his particular fetish scene interests, written stories about bondage and related topics over the last 20 years. These tales include many personal experiences as well as a heavy dose of fantasy … places he has been and places he'd like to be.

Exposure to the true scene was late in coming, when, as a commercial pilot with an overnight layover in Newark, New Jersey, he stumbled, (literally), into a Dressing For Pleasure event at a nearby airport hotel.

After that, the words came easier. He realized that there was a huge B&D, S/M audience out there and that, although visual graphics might be quicker, the written word held a special attraction for many who were interested in the same topics.

Summer School is a tale about a young woman who yearns for equestrian success, but finds that its attainment might be secondary to knowing herself better. Dori experiences all the physical and mental sensations of horse woman-ship at an exclusive Vermont Riding School. But at the center of her experiences is the unwritten proof that polite society never really admits: horseback riding is more popular among women because it provides sexual excitement in its most erotically stimulating form.

After nearly three decades of exposure to the equestrian community, at local and Olympic levels, I am still astonished at the overpowering, competitive nature of the sport. It seems to me that there should be schools like the one young Dori encounters here. The hidden objective of the school is to teach spoiled and elitist young women not only how to ride, but also what it’s like to be a horse or pony. A few months or years spent under this kind of environmental control can bring about some astonishing changes ... some of them physical and others psychological.

This story is fiction, but remember that what we create in our minds is often a precursor of something that may actually happen ...

The car was from Boston and the three youthful tourists inside had been enjoying the picturesque, roadside scenery when one observed that they were no longer on a main road and that they were, most likely, lost. At that moment, they were passing a series of hilly pastures surrounded by a doubled wire fence; this with small signs posted every fifty feet or so, stating that trespassing was forbidden, that the land was posted, and that the fence was electrified.

“Guess they don’t want anyone going in there.” one of the two young men in the car said.

“Or anyone getting out!” the driver laughed while he finished off his second beer and tossed the can out the window at the fence. (He had no idea how true his off-hand remark really was.) The aluminum beer can arched through the air and hit the fence, sending off a fury of sparks and a loud popping sound as the sports car cruised by. In the distance, behind the fence, small horses grazed, and all looked up suddenly at the noise, then focused as one on the red BMW convertible and its three occupants.

“I’ll be damned!” the girl in the right front seat exclaimed while she studied the horses from a distance.

“I’d swear those horses, or whatever they are, were waving at us! Weird!” said the girl. “They kind of raised their front feet towards us. Didn’t you see that?”

“I didn’t see anything except a fried beer can.” said the driver, who had slowed and was looking for a place to stop and take a pee.

“They waved!” the girl insisted, but her companions ignored her and continued to search for a place to stop.

While the car moved on, each horse suddenly started wioth a violent shudder, then trotted awkwardly off in the opposite direction. Their individual internal electronic probes had registered disapproval of the group waving and attempting to signal the car’s occupants. Any thoughts of being rescued faded when it passed over the hill. Dori Alexander and her companion ponies knew they were going to pay for the indiscretion of the single, futile attempt to signal.

Had the tourists been sober, or if they'd been using binoculars, they would have noted that the waving figures were unlike any other horses they might have seen in the Vermont country vista for these beings had stiff front legs and the rear legs were, strangely, bent the wrong way with different joints between shoulder and hoof. They were also much smaller than most horses with very short necks and smaller heads. Their coats were more like rough buckskin than real horse’s hair and they moved slowly and stiffly on their odd-shaped legs, able only tograze on shrubs or bushes because their mouths could not reach the grass. Each of the strange ponies had bands for hobbles on both hind and fore feet and also wore a locked-on leather and steel harness and bit.

