Conditioning the Pony
My attention is focused too much on the scent of the burning herbs to notice that my love has stepped behind me. With a quick movement she has placed the fox fur lined blindfold over my eyes. I inhale sharply, taking in more of the smoke she uses to clean the room, to mark it as her territory. A pair of handcuffs click around my wrists, sealing the deal. And so it begins.
She starts to lead me around. This place used to be a storage facility, with ceilings four meters high. But things have changed dramatically since then. Today it is nothing less than a 450 square meter big playground for pervert fantasies. Almost every weekend you can find a BDSM party going on here. But during the week “the bunker” can be rented for more private affairs. When I learned about this offer I just couldn’t resist.
Blindfolded as I am I walk forwards, pulled by the chain my Love has slung around my handcuffs. Even though I already walked across the whole place, peeked into every room I soon lose my sense of orientation as this is my first time here. We don’t talk; the soft, soothing music by Schiller is our only companion the whole time. Where is she leading me?
My Love stops, securing the chain at somewhere. When I have the feeling that she does not watch I carefully try to pull at my chain. That “somewhere” seems to be pretty solid. Something touches the back of my head and runs in gentle strokes down my back; the goat hair brush! She grooms my whole body, my naked arms, my belly, my legs. With every stroke she removes a little more of my all day life, emptying my mind. An emptiness she soon starts to fill with sweet whispered words, words, you’d usually say to calm a horse while grooming it.
I feel my neck relaxing, my stiff shoulder blades going softer. “And up!” She taps with one hand at my right thigh and without thinking I know what she wants and raise my right hove to give her a better view. Did I say hove? Foot, I mean foot. Why would she want to look at my soles anyway? It’s not like anything could have get stuck inside on this concrete floor. And then I remember the lesson from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s “Little Prince”: Taming is done by repeating the same rituals again and again. I lift my left hove at her command.
The pony harness is being pulled over my head, the big belt placed around my hips. I feel the weight of my tail pulling at my back. Straps are being buckled to connect harness and belt, another strap is added to run from the front of the belt down between my legs and up again on the rear side. This makes the fit snugger especially when the harness must pull a weight. Plus it should make it difficult enough for the pony to undress itself on its own.
“Close your eyes”, is all she says. I nod and feel how my Love removes the blindfold, only to replace it by the pony mask, my true face for the next hours. My vast exhale sounds more like a snort and I realize that I click with one hove impatiently at the floor as I hear her cooing next to my ear: “Relax.”
She pulls reigns through the rings on my harness’ shoulders and connects them with my snaffle. And after making sure she has me under good control she eventually removes the chain. Now she is walking behind me, but just as before she guides me. Focusing on her pulls at the reigns is a surprising hard work for a pony brain. In fact it consumes so much of my attention that I barely manage to plan ahead on where she is leading me.
We walk in circles. My Love makes sure that we pass those points I find difficult or scary to walk by again and again. Her compliments must sound so childish if outsiders were there to hear them. But to me they are the world. Every friendly word runs with a shiver down my spine and I am proud for having earned it.
Sometimes I try to secretly test her, block her way in a small corridor or try to push her against the wall. But she is so incredibly fast in forcing me back into my place as if she anticipates my actions long before I even start them. But, and this leave deep marks inside of my mind like a Pavlovian conditioning, she praises me the moment I am back in my place. I find it harder and harder to find enough will and urge to test her. She is leading. And everything is in perfect harmony when she is.
We give the stable room a try, but it looks like the pony doesn’t care for straw. The prison cell is much more interesting, though I am on display here from two sides. Later she allows me to run free in the location, only to hunt me down. But she has a clever pony that even knows how to open doors. I manage to hide for quite some time – but in the end she narrows my space to move down bit by bit, locking doors, blocking corridors with ropes.
And eventually we come to stand, where we started. My Love removes the mask and we kiss, long passionate, knowing that we have accomplished another huge step on our journey.