Love Bound (18 page)

Rolling his eyes, he told me, “Just
wait.” We shuffled forward as another pony-to-be disappeared through the closed
door ahead, and I noticed with an anxious sense of dread that we were only two
people away from being next. I didn’t want to do this. Watching others being
led on chains was embarrassing enough. To actually
be
one of them would
be humiliating. Was it too late to call the whole thing off? Sean would never
let me live it down, and the prospect of sex was the only thing keeping me
where I stood. What if I missed the guy of my dreams just because I sat out of
the training class for beginning ponies?

Yeah, right. As if the guy of my
dreams would be
here
.

I managed to talk myself into leaving
and was just about to tell Sean,
thanks, but I’ll be waiting in the car
,
when I realized he was no longer in front of me. The line had moved until I
stood at the head of it. I was alone in a sea of leather-clad sex freaks. I
vowed to kill Sean if I ever saw him again. Leaving me alone with this crowd,
in a place like this…

In front of me, the door opened. A man
about my father’s age peered out, his craggy face framed with white hair that
wisped back from his brow. He wore a pair of two-tone riding breeches, a
navy-blue jacket, and a silly hat that made him look like a jockey. “I’m
Charles,” he said in a vaguely European accent that sounded too forced to be
real. “I’ll be your groom this morning. Please step in.” When I hesitated, he
asked, “Your name, sir?”

“Drew,” I said as he swept me into the
room, pulling the door shut and effectively barring my escape.

Around us, long rows of curtains
divided the room, and Charles pointed to the empty section directly in front of
the door. As I stepped forward, he pulled the curtains shut behind me. On the
wall hung various belts and reins, lengths of horse hair fashioned into tails,
odd strips of leather. I couldn’t begin to imagine what they were all for. A
well-oiled saddle sat on one table, a tangle of leather belts on another.
Beside the belts, two horseshoes grinned from the bottom of what looked like
hooves. There was one chair in the room, and a pair of leather boots folded
down in front of it, waiting to be worn. As I looked around, more than a little
nervous, Charles asked gently, “You do know what the term ‘pony play’ means,
don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” I scoffed. Or
rather, I knew what Sean had told me. Was he in this room too, behind one of
the curtains somewhere? And was I expected to wear that saddle?
Oh, God
…

As if I hadn’t spoken, Charles said,
“Pony play is a form of bondage where the sub—you—pretends to be a horse.”

“Why, exactly?” I blurted out.

With a faint shrug, he replied, “Don’t
ask me. It’s not my fetish.” Turning away, he began to sort through the tangled
belts on the table and said, “Undress.”

Taken aback, I asked, “What?”

“That’s a term we use in pony play,”
Charles answered. “It means take off your clothes.”
Har har,
I thought.
When I didn’t move, he frowned over his shoulder and said, “Rule number one.
You obey the trainer’s commands at all times. When the trainer is not present,
you obey the groom. Have you ever done this sort of thing before, Mr. Drew? Because I can assure you that no trainer will give you an order twice.”

Quickly, I began to slip out of my
clothes. Undress—I could do that. I pulled my shirt off and stepped out of my
jeans, but I hesitated with my thumbs hooked into the waistband of my briefs.
Did he mean those, too?

Before I could ask, Charles turned and
held the belts out in his hands to form a complicated body harness. “Your
outfit, if you will. Remove those.” He nodded at my briefs and before I could
think about it, I peeled them off. I had a
Crying Game
moment where my
balls tried to crawl up inside me and my dick shriveled into nothing, but
Charles appeared not to notice. Coming closer, he draped the straps of the
harness over my shoulders and began buckling and snapping it into place. The
leather was cool against my skin, and heavier than it looked. As he worked, his
voice was brisk, all business. “I’m going to go over today’s rules. Listen
carefully. If you don’t understand something, ask now. Once you’re with a
trainer, you won’t get the chance.” I nodded, but Charles admonished, “Don’t
move, Mr. Drew.”

“It’s just Drew.” Charles positioned
me while he arranged the harness. This wasn’t
too
bad. As long as I
could keep my hands folded over my crotch in some semblance of modesty—only a
hastily drawn curtain separated me from the rest of the world. Where was Sean
anyway?

