Dressage

Gerald Swanley, the chief executive of the BTW operation in Britain, walked down the steps in front of the estate's main house, followed by his secretary and personal assistant, Miss Ashton, looking cool and professional in her pinstripe jacket and skirt, and carrying a notepad. The Bentley had just pulled up on the gravel drive, and the chauffeur had opened the door, so that Michael Pilgrim was unfolding himself from the back, a copy of the day's Times discarded on the seat.

"Michael, good of you to come", Gerald began, and shook his guest's hand warmly. "You've seen and approved our prospectus, but I really do think you need to get a personal look at our operation here before you can go back to your investors."

Michael Pilgrim smiled. "The figures on paper looked good, Gerald - but I'm looking forward to seeing some even better-looking figures here. But do introduce me to your companion...?"

Gerald put an arm around Miss Ashton's shoulders companionably. "Oh, this is my personal assistant, my strong right arm, Miss Joan Ashton - Joan makes sure the place runs properly, we'd all be lost without her."

Michael shook her hand, giving a slight bow as he did so, and Miss Ashton smiled. "We have some interesting plans for expansion here, if we can get the right kind of investors, Mr Pilgrim. Thank you very much for taking the time to come down to us today."

"It looks as if I've chosen a rather busy Friday", Michael said, gesturing to the parking area, which had dozens of cars, some minibuses, and a few vans lined up, almost filling that particular field. A few people were unloading items, and carrying boxes of equipment towards a large marquee slightly further away from the house off to one side, and closer to the oval sports track and its stables and viewing stand.

"It is, rather", Gerald agreed. "It's part of our new policy, to broaden our approach and connect more with the rest of the alternative community. We have a pony girl side to our operation, both for specialists and as a part of the general training the wives go through, so we thought, why not invite other pony girl stables to join with us for a proper three-day event, with competitions and prizes?"

"And they've come here for the weekend?"

"Yes indeed - our dormitories and other resources are going to be crammed, but I think it should be a great get-together", Gerald said enthusiastically as they walked towards the marquee. Michael Pilgrim watched closely as a couple of pony girls, harnessed and being led by their reins, tassels swinging on their bare breasts, came out of the tent, and walked confidently towards the oval track. "We'll have races, and we'll have showjumping - but today it's dressage!"

They entered the tent, which must have had a hundred people in it, almost half of them pony girls, in various stages of harness and nudity. Some were being strapped into their monogloves, or having their special boots laced on, but most were being attended by hairdressers and beauticians, working hard to make them look as glamorous as possible, adding sprays or mousses to hair and carefully brushing it into shape, powdering cheeks, carefully painting eye-shadow, or wiping tanning lotion over the paler areas of their bodies.

"You'll notice they all have metal collars", Gerald said with a gesture which almost got his fingers hair-sprayed. They are colour-coded and numbered, so that we know who's who - some ponies are weekend volunteers, amateurs who'll be back at their desks in London on Monday morning, while some are living the life fully, as it were." He stopped alongside a rather tall, slender-waisted yet big-breasted woman of about 25, with auburn hair which was being arranged into a loose-flowing ponytail. She wore a metal and leather chastity belt arrangement, and had her arms snugly in a leather cross-arm binder behind her. A head-harness involving blinkers, or blinders as the Americans call them, and a red rubber ball-gag was on a small table ready for use, along with a pair of inch-long bells and the usual plug-in tail and some make-up.

"Red Rum here, for example, is one of the favourites", he went on, giving her rump a friendly pat. "She's not entirely a volunteer, she defrauded her bosses of almost half a million euros, and was given the option of facing criminal prosecution, or eight years at one of the country's top stables. Given that a prison sentence would have marked her for life, she took the sensible option, and has really blossomed as a pony girl - her training has really been excellent." Red Rum rubbed against his shoulder affectionately, and he patted her back. "Her collar is red, to make sure she isn't released from her bonds."

They moved on a little, with Michael Pilgrim finding it impossible not to stare at the ample nudity, the straps, and all the work that was being done on so many subjects. "On the other hand, Whistlejacket here, with a silver collar, will be driving her own car back to London on Monday morning, and going to work at Canary Wharf, won't you, my dear?"

Whistlejacket was fully harnessed; twin leather straps ran down from her metal-studded leather belt, vanished under her crotch, and then helped her tail-plug stay firmly in position before joining up at the back of the belt. Straps went round her breasts, helping to push them forward, and two small metal bells dangled from each of her nipple-rings; her arms were in a cross-arm binder behind her back. She waited while a beautician finished painting some extra red onto her lips before replying. "Hello, Gerald", she said happily. "I'm afraid I can't shake hands---"

"But I see how it is, yes", Gerald continued. "You're looking fine today, I must say."