These horses were not of the equine species, for they were human females and belonged to the elite New England Mountain School for Equestrians. All would have dearly liked to be freed, but bound in the horse-like attire, gagged and harnessed, the four had been turned out to pasture for some exercise. To make sure they didn’t wander too far, all of them had been fitted with a set of intrusive control devices: three, remotely controlled electronic plugs. When activated, these motivated each pony to do exactly as she was instructed and trained to do. Each sweeping tail was attached to a rear plug buried well up inside her rear aperture, while a vaginal plug and an oral one completed the control trio. As soon as they'd attempted the seemingly innocent move of raising one front foot a few inches off the ground, (the limit of motion their harnesses permitted), the monitoring guard in the nearby watch tower silo had pressed several buttons on the control panel. The ponies had instantly received disciplinary electrical shocks and buzzes from all three of their plug/probes, then had heard the guard issue orders to return to their barn immediately. They all reluctantly turned and trotted off slowly and awkwardly.

She knew that the school would have some terrible punishment waiting for them and was both fearful and annoyed that a mere wave to a couple to guys would bring such harsh penalties. Dori thought then about the decision she'd made to come to the summer session of the school and she wondered if she’d ever get back home to Virginia. While she trotted with her odd gait of a stiff-legged pony, she briefly recalled the day she’d left home for Vermont.

“Riding school. I’ll be back in the fall. Have a nice summer, you guys ... you poor slobs.” she added softly as she closed the car door and started the engine.

With that, Dori left her little group of former high school friends and drove off for six weeks at a crack riding academy in New England. She'd told only a few people about this and actually wanted no one to know because she was sure her horsey friends would bug her about going to school for something that they all thought they were perfect at already. Dori knew better. She’d been riding for some years, mostly western style, but secretly yearned for the more exacting and sophisticated disciplines of the English saddle. So, when she'd received the small, personally-addressed brochure inviting her to attend the New England Mountain School for Equestrians, she'd hounded her father mercilessly until he agreed to come up with the tuition for the full summer session. Dori was nineteen and had graduated from high school, then spent nearly a year at the local community college getting reasonable grades, but she'd dropped out, bored with the freshman subjects and ho-hum classes.

“I’ll go to the University next year.” she’d told her single parent Dad. He’d accepted this, knowing full well that she was unlikely to return to college. 'In any case,' he thought, 'that summer school would keep Dori from getting into trouble with the local riff-raff.' Half were well-heeled society types and the rest were trailer trash from the other side of town, but both groups rode; albeit at different levels of skill and with somewhat different financing. The little Virginia community had the luxury of having lots of horses and plenty of space for riding.

So, with her little white car packed to the roof with her clothes and gear, Dori said goodbye to her buddies and headed for the Interstate and distant mountains of Vermont.

On the map, Green River Center, VT, was the nearest town to the school and they’d told her to phone when she got that far then someone would come and pick her up. Because she was early, Dori drove on through the quaint New England town and tried to guess where the school might be, but by three o’clock, she’d given up and called from the Howard Johnson’s Motel. An hour later she was met by a woman in a bright red, four-wheel drive, Range Rover. She introduced herself and they formally shook hands, the guide using the German quick grip; once up, once down, then a quick release motion that Dori had encountered during her visits to the Continent. She thought it was a rather curt way to meet and greet someone, but she was used to it.

Dori got back in her car and began following the Rover. They turned north on the road out of town and drove for about ten miles, made another turn and ended up on a dirt road that wound higher through the hills and deeper into the pine forest. The road was marked with deep ruts, large rocks and washouts where rain run-off had dug trenches and her little Ford had a hard time on the hilly track, but twenty minutes of rough road later, they arrived at an impressively massive iron gate. The Range Rover driver unlocked then re-locked it after the two cars had passed through.

“We've arrived. Welcome to the school.” the woman said before she got back into the Rover. “Park your car there and come with me. We’ll get your luggage later.”

Dori pulled into a small clearing next to the road, locked her car and clambered into the high right seat of the SUV, noting the subtle modifications to the Rover: seat belts that actually locked and required a key to release, as well as multiple, heavy-duty, tie-down rings mounted on the floor. The locks and tie-downs were as ominous as the German style handshake.