A double belt encircled my waist and
straps crisscrossed my chest, over my shoulders and down my back. Behind me,
Charles worked the complicated buckles and snaps with practiced ease. “As I’ve
said, rule number one is to obey your trainer. For today, that will also be
your master. You will do everything you are told to do within the best of your
ability or you will be punished.”

I nodded, then remembered not to move
and stood up straighter than before. “Rule number two,” Charles intoned,
arranging the belts across my back. “A pony must never speak when dressed in
tack. They won’t use a bit in the beginner’s class, but keep your mouth shut
just the same.”

Obey everything they say, don’t talk…two
reasons why I wasn’t into S&M in the first place. “What if I have to take a
leak or something?” I wanted to know.

“Prance around,” Charles replied. “I’m
sure someone will notice.”

There was a hint of a smile in his
voice, and I wondered if he was laughing at me. Still, I added, “What if the
trainer pushes me too far? Isn’t there, like, a safe word or something?”

“This is a beginner’s class,” Charles
interrupted. “You won’t need a safe word, trust me.” Once the harness was in
place, he shook out what looked to me like the crotch section of a pair of
black leather briefs. Where a waistband should have been, snaps lined the
leather. With a quick, efficient manner, Charles threaded it between my legs
and pulled it up into place. “Your hands,” he said, and reluctantly I moved
them out of the way. Charles snapped the leather onto the belt at my waist,
creating a jock that cradled my genitals. Behind me again, Charles snapped the
other end onto the back of the belt, then pulled the material taut to cover my
ass.

Next came the bridle. “Close your
eyes,” Charles instructed. “It’ll go on easier if you can’t see what I’m
doing.” A slim belt slipped around my neck like a collar and my hands flew up
to make sure it wouldn’t choke me. Charles slapped them away. Beneath his
breath, I heard him mutter, “Should’ve done the hooves first.”

Another belt went around my forehead,
and twin straps on either side of my head framed my ears to connect the belt to
the collar. When I raised my hands again, Charles didn’t stop me from running
an experimental hand over the bridle. A triangle of stiff leather stood up on
either side of my head—ears, I assumed—and hard plastic shields framed my face
at eye-level. I opened one eye again, then the other, only to find that my
peripheral vision was gone. “What are these?” I asked, plucking at the shields.
“I don’t like them.”

“Blinders,” came Charles’s reply. He
stepped directly in front of me so I could see him and gave a sympathetic grin.
“Welcome to a horse’s life, Mr. Drew. Hold out your hands, please.”

I did as I was told, and watched
Charles retrieve the horseshoes from the table. They were attached to gloves
fashioned into hooves. Inside each hoof was a thin steel rod that I curled my
hands around in a strong grip as Charles snapped the gloves into place. Under
my breath, I muttered, “What the hell?”

“Ponies don’t talk,” Charles reminded
me. “Just a few final touches before you’re ready to go. Sit.” He pointed at the
only chair and knelt down to guide my feet into the waiting boots. They had a
slight heel and snapped up the side like vintage ladies’ shoes, but hooves
poked out below the black fringe around my ankle. I had no idea anyone went all
out like this just for a little kink in their sex lives. How much did all this
pony paraphernalia cost? Did people actually
do
this behind closed
bedroom doors? Wouldn’t a regular fuck suffice?

I didn’t really want to know. Once the
boots were in place, Charles helped me stand. I tottered a bit when he moved
away—the way my foot clicked on the floor meant that there were horseshoes
nailed to the bottom of the boots, as well. Shifting from one foot to the
other, I listened to the noise the shoes made on the hardwood floor and wondered
if Charles would get pissed if I asked him to take all this crap off.
Thanks
for dressing me but I’m done playing now.
Somehow I didn’t think that would
fly. Nodding at the saddle on the table, I asked, “Do I have to wear that,
too?”

“Not as a beginner,” Charles replied.
From the straps hanging on the wall, he selected a pair of thin reins and a
long fall of hair—a horse’s tail. “Turn around, Mr. Drew,” he said.

