She was strangely confused, there with this gentle man and all the wonders of the shop,
handling the exquisite things he fetched her, offered to her hands. It seemed also wrong
that she should have such priceless things to touch and feel while she stood there in the
rich surroundings in a cheap jumper, cheap skirt, cheap shoes; she was a little aware that
her self-cut and styled hair looked, well – self-cut and styled. He was totally immaculate
in appearance, manner, everything. And then the wonderful black and silver harness from
the window was in her faintly trembling hands, incredibly light, unbelievably beautiful.
“Perfection,” he said, almost in a whisper at her ear. “The bit, so gentle but so firm
you see, so special... True happiness, the inner happiness is all about control, being
controlled.”
“Is – is it for a miniature? Th-the head harness is s-so small? It’s lovely...”
What to say? What to say? he thought. The tension in him was almost agony. He could
destroy this magical evening with just two or three ill-chosen words. But be bold... He
was close to her, leaning down a little. Be bold, do it, say it...
“It’s – it’s for a girl-pony Jackie. For a girl. Not for a pony - for a girl who is
truly a pony, inside... A pretty young girl. Like you, Jackie.” His words rushed on and he
knew that by saying them he was destroying any possibility that this dream could be made
real. “A lovely young girl like you who dreams of becoming her true self, a pony, free in
harness, free of worries, free in obedience to a loving master, Jackie.”
There, done. All over, he’d destroyed the dream; she’d realise what he’d said and then
there’d be anger, accusations... He already felt the emptiness of the rest of the evening
when tears of despair would come even to Edward Challoner. She was turning over the soft
black rubber straps in small white fingers, small white fingers which shook a little.
“You mean – you m-mean they really are – for a - a girl, a p-person?”
He was closer still, trembling as she was, his soft deep voice unsteady, almost
whispering. “I think it was made for you.” The whisper sank in volume. “I think the
lovely, happy, beautiful but imprisoned pony that you know – and I know – is the real
Jackie deep inside you – I know she longs for it,” and the whisper became a caress: the
warmth of the shop, the food, the wine, the tack, everything made the whisper override her
senses.. “I know the real Jackie longs for the comfort, the security, the ease-forever of
this perfect, beautiful harness...”
She only sensed his hands raise the beautiful thing to her, for she had closed her eyes
and was standing there unable to control the trembling. The faint jingle of the silver
fittings reached her.
“May I?” came the whisper at her ear and a finger touched her under her chin so that an
electric shock flared in her; eyes closed she felt the finger gently, oh so gently lift
her head up and, astonishingly, found herself waiting.. There was the smallest, smallest
chink, a jingle from the head harness and then the soft, gentle cage of it was in her
hair. Nothing else was happening in the whole world. The moving rubber straps touched,
closed, held her head, her cheeks, her face and deep within her the ‘not proper’ feeling
moved and trickled between her legs.
“Open your mouth, Jackie.”
It was made for her. It was made for a part of her that she’d never known. She stood
there, trembling more, eyes closed as the cool silver, the cool rubber touched her face.
The softness, the perfume, the stunningly welcome bit slid into her mouth, the little
ribbed-rubber tab slid over her tongue, depressing it so very correctly. Nothing was rough
or harsh or other than perfect. Big warm hands were at her cheeks with rubber straps and
silver rings, buckles. Big warm hands drew soft rubber straps over her nose, in her hair,
lifted her ragged hair at the back of her warm neck and buckled small silver buckles
there. It was as if her years of dreams had not been dreams but real, as if everything
else in her life had been the fiction. And the hands were fastening longer rubber straps.
Edward too was in a dream-state, an other-world state, as he saw and felt his hands
fitting the black and silver harness to the unresisting, even willing real young girl. As
if magnified to show the tiniest detail he saw her small moist lips part to accept the
gleaming bit, glimpsed her pearls of teeth and as her mouth part-closed, unasked, on the
rubber-covered bar and the corners of that sweet, small mouth were pulled gently back, he
felt his penis rising steadily, firm and sweetly warm in the captivity of his clothes. Her
eyes were still closed; he felt her breath come a little quickly over his hands as he
gently, oh so gently fastened the short lead rein. Edward Challoner trembled as the girl
trembled and when his soft, strong whisper said “Walk on, Jackie” her today-world fled
from her. Jackie Gasson, little Jackie Gasson lifted her head to a jingle of silver
harness, stepped a hesitant step – and that which had for so long been ‘not proper’
became, instantly, absolutely, wonderfully right. She stood upright, her mouth warm and
wet around the rubber covered bit, hips moving slightly, uncontrollable as her whole body
orgasmed, flamed, quivered for a long, long minute in the dim warmth of the room. And it
didn’t matter that she felt, for the first time ever, her own warm fluids bubble into the
cheap M&S briefs and into trickles on her thighs.