They climbed even further into the hills and eventually arrived at a large, comfortable-looking stone house with several stone barns, silos and out-buildings surrounding it. There was also a large, covered riding arena, some loafing sheds in nearby paddocks, and a low, round, metal structure that looked like a squat fortress.

It was cool inside the house and her guide took her immediately up the wide, natural wood staircase, then showed her into a small, but beautifully-furnished bedroom complete with an adjoining bathroom containing an antique steel, porcelain bathtub, wash stand and old-fashioned toilet with the overhead water tank and pull chain.

“Quite.” said her guide, turning and walking to the door. “Dinner will be at six o’clock sharp. Formal attire is required. Take a bath and use the robe on the bed. Someone will return shortly with your proper attire for dinner.”

“OK, but my stuff’s back in my car.” said Dori, only half-hearing as she checked out the elaborate selection of toiletries on the dresser.

“OK.” said Dori, wondering why she’d brought all her clothes if this was going to end up a “uniformed campus.” However, upon thinking back, based on the information she’d filled out in the eight-page questionnaire the month before, she supposed that this was indeed the case. They’d asked an incredible array of questions, a lot of them personal; including the kinds of relationships she had with boys in school and with girl friends as well, then, they’d insisted on her exact measurements, including wrist, ankle, biceps and thigh circumferences!

“What the hell are they going to do with that kind of stuff?” Dori had asked her father, but he’d only shrugged, knowing that the horsey set had some odd habits and social pretensions that he personally found annoying, but generally harmless. Dori had answered the questions honestly, having been told that any 'errors' discovered would be grounds for immediate dismissal, or “strict disciplinary action.”

Her father had been a bit reluctant to sign the parental agreement in the school’s contract, pointing out that Dori was no longer a minor and that anything she signed was legally binding for her, not him.

“This is pretty detailed, Honey.” he’d mused, studying the twelve page document. “You’ll have to do what you’re told and I know that’s not your style. They imply that punishment is pretty strict, but if you sign this, you agree to take whatever they hand out. You just can’t walk away you know?”

“I know, Dad. I read it, but I think I’m ready for this and it can’t be that bad. There are lots of kids who ride and they’re a lot harder-headed than I am. If it’s as bad as you think, no one would go there.”

Her father shook his head, but signed and wrote the large check, remarking that based on what he’d read in the contract the school would really own her, body and soul, for as long as she was there.’

“Well, if they wanted to enforce this paragraph,” her lawyer father mused. “yes, I suppose forever. But that’s a long, long time and I have no intention of sending them any more money after the summer is over, so I doubt they’d keep you there gratis. Just remember it though during the next twelve weeks.”

Neither of them knew that within a few weeks, Dori would be, in fact, literally owned by the school.

“I’ll help you get ready. I don’t think you’ll be able to dress alone or walk downstairs as you are.” Winnie said, arriving in the room while Dori was in the tub, then making her presence known by knocking on the half-open bathroom door and unabashedly peering in to find Dori staring up at her.

“My what?” Dori sputtered, deciding not to sit up in the tub and instead seek the poor visual security of the few soap bubbles and washcloth.

“I’m your escort, guide, proctor, whatever.” Winnie grinned back, surveying the soaking body and pink nipples poking through the cloudy bath water. “I’m here, as they say in the IRS, to help. That’s a joke. My Dad works for the IRS.”

“Oh. OK.” said Dori, pulling the washcloth up over her floating chest. “I’m about to get out of here. Would you pass me that robe, please?”

“Sure.” Winnie said and picked up the white terry robe then walked out of the bathroom with it.

“No, it’s not. It’s school property. Come out here and get it ... after you dry off.” chuckled Winnie, sitting on the bed.

“What’s the idea?” Dori called through the door, hoisting herself out of the tub and using one of the many fluffy white cotton towels on the racks.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m just kidding around. You want me to leave? I’ve brought up your new outfit. It’s all here in the Filenes's bag.”