"I'm not at my best, though", she replied, with a frown. "My trainer can't get down until tonight... and to perform at my best in the dressage, and later, I always have a good deep, er, intercourse, before things start. I wonder, would one of you be a darling, and...?" She let the request dangle for a moment. "If they'll put my head-harness on, I can just lean forward over a table, the harness straps won't get in the way I promise, I'd be so grateful."

Gerald looked at Michael Pilgrim. "As my guest, I think I should offer you this small task, if you are, to coin a phrase, up for it, Michael?"

After a final small addition to Whistlejacket's red lips, the beautician strapped her head harness into place, including its solid rubber ball-gag. Without a word, Miss Ashton produced a condom packet, and passed it across to their guest, who swallowed, opened the packet, and unzipped his fly. He paused for a moment, as if surprised to find an erection there... so, still wordlessly, Miss Ashton took the condom back, and then slowly pulled it into position, smoothing it carefully.

Whistlejacket was wet and ready, bent forward, so Michael aimed carefully, and nudged the end of his penis against the opening, before grabbing her waist, and pushing in hard and swiftly, so that he was immediately deep inside her. He paused then, savouring her warmth and tightness, before beginning to pump, which he kept doing for an admirable length of time, before finally finishing.

Miss Ashton passed over a tissue and took charge of the used condom, so that before long all was respectable again. Somebody came and attached a leading-rein to Whistlejacket's head harness, and she gave a little curtsey to the trio before being led away, walking very confidently and gracefully, her hips swinging.

"Well, that was, er, unexpected", Michael commented. "Still, one likes to do a lady a favour when one can." He gave a grin that made him look ten years younger. "I gather that the main event is about to start?"

* * * * * *

As the weather was fine and sunny, with only a light breeze, the dressage was held outside. Running, jumping, and pulling the pony girl chariots would come on Saturday and Sunday, for now the five judges were more interested in looks, and proper equipment, and graceful walking in the pony girl boots, though these varied from one competitor to the next. Boots generally reached mid-thigh, and were laced up and skin-tight, but some were normally styled with high heels, and others kept their wearers up on their toes, with no heel at all, which, while fine when pulling a cart or chariot, needed a lot of practice for ordinary walking.

Red Rum's boots had no heels, and ended instead in a horseshoe shape under her toes, but she walked easily and confidently, and the judges' scores, which flashed up on a screen beside the track, were high. A blonde called Palomina had high-heel boots, but instead of the usual cross-arm binder had each arm bent tightly back at the elbows in its own laced-up glove, giving an effect slightly like the wings of the Rolls-Royce "spirit of ecstasy".

"None of them use a regular monoglove", Michael Pilgrim commented to Gerald, passing back a pair of binoculars Gerald had obtained from somewhere. "But they are all exceptionally beautiful women."

"Ah, the monoglove, keeping a women's arms straight behind her, would get in the way too much", Gerald told him. "A pony girl has to be vulnerable to the whip on her back, that's basic." He used the binoculars to zoom in on Palomina. "And, assuming regular exercise, any woman with the will to get properly involved can be a stunning pony girl, that's part of the attraction. We see the prettiest ones today, but when there are teams of four or six pulling their carriages on Sunday, well, a beautiful team could be women you'd not look twice at in your local supermarket."

Whistlejacket came out next, wearing heel-less pony boots that, nevertheless, had a slightly elongated base part. "What kind of name is 'Whistlejacket', anyway?"

"A racehorse from about 1762, owned by the Marquess of Rockingham", Miss Ashton told him. "Famously painted by George Stubbs. A lot of pony girls go for suitably equine names." She took her own turn with the binoculars.

Whistlejacket moved gloriously, her tail swishing - the crowd grew so quiet, Gerald was sure he could hear the little bells hanging from her nipple-rings tinkling. Her black leather belt and harness, and metallic studs, gleamed in the sunshine as she was led along the track past the crowd, and then circled back. The crowd loved her every move, and she loved the crowd for loving her. Michael started to clap, and, embarrassed, was about to stop, but the clapping was taken up by others, until almost everyone had joined in. The scores came up, a procession of nines and even a couple of tens.

"You seem to have started something with that clapping", Gerald commented after she had been led away, and a redhead called Pebbles was taken through her paces. "Red Rum excelled herself, and got a fine score, but Whistlejacket's score was unprecedented. I think she will be awfully grateful to you, if you would care to stay overnight and see more of the competition over the weekend?"

"But I understood that her trainer would be arriving tonight, Gerald?"

Gerald gave a broad smile. "Oh, I think that girl will be pretty grateful as well, she's a rather splendid specimen of femininity too!"

"That's it - I'm staying, and I'll do all I can to persuade the investors I represent that BTW UK is the right place for their money", Michael assured him, and borrowed the binoculars once more.

"Dressage"

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