“Good girl” said the whisper; “Goooood, gooood girl” and a disbelieving Edward also felt
an intensity of feeling in his whole body as his penis thrust beneath his trousers.
Was this, all this, was it really happening? Could this be..?
It was done now. Her eyes were opening and she saw him standing beside her, standing
beside her with the ends of her rubber reins in one hand. She wanted to speak but she
wanted more to keep this moment, to feel the harness, the straps, the soft restraint of
the bit that sat so wonderfully in her mouth. Her face was hot, flushed with the wrongness
of it all...
“So so beautiful” he said, smiling at her. “So very beautiful. What you always wanted.
Isn’t it?” There were bright tears brimming in her blue eyes and she didn’t know if she
was crying with embarrassment or anger or wonder or because of the slow, re-growing,
exciting feelings down between her legs, in her thighs, everywhere. ‘N-no’ said her shy,
shipping-clerk self, ‘this is awful’ said her shipping-clerk self but when the words tried
to come they encountered the soft, desirable, oh-so-welcome restraint of her bit – and the
soft, desirable, oh-so-welcome restraint of her bit caused the words to die. She closed
her prickling eyes, hesitated, feeling everything; rubber-and-silver harness jingled
softly when she nodded. The jingle of her harness – her harness – made the small, crinkled
pink labia hidden under her briefs flush a deeper pink and move slowly, gently, like a
mouth forming for a kiss. A moist, hungry mouth. Jackie felt her labia move at the sound
of her harness jingling and quite suddenly she understood nothing.
It had to end of course, but both delayed the moment, avoided any verbal trigger that
might destroy what had happened to each and between them. Both hated, hated the cold
dullness of the moment when he so reluctantly put fingers to the silver buckles again, a
dark, grey moment only slightly lit by her closing her blue eyes and lifting her chin for
his hands. She didn’t speak, couldn’t speak when the bit retreated from her open mouth;
neither spoke until she was at the shop door, draped again in her cheap plastic raincoat,
then:
“W-will you c-come again? Jackie. T-tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow is S-Saturday...” Speaking, even in the nervous whisper that was
all she could manage, speaking felt so wrong somehow. Her wonderful bit had gone...
“Please come. Jackie. My – my beautiful, beautiful... girl pony.” And his whole body,
the now-leaking erection gently thrusting at his clothing, wanted nothing else. Their
hands touched briefly and she was gone. He to pace his dark shop and eventually to sleep
uncomfortably in a hard chair, turning, moving, creating fantasies; she to her dull,
unwelcoming room and to bed, her mind in turmoil. Jackie dreamt of harness, of the clatter
of small hooves, the thud of small hooves on firm grass, of strong fingers closing buckles
and, in one Technicolor image, of herself whinnying, jingling, making small thunder with
her hooves as she cantered in a sun bright meadow.
She was at the shop before nine that Saturday and he was waiting behind the door to open
it. ‘Closed Today’ read the card that already hung in the window; the small and special
harness that had been the centrepiece of the display was no longer there. Inside the
closed shop-door they looked quickly, awkwardly at each other; then both laughed, smiled,
blushed. He was different today, a dark sweater, less formal, darker trousers, expensive
Italian casual shoes. His fantasy of her as a young girl climbed vastly higher as he
looked at her: the bright scraped-bronze hair in a thick bob, the brilliantly blue eyes,
no make-up perhaps. A plain white tee shirt, worn and faded jeans, cheap canvas sneakers.
Was she so at ease? Not possible, oh not possible... His erection was eager with almost
frantic desire.
“W-would you like some coffee, Jackie?” On the low table which usually held brochures,
leaflets, small tack were cups, coffee, brioche, the small and special silver-and-rubber
head harness. On a chair by the table, laid there as if they were merely dropped there,
was a thick, matte-black rubber body-form with silver buckles and fastenings glinting.
More small black and silver harness and, leaning at the chair’s side, a pair of
crotch-high matte black rubber boots, perched there on impossibly ballet-pointed toes,
silver buckles at their tops and a glint of tiny horse-shoes under those pointed toes.
They sat, exchanging silly niceties – ‘nice morning’ and such, between long silences and
sips at coffee neither really wanted; every time he turned his face to her she blushed.
Terribly, unnervingly, excitedly impatient, he made a little demonstration of emptying his
coffee cup, leaning back, leaning forward and picking up the jingling head harness, rising
slowly from his chair, moving towards her, untangling the jingling bit... Fire exploded
within him when she just closed her eyes, still sitting there, and lifted her chin, then
wordlessly parted her soft lips, inviting, asking for the bit. As he moved round behind
her, lifting the harness to her face in his trembling hands, she made the smallest
movement, tossed her bob of shining hair. Neither spoke. She took the black rubber-covered
silver bar into her small, moist mouth and closed her eyes as if something wonderful was
happening.
“My beautiful girl-pony” he said, a catch in his throat.
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