Listen: someone needs to license Jenby’s work for a graphic novel about kinky adventures. There is already plenty of material, and it is funny and sexy and brilliant. If you have loads of money, go give it to @JenetalTorture to turn this into a book please. If you haven’t got loads of money, then you are welcome to simply enjoy today’s excellent guest post. After sharing a glorious account of her first e-stim session last week, Jenby is trotting back for a second week running to give you the lowdown on pony play.
Feeling a little horse? My first pony play scene
When it comes to petplay, I’ve always been an aspiring puppy, or possibly a pig.
Something about the endless, happy-go-lucky obedience of the pup, and the sheer, filth-caked humiliation of the piggy (in reality a perfectly noble creature, but since when did real life have a thing to do with kink?) always intrigued, and appealed to my love of submission and degradation no end.
In actuality however, I’m probably more of a kitten. Slinky, sensuous, unhurried, more concerned with being cute and getting petted than anything else. But to my mind the other two are far more fun.
One thing I’ve always admired from an aesthetic standpoint but never had any real drive to try in real life is pony play. Partly due to the prohibitively expensive equipment, but mostly because it always seemed like a lot of hard work for something that ultimately looks more erotic than I imagined it could possibly be in situ.
Enter my new Mistress.
She wanted to try petplay but was turned off by puppies (shocking but fair enough) and had never had any inclination to own a piggy. Her jam was ponies.
So it was that I ended up in her room at the tail end of last week, getting tacked up to be her personal human equine for the evening.
Now, before we go any further, I must stress that this was very much a first toe (slash hoof) dip into the world of equestria. We were in a dormitory, not a stable, I was wearing ballet boots in lieu of hooves, and absent was the body harness, blinkers and feathery plume that you’d expect of a dressage pony like me. This was, in no uncertain terms, the thin end of the pony wedge. Before I could think much more about the pony wedge, however, it was forced into my mouth and secured around my head with a buckle and sturdy padlock.
More accurately, this pony wedge was called a bit gag. It followed a strict posture collar, which locked my head in place and gave me the impression of always leaning back slightly, leaving me unable to see the floor or objects in front of me. Totally reliant on my handler to guide me around, the only mobility I had above my shoulders were my batting lashes and freely waving pigtails.
My hands were kept nicely out of the way via a pair of tightly fastened mitts, which were in turn secured behind my back with more padlocks, both to the mitts themselves and judiciously applied wrist cuffs. Fair to say that this pony wasn’t going anywhere.
Mistress attached a chain leash to the front of my posture collar, and began to lead me around the room. Space was not abundant, but in those ballet boots, very much designed for crawling rather than walking, my stumbling, wobbling gait ensured not much space was needed to present a challenge for Mistress’s new filly.
After tethering me to various points around the room – some more stress-inducing than others – I was finally permitted time to recover (though my feet stayed firmly laced into their en pointe prisons). Crouching on Mistress’s bed, my bit gag was removed, I was given the order to suck it dry of the saliva that had accrued on it – easier said than done given that I was still drooling profusely – and it was replaced with a ring gag, which again was locked on for safety.
I was then presented with a dildo to suckle while Mistress put her feet up on my back and played computer games. Whenever something went wrong in the game, my paddle – which was standing in for a riding crop – would be forcibly applied to my rear end.
After several gleeful swats and pained whinnies, I graduated to a larger dildo, fully one foot long and more becoming of a mare like me, which was pressed against the wall an inch from my face. The order was to take it in my throat until the pressure caused it to stay there and then maintain the position. If I let it fall, more swats.
When I left Mistress’s room an hour later, arse throbbing, it must be said I now saw the appeal of pony play for pony play’s sake. A high protocol kink, but one which allows for so much tenderness between trainer and sub. And of course, the pictures looked great.
The universe being the absurd place that it is, not three days after our session I found myself, for completely unrelated reasons, taking my first horse riding lesson. For the most part I was able to hold it together, despite the strangely alien sensation of not being the horse.
I did have a palpable snigger when I first looked my horse in the face and saw his ‘pony wedge’ though.
If only he knew…
If you’re interested in trying some of the fun pony play antics that Jenby mentions above, my site sponsors Eva Amour will happily sell you a bridle harness (as well as other gags for bondage and pet play) as well as a selection of paddles, crops and other lovely hitty things. Use code GOTN10 for 10% off.