“No. Don’t leave. Wait a minute. I’ll be right out. What’s a Filenes?” she added.

“Filenes, stupid,” Winnie simpered in a sing-song little voice, mimicking Dori, “is a giant rummage sale in the heart of downtown Boston. We go down there and shop when we’re really bored.”

A moment later, wrapped in the towel, Dori came out of the bathroom and stopped by the bed, giving Winnie a close inspection. She was a cute, athletic blond of medium height, with a small round face, large china blue eyes, more than ample breasts, and long legs that seemed to end at her shoulders. Winnie wore a tight, white, short sleeve T-shirt, tighter jeans and black, custom riding boots. “Probably Hermes.” thought Dori, admiring the boots and the rest of the custom body that filled the casual outfit. Dori decided that Winnie had bucks, probably plenty of them, judging from the immaculate, yet casual, hair; the perfectly manicured nails and the sparse, but expensive jewellery. She was pretty sure that the watch on Winnie’s left wrist was a real Cartier, as was the snugly-fitted, heavy gold bangle bracelet on her right wrist. The bracelet had two small rings attached and a tiny padlock that appeared fully functional; clearly another costly little item from Cardin or Hermes ... then she noticed that there was a duplicate bracelet next to the watch on her left wrist.

Winnie got up and went over to the large shopping bag on the floor, then started sorting through the contents.

“Put these on first.” she said, handing Dori a pair of what appeared to be tan riding breeches and matching boots.

“What? What do you mean? I’m not ready yet. I need to do my hair and make-up and all sorts of stuff. I just drove from Virginia.” Dori said, a bit of a whine in her voice. She was looking first at the tan material and at the dark brown, well-polished boots Winnie held out to her. The breeches had very short, wide legs with a substantial leather belt, nearly six inches wide, and seemed terribly small, even for Dori’s tiny waist.

“Yeah, yeah. So has everyone else. Lots of people just got here for the summer session. I’m here year ‘round.” she added. “Try these on so that if they don’t fit we can make changes before dinner. You don’t want to be late for that on the first night, and I must tell you, you absolutely, positively do not want to be out of uniform tonight.”

“Out of uniform? These look pretty strange!” said Dori, half to herself and half to Winnie.

“You bet they are. Here, I’ll help you now so we can get started.” She led Dori into the dressing area and waited for the younger woman to strip out of her towel, hands on narrow hips,.

Dori complied. She really had no problems undressing in front of other women and she knew most of them would find her figure as good as or better than their own. When she tossed away the towel she saw that Winnie’s eyes followed her appreciatively, but with perhaps more interest than Dori had expected. Winnie’s light blue eyes fastened first on the large, high, stargazer breasts and soft, pink nipples, then moved quickly away to lock onto Dori’s closely trimmed bikini thatch of light brown hair. Her eyes stayed there a very long time making Dori a bit self-conscious, but she went on.

“What about underwear? Is there any in the bag? I brought some, but it’s in my car and the car is down the road about three miles.”

While Dori looked for a way to get into the strange-looking breeches, Winnie spoke again

"Oh, what the hell. Skip the panties. You won’t need them. Put these knee-highs on, next the boots, then the pants.”

“Nope. You’ll see why in a minute. We're most particular about what we wear to ride.” Winnie said expertly.

“OK, but I get pretty sweaty riding without some sort of underwear, and I don’t like thongs.”

“So, how do these things go on? Why ... why there’s no crotch! What the hell?” Dorisputtered when she inspected the britches closely.

“That’s right. You’ll soon see why. Here, let’s get these boots on first. I’ll show you how to put the britches on when that's done.”

She sat on the large colorful hooked rug and drew on a thin pair of tan, knee-high stockings, then pulled on the boots. They were tight and came up a little shorter than she was used to, but they fit her exactly. The leather was soft and smooth, almost as if the boots had been broken in for her and when she bent her legs, the tops of the boots came right up behind her knee. They didn’t cut into the skin or press hard enough to stop circulation, and she saw quickly that they had been cut correctly for her legs. “Well, there’s where at least five or six hundred bucks of tuition went.” she mused, smoothing the boots up over her calves.