For a moment I thought he was going to
call me Mr. Ed. Hoofed gloves or not, I would’ve had to hurt him then. But,
since he didn’t, I complied and turned my back to him. The tail snapped into
place on the belt above my butt, and the reins attached to steel rings on the
bridle on either side of my mouth. Faint hairs from the tail brushed along the
back of my thighs, ticklish and strange. When I reached behind me to brush them
away, Charles caught my wrist and snapped something onto it. “What are you doing?”
I wanted to know. I knew I should’ve hit him when I had the chance.

“A hobble,” he explained, securing my
other wrist behind my back, too. “When standing, a pony is always hobbled. It
keeps you from messing with the tack.” Taking my reins in one hand, Charles
yanked open the curtains and led me out of the small dressing room. “You’re as ready
as you’ll ever be,” he told me. Before I could answer, he tugged on the reins
and reminded me, “No talking now.”

Ahead, a bored woman in a latex Lolita
getup stood in the far corner of the room, clipboard in hand. Beside her, a
dozen people dressed like me stood in a group, arms secured behind their backs
and reins tethered to a chrome railing. Charles pulled me up to the group and
tied my reins onto the rail with the others. “His name is Drew,” he told the woman, who scribbled something down on her clipboard.

I turned to keep the groom in sight,
but he slipped behind one of my blinders and disappeared. Then I tried to see
the faces of the ponies beside me, but they shied away when I stared at them.
From the corner of my mouth, I whispered, “Sean?” No one answered, and the
ponies closest to me moved away. “Hey, Sean, you here?”

Something slapped across my ass with a
stinging blow, and I whirled to find the woman with her clipboard in both
hands, ready to strike again. “No talking, pony,” she growled.

“But…”

She smacked me a second time, bringing
the clipboard down hard across my naked thigh. I howled in pain and tried to
hide behind someone else, but none of the other ponies wanted anything to do
with me. “No talking,” she said again. I glared at her for a moment and only
looked away when I thought maybe she’d hit me once more out of spite.
Animal
cruelty
, I thought in a sulk.
Someone call PETA.

I glanced at the other ponies, wanting
to share the joke, but the burning welts from the clipboard kept me quiet. No
one looked at me, anyway. Where the hell was Sean at? And what the fuck was I
doing here?

* * * *

For long moments I stood by myself,
away from the other ponies. One of them—a woman younger than me—kept taking
high, exaggerated steps whenever she moved. Her tack looked custom-made—across
her breastplate, the name
Pretty Marie
was embossed into the leather.
Every now and then, she whinnied like a little girl playing horse. Turning my
back to our guardian with the clipboard, I leaned down over Marie’s short
ponytails and murmured, “So you’re really into this, aren’t you?”

The look she gave me could’ve cut
glass. Two high steps took her away from me, but I pushed around another pony
to keep beside her. “No, really,” I said softly. “Don’t worry—I’m not hitting
on you. I’m gay.”

She made an annoyed sound in the back
of her throat and tried to move away again. When I followed, she stuck out one
small hoofed foot and kicked me in the shin. “What’d I say?” I wanted to know.
“Jesus…”

Someone out of my line of sight gave a
mighty tug on my reins, pulling me away from Marie. “This one’s trouble,”
Lolita said with a jerk of my reins. I limped around to see a burly man—fat, of
course, Sean would’ve loved him—wearing a studded collar and matching
wristbands, a pair of leather tights, and nothing else. Sweat rolled over the
pale expanse of his belly and down the dark hairs that circled his belly
button. I groaned as Lolita handed over my reins to him. If I ever,
ever
found Sean again…

With my reins in hand, the collared
man pulled me towards him. He was a few inches taller than me. He would’ve been
intimidating if it wasn’t for the fact that he looked more like the Skipper
from
Gilligan’s Island
than the badass he pretended to be. Shoving his
face into mine, he purred, “A pony with spirit. I like that.” Something thin
and hard slid between my left thigh and the bulge of my crotch, and I looked
down to see a short riding crop in his hand, fat fingers working it between my
legs. With a quick shake to get my attention, he growled, “I break little
ponies like you every day, buckaroo. Act up out there and you’re mine.”