The Ponygirl I Saw Bound Awakened My Darkest Desire

I went out for a walk with my godfather that Saturday afternoon, as we did almost every weekend since I moved to the city to finish my degree. Esteban had given me a room in his house, and with him came small luxuries I never quite got used to: good dresses, shoes that cost a fortune, lunches in places I would never have stepped into alone. I walked with my arm looped through his, wearing a red dress with flowers and heels that clicked against the cobblestones, and he walked beside me in his impeccable suit and that hat he only wore when we went out together.

We were heading to our usual café, talking about anything and everything, when something made him slow down. I felt the tug on his arm before I understood what he was looking at. I followed his gaze, and then I saw her too.

A ponygirl was tied to a railing, beside a small pulling cart. Farther on, at a sidewalk table, two men were sharing lunch and paying her the slightest attention. One of them, I assumed, was her owner.

It wasn’t an impossible sight. There were farms, stables, discreet ads in expensive magazines. But knowing those women existed was one thing; having her three meters away, face to face, real and silent under the sun, was something else entirely.

She wore high boots shaped like hooves that forced her to stay on tiptoe, tense, as if she were dancing standing up without pause. A long tail fell from her buttocks, fixed inside her body. A leather belt cinched her waist, with rings and buckles meant to hitch the cart’s shafts. Her arms were bent behind her back, each hand strapped to the opposite elbow inside a leather sleeve that immobilized them completely, leaving her ass offered up, exposed. On her pale skin, two red lines stood out, fresh. Someone had whipped her recently.

A harness held her breasts, firm and high. From her neck hung a metal collar with a cowbell that barely jingled with each tremor. Blinders cut off her side vision and forced her to look only ahead. In her mouth she wore a bit with reins coming from it that draped down her back, and a thread of saliva ran from her chin to her chest.

—Look at that —I said to Esteban, pointing openly at her. My stomach had clenched, but not from disgust.

—Yes —he replied, and looked away at once, trying to get us moving again.

I let go of his arm and stepped closer. He clicked his tongue and came after me, resigned, like someone who knows he won’t win the argument.

—She’s beautiful —I murmured. Her black hair was gathered into two tight braids, an intentionally infantilizing hairstyle, meant to humiliate her, and even so it suited her.

The pony heard me. She rolled her shoulders back, pushed out her chest, and lifted her chin, proud, like a show mare who knows she’s being judged.

—A pony is meant to be seen, not to see —my godfather said when he noticed her reaction and the hunger with which I was devouring her.

—What do you think she’s thinking? —I asked, unable to stop looking her over.

—Not much —he answered, uneasy—. Ponygirls have their voice taken away at the beginning. And think... she’ll be thinking she has to be presentable for her master. Nothing more than that.

I stood silent for a moment. Then I let out what had been circling in my head for a while.

—I’d look good like that, wouldn’t I? —I said, and smiled at him with a wickedness I didn’t recognize in myself.

Esteban turned toward me, and for the first time in years I saw him truly alarmed.

—No, you don’t want that —he said, lowering his voice—. A ponygirl is one for life. There’s no going back. She’ll never dress again, or speak again, or do any of the things you do. Until the day she dies they’ll treat her like an animal. Only like an animal.

It should have scared me. Instead, something lit up inside me, a hot current that ran down my back and settled between my legs. There’s no going back. I repeated the phrase in my head, and I liked the way it sounded.

—God, what a horrible way to treat a human being —I said. But I said it smiling, and we both knew I didn’t mean it at all.

We started walking again, this time behind the cart, where she couldn’t see us with the blinders on.

—I wonder if she’s scared —I went on, thoughtful—. Maybe she’s sad and misses her life before. Maybe she hates all this. —I paused, feeling my pulse in my throat—. Or maybe she’s a true submissive, a pervert, and she’s enjoying every second. Maybe she’s never been as aroused as she is now.

***

—Honey —Esteban said, and the endearment came out genuine, worried—. You love talking with your friends. You love books. Pretty clothes, jewelry, choosing shoes. You love cooking. Think about it: for a ponygirl all that disappears forever. And the day the owner gets bored, or wants a newer one, he simply gets rid of her. It’s not a life for you.