“Beautiful!” Dori exclaimed then took the britches and started to step into the wide legs.

“No. Hang on a sec, I’ll show you how this is done.” Winnie said. “You kneel on the rug and put your knee into the left leg, like this.” Winnie helped Dori place her bent left knee into the tight, Lycra and spandex-based britches. The fabric gripped the bent limb tightly, but Dori’s small, well-muscled leg slowly inched into the short leg. When her knee reached the bottom of the pant leg, the top fitted exactly at the top of her thigh leaving only her small, booted foot remaining outside the legging. Winnie quickly fastened an embedded strap around the ankle and the top of the thigh, pulling Dori’s booted heel tightly and closely against her smooth, Lycra-rounded butt, then pulled another small strap at the bottom of the leg under the heel of her boot. Thios was also tightened so that the britches leg was pulled snugly against her ankle. Dori was mystified by this garment, but also fascinated enough to continue, and so she balanced herself on her bent left knee and forced the right one into the other pant leg, being supported by Winnie while she did.

A moment later Dori knelt on the hooked rug, both legs encased in the skin-tight breeches, her ankles strapped back against her buttocks and boot toes digging into the rug for support. Her entire crotch was bared, from behind to just below her navel,blatantly displaying her closely clipped pubic hair, centered in the middle of the open crotch of the britches. Above her crotch, covering her navel and up to her waist, the britches were conventional, with a brass zipper fly and buttons at the waist. WInnie next adjusted the wide belt until it was was mercilessly tight, cinching in her twenty-three inch waist to something closer to twenty inches. Dori gasped when Winnie cinched her in and was surprised to see that her belt was equipped with a small lock. Winnie snapped it shut, securing Dori in its compressing embrace.

“Yeah, but ...” Dori stopped. “How long will I have them on? They’re really tight and I don’t see myself going to dinner this way!”

“Oh, everyone manages ... sooner of later.” Winnie said cheerfully. “It takes a while. Anyway, we’ve got a top for you in the bag. Let me show you.”

Winnie pulled out what appeared to be a white turtleneck shirt. At least it looked a little bit like a regular turtleneck until she brought it closer to Dori and started to fit it over her head. The top had several additional accessories like no turtleneck shirt Dori had ever seen. There were two, short, white nylon zippers on the chest and one long, heavy-duty nylon zip at the back. The front’s small zippers ran vertically up both sides of the chest and behind the zippers, a built-in bra had been stitched into the fabric, its straps hanging loose and unfastened inside. Even stranger was that the shirt had no sleeves in the conventional places, but there was one large, single one at the back, the large zipper was stitched into it.

“Put it on.” Winnie ordered pulling the collar over Dori’s head. Dori gathered her hair in one hand, closed her eyes and stuck her head through the hole in the collar, noting the zippers at the front, the built-in bra inside and the single sleeve that seemed to be in the wrong place for either arm.

“It’s got zippers and a bra in it?” Dori asked while trying to poke her head through the tight collar.

Dori’s head popped out of the collar, leaving the rest of the fabric resting on top of her shoulders.

“What? Why? This isn’t going to work, Winnie. I don’t think I want to do this.” Dori stared to whine.

“Do it! Don’t complain or you’ll be sent home!” the other girl shouted, her face getting red and her eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

Dori was astonished and a little frightened by the older girl's reaction. Her resistance crumbled a little and she accepted that she was going to be forced into an outfit that would obviously leave her quite helpless.