I stopped. I looked at the pony’s naked body again, now from a distance, and took a few seconds to sort out what I felt.

—Yes —I admitted—. I get the part about losing all those freedoms. I suppose that’s exactly what makes the idea so terrifying... and so incredibly exciting.

I swallowed. My mouth was dry and my words came out lower than usual.

—Imagine what it must be like for her —I continued—. Before, she was just an ordinary woman, like anyone else. Now she knows that life is completely over. She can remember when she dressed herself, did her hair, talked to someone she liked, cooked something special for a special person... a thousand things. And she knows it’s over. That all she has left is to accept it and maybe learn to enjoy it. To take her master wherever he wants, naked, in silence. Nothing else. God, Esteban. What she must feel has to be horrible and marvelous at the same time.

—Let’s get back to lunch —he said, trying to cut me off.

—Wait. —I didn’t move—. What if a woman really wanted to do this? Who does she talk to?

Esteban sighed. He knew he was giving ground, and answered anyway, against his better judgment.

—I know a lawyer who can start the paperwork.

—And then what happens? —I pressed, my heart pounding against my ribs.

—There’s a process —he said slowly—. Once the papers are signed, there are medical and psychological exams. Even an intelligence test. After that, the court is asked to strip her of all civil rights. Then you have to find a training stable that will accept her and wait for a spot to open up. Training lasts about six months. If everything goes well... there’s an auction, and she’s sold.

—Can anyone buy one? —I asked.

—No. They have to prove they can maintain the stable, pay for the training and the lifelong care. Only a few, people with a lot of money.

—Makes sense —I said, lost in my own thoughts. I imagined myself auctioned off, tied up, displayed before rich men bidding on my body, and felt everything tighten inside me.

—And what are the trainers like? —I went on, my voice trembling a little—. Are any of them men?

—Would a male trainer embarrass you? —he asked, glancing at me sideways.

I shivered. I imagined myself naked, on all fours, with a stranger teaching me to obey the whip.

—Yes —I confessed—. That would be a little terrifying.

—A ponygirl doesn’t get embarrassed easily —he said—. If a man as trainer would make you uncomfortable, then maybe this isn’t for you.

—Fair point. —I looked down at the ground—. But I think I could handle that.

—Anyway —he added—, trainers are usually women. It’s easier for a woman to be hard and cruel with another one, to demand until she breaks.

—That makes sense too —I murmured, nodding, while a different image formed in my head: a woman with a whip in her hand, cold, patient, teaching me where my place was.

—Maybe you could be a trainer, or a stablehand —Esteban suggested, clinging to his last hope of steering me away—. I can introduce you to people, get you a job. Maybe you’d like being close to that world from the other side.

I thought about it seriously. I wrinkled my nose.

—It could be fun —I said at last—. But if I’m going to be near all this... I think I’d rather be the pony. I think that’s my thing.

I said it softly, almost to myself, and hearing it out loud I knew it was true. It wasn’t a provocation. It was a desire I had carried inside me long before I saw that woman by the railing, just waiting for an excuse to come into the light.

***

Esteban fell silent for a long while. When he spoke, he did it carefully, like someone bargaining with a person standing at the edge of a cliff.

—Look, let’s do this —he said—. Let’s walk, have lunch in peace, okay? And let’s not talk about this anymore. If after lunch you’re still thinking the same thing, I’ll take you to the lawyer’s office and introduce you. Just so you can get informed. No commitment.

—Really? —A huge, uncontrollable smile escaped me—. That sounds perfect. Deal.

We went back to the sidewalk and resumed our way to the café. We passed by the ponygirl again, but this time through her blind side, and she didn’t turn her head. She stayed rigid, staring ahead, the cowbell still at her neck and the saliva drying on her chest.

I was walking with a light step I couldn’t hide. I clung to my godfather’s arm and pressed myself against him, thinking of a thousand things at once: the lawyer, the paperwork, six months in a stable, a trainer’s whip, the hammer of an auctioneer coming down on my name for the last time.

I felt wet between my legs with every step, and my heart pounding not from fear but from something like happiness. For the first time in a long while I knew exactly what I wanted. And I knew, too, that when I got it, there would be no going back.