“OK. I’ll try, but this hurts.” Dori moaned bringing her small hands behind. Winnie grasped both of the presented wrists in one hand and pulled the shirt down and away from the collar. The top's material was a mixture of Spandex and pure Lycra fabric and stretched easily, but she had to struggle to pull the back of the shirt down and over Dori’s limbs. Winnie placed both of Dori’s hands inside the cuff of the single sleeve then pulled the thick yet stretchy fabric slowly up over Dori’s arms. When she closed the heavy duty zipper, pulling it up towards the collar, Dori’s forearms were pulled firmly together inside the sleeve to the point that her elbows touched. Her shoulders were pulled back and strained with the position, forcing her breasts to jut out.

Winnie next pulled the shirt down over Dori’s large chest, fitted the built-in bra cups over her full breasts and drew the chest band of the interior bra behind Dori’s back, fastening its three metal clips. These weren’t standard bra-type clips. Dori couldn’t see what Winnie fastened behind her back, but she distinctly heard the three, separate, snaps of small locking devices! The wide, inner chest band tightened even more and forced a surprised gasp from her. It was was very, very tight and when Dori tried to take a full breath she discovered that it was almost impossible, for although the bra stretched slightly, it had almost no give to it! It was far from comfortable.

“Winnie!” gasped Dori. “I’m afraid this is really far too tight. Don’t you have a bigger size?”

“Well yes. I usually am. But you know, sometimes I need more room ...” She stopped, still wondering why she was allowing herself to be dressed in this weird outfit. Clearly, now, she couldn’t even stand up in this gear, let alone go riding.

“This bra feels like it’s about a thirty-two or less, and the cups are just too small for me.” she said breathlessly to Winnie. “I wish I was smaller, but this thing isn’t helping at all.”

The cups of the bra were made from a stiff, molded material stitched into the shirt and gripped Dori’s breasts extremely snugly, powerfully pushing the entire masses of her breast tissue together, upwards and towards Dori’s neck. Her nipples felt as though they were being crushed in some sort of vice and the entire shirt was becoming hot and uncomfortable.

“If this is what we wear for dinner, how do we eat?” Dori exclaimed, by now totally frustrated by the new apparel and wondering what was going on.

“You don’t have to worry about that.” said Winnie, smiling. “I've got a few other things here that will complete your outfit, then we’ll talk about equestrian things later on, OK?”

“Yeah. Sure. My knees hurt, I can’t use my hands, my tits are stuffed into teacups, and my shoulders are killing me! What else are you going to do to make my first day as memorable as you promised?”

“Well, shortly you’ll get to meet the rest of the class and Miss Wright will greet you all.”

“Sarcasm,” said Winnie pointedly, “is not appreciated here. I’d avoid that kind of remark if I were you. When you are permitted to speak, it should be positive, not negative. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I guess so.” Dori trailed off, trying to find a comfortable position for her aching arms and legs. She still knelt on the hooked rug and the four-point stance was becoming untenable.

All of this was giving Dori more than second thoughts. What was happening here? The britches were odd enough and the shirt was close to some sort of straight jacket. She was now kneeling in a bedroom of a farm house, hundreds of miles from home while a woman she had never met before secured her into attire that she knew she wasn’t possibly going to get out of without some help. It was almost erotically stimulating, but there was also an element of fear.

Winnie was extremely dominant and Dori had felt this since they first met. Now, the she was fussing about her head with pins and rubber bands, pulling Dori’s long, dark hair back into a ponytail and securing it with a braid. When she was done, the braid was more of a topknot, sticking up from the crown of her head, slightly back of center.

“How’s that?” Winnie asked, proud of her quick work. “Do you usually ride with a braid?”

Dori knelt in the brightly-lit room looking at the spotlights mounted in the ceiling, and the tops of the bright, whitewashed walls reflecting the light. She could see the tops of the heads of her classmates and the instructors while they busied themselves with their charges, but not much else because her head was held back with her face pointing at the ceiling.

As soon as she’d finished with Dori’s hair, Winnie had fitted her with a heavy leather bridle and bit, among other things, before bringing her downstairs to the pre-dinner meeting of the class. Just like Dori, her classmates were kept staring upwards. All looked quite astonished and somewhat unhappy about their state while the instructors and grooms hustled about, tightening straps and adjusting head harnesses. One or two of the girls were crying, but the instructors ignored the distorted faces, whines and pleas coming from behind drawn back lips and the rubber plug gags.

Initially, Winnie had tried to persuade the younger girl to wear the leather and steel device without any struggle.

“If you just go with this, I’ll make it easier for you. Fight me and it will get done anyway, but it will hurt. I can always get a couple of grooms to come in and help, you know?”

“Yes. I know. But I really, really don’t want this. I’m tired. I hurt. My legs are killing me and my tits are being crushed. This sleeve is yanking my arms out of the shoulder sockets or whatever they’re attached to. Come on, Winnie! This isn’t fun or funny, and I paid a lot of money to come here to ride, not to be abused.”

“No. Not home. Just to bed. I’m really tired and this isn’t my thing. I had a boyfriend in high school who tied me up once and it was ok, but this is too much and it’s too tight, damn it!”

“OK,” said Winnie. “We’ll do it my way.” She was behind Dori and when she spoke, she pulled down on the girl’s new braid and bent Dori’s head back until Dori was staring at the wooden wagon wheel chandelier over the bed. She yelped from the sudden strain and when she did, Winnie jammed a rubber plug and metal bit into the opened mouth.

Winnie forced the plug all the way into Dori’s protesting mouth then pulled the steel back until Dori’s cheeks were distended, baring her fine white teeth and the black rubber plug that now filled her mouth.

“You may not use this thing on your horse, Darlin’, ‘cause it’s a little cruel, but it works fine for big-mouthed broads who can’t keep their traps shut. This is in for the evening, Honey, so adjust to it.”

The tone and level of Winnie’s voice had changed dramatically while she forced the bit and plug into Dori’s surprised mouth and now she was all business. She pulled the straps from the rings on the sides of the bit and buckled them behind Dori’s shaking head, then more straps followed: over the top of her head, down her cheeks and under her chin. Next, a thick leather collar was clasped around Dori’s neck, pushing the turtleneck collar down and providing a base for the straps from the bridle. When Winnie had finished, Dori’s head was enmeshed in a web of leather with the bit firmly seated far back in her straining and nearly silent mouth. Some drool trickled from the corners of her lips and dripped on the front of the tight white turtleneck shirt.

Now, Dori wore her first bridle and bit; her head pulled all the way back by its braid being anchored to her feet with a leather thong.

The single sleeve of the shirt had been pulled down and through her crotch with another sturdy thong and its end was fastened to the center front of the wide waist belt. The thong bisected her crotch, disappearing inside her slit and emerging where the britches began. Dori wiggled her hands inside the shirt’s tight sleeve, trying to get a grip on the thong pulling her hands down and cutting her in half, but Winnie responded to this defensive action by wrapping a wide leather strap around both of Dori’s wrists on top of the sleeve. She pulled it tight until both of Dori's hands were palm to palm then completed the bondage by tying the wristband to another thong and pulling that one through Dori’s crotch as well before knotting it to the belt. She reached down and carefully worked the three strands of leather so that the settled into positions on either side and in the middle of Dori’s lower lips, pushing them outward and firmly pinching them.

“Ever wonder how horses really feel?” Winnie purred, busying herself with the thongs surrounding Dori’s sex. “One of the key parts of your training is that you learn exactly how horses feel when you put a harness, bridle and saddle on them. We, however, add a few other things to make it real for you, but it’s all part of the approved course of instruction.”

After tugging on the leather cords enough so that Dori was sure she was being cut into several bloody pieces, Winnie sent for a luggage wagon and loaded Dori onto the steel floor of the four-wheeled cart. She fastened the top of Dori’s braid to the overhead bar normally intended for hanging clothing and suit bags, then pulled the cart and her charge down the hall to the elevator. Dori squirmed and hissed on the cart, trying to find a less uncomfortable position, fearing that she'd topple then be dragged by her braid.