Authors: Don Winslow
“Trot, Bitch!” The obedient ponygirl, her petite beasts stretched tight, her wrists held behind her back, broke into a trot. “Faster! Keep your chin up; head high! Now Prance! Prance!” THWACK! The sharp sting of the flickering whip punctuated the shouted command, biting into that pert rump.
“Shake that skinny arse of yours, you saucy bitch. Show us just what a little whore you are!”
The lines of distress that creased the ponygirl’s pretty face brought a low, throaty laugh from her tormentor. And in this manner the bizarre performance went on and on, the ponygirl high-stepping in endless circles, and for some mysterious reason, the prancing girl’s deep humiliation was now drowned in a surge of perverse pride.
Ponygirl Tales Three
Blaze at the Races
Randi and Blaze sat side by side, both girls topless, gazing ahead into the dressing table mirror before them. Randi was a well-endowed blonde whose heavy breasts with their wide capped nipples hung rich and succulent. She wore her wavy hair in soft curls which she hoped made her look a little like Marilyn Monroe. She was eyeing her bullet-shaped tits with a vaguely critical eye. She’d always been proud of her breasts. She was the most developed girl in her high school; never had trouble getting boys. They called her “Jugs” Malone. But lately she worried that her pride and joys might be sagging just a bit too much, and wondered, not for the first time, about getting implants, just to firm them up. She knew Blaze’s opinion, so she didn’t ask. She was against it. Blaze said most men liked to see the bounce and sway of natural boobs on a dancer, not those phony plastic jobs. But Randi wasn’t so sure. She slipped a hand under her left tit, hefted the soft boob a bit, and quickly let it drop. She glanced over at her fellow dancer, watching Blaze’s reflected image in the frame of light bulbs as the lanky brunette watched herself tucking her plump little tits into the gauzy cradle of a flimsy bra while she rattled on about the guy she met between sets last Thursday.
The guy’s name was Franco, and he said he worked for someone named David Spaulding. He said this Spaulding guy was some kind of big deal; a producer, Blaze thought. Anyway, he said Spaulding was throwing a party at his place on Long Island and he wanted some of the girls from “The Winner’s Circle” to come out to his place just to “help with the entertainment.” That was the way he put it. Of course, Blaze had pretty good idea what he meant by that.
The guy looked kind of cute, but Blaze was suspicious. This could all be just a con to get in her pants; customers were always coming up to the dancers with deals of one kind or another, and all they really wanted was to be able to say they had fucked a “Winner’s” stripper. She was about to brush the guy off, when she remembered that she thought she heard something about this Spaulding guy. She now turned to her friend, who read all the show biz magazines, always on the lookout for that one big break, to ask her advice: Had she ever heard of David Spaulding?
Blaze was taken aback by the enthusiastic reaction she got. Randi’s big blue eyes instantly brightened and she grinned from ear to ear, nodding vigorously, barely able to contain herself with glee. She furtively glanced around the room, but none of the other girls were paying attention. Then she leaned closer to Blaze.
“Are you kiddin’?!!” She hissed. “DAVID SPAULDING! God, he’s just the biggest TV producer on the East coast. He’s one heavy hitter, Baby. You mean you never even heard of the guy?! Where’re you from again? Cincinnati? Spaulding was the brains behind all those sitcoms in the 80s. I read that with all those residuals he has more money than some countries! He has homes all over the place. I just saw a spread on his place on the Island…South Hampton, I think. It’s HUGE...I mean acres and acres all in one of those walled-in compound like the Kennedys got: a fantastic house, with servants and swimming pools, horses, tennis courts, guesthouses…the whole thing. If this guy Franco’s for real, this could be great!” She edged even closer, took Blaze’s hand and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial hush. Blaze caught a whiff of sweet perfume as her friend pressed closer till their faces were close together and a soft breast nudged into her arm. The scent mingled with other perfumes and girl-sweat and cigarette smoke to form the hazy atmosphere in the warm closeness of the crowded dressing room. Randi lowered her voice. “Now, Honey, tell Randi all about it. I want details, Babe. Everything!”
Thus it began, and a few weeks later, Blaze, Randi, Kim, Flo, Debbie, and Silky, were happily ensconced in the back of a luxuriously appointed van making its way out of the mid-town traffic to a place of dreams, a place called the Hamptons – a place they had only heard about.
The hired help were rushing about making final preparations for the big bash, but heads were turned when six pretty showgirls in tight shorts and cropped tops, clambered out of the van, long legs flashing in the summer sun. Awestruck, the girls stood gaping like tourists, taking in the starkly modern home of smoothened cream-colored concrete, glass and steel with its sweeping curves and cantilevered decks that soared out over the rolling lawns. Their driver ushered them in through the back of the place through full-sized glass doors that slid open with the press of a button. They found themselves on the second floor of the luxurious mansion in what appeared to be a glass walled room suspended in space. Their sandaled feet were sinking into the thick ply carpet as they were drawn towards the fall wall of glass with its spectacular view of the grounds, the well-manicured gardens, and the lush countryside beyond.
Franco was waiting for them. Amid the hustle and bustle of the uniformed household staff, he alone seemed totally relaxed, fit and tanned in black denim jeans and a half-opened satin shirt, he greeted them smiling broadly. His eyes lit up when he saw the girls stroll in, and he took his time pointedly looking the women over, opening admiring the leggy dancers in their brief outfits, obviously pleased with what he saw.
He now explained why the strippers had been hired: they would be providing the entertainment for the party, but it would not be topless dancing they would be doing today. His boss had something else in mind. He beckoned the group to the far glass wall, and began pointing out things on the estate: the pools, the tennis courts, the racetrack, and the prominent white stables gleaming in the summer sun like a jewel set in a carpet of green.
It seems that those horses were Spaulding’s pride and joy. Apparently, the guy was just nuts about them. In fact, horses were the sort of “theme” of this particular party. It was to be a costume party with guests decked out in riding clothes; complete with boots, and little round hats. They would even be given little riding crops as favors; here Franco shook his head in bemused wonderment. Of course, the girls would also have to get dressed up.
This should be no big deal for them. After all, they were pros, used to wearing all sort of sexy things. Getting dressed up and parading around, showing off their tits and asses in those tiny thongs and those skimpy costumes they wore, at least, the clothes they wore to start their dances at “Winner’s” – that was what they did for a living, so he knew no one would mind wearing the little outfit the boss had dreamed up for them.
“What we got here are some hot babes,” he winked knowingly at Blaze, “Girls who know the score, eh?”
And with that he gestured the six women closer, as if he was going to let them in on a secret.
“You see,” he went on, throwing a friendly arm around Randi and Blaze’s shoulders to gather them around, “the boss is really into some of the kinkier stuff. Nothing violent,” he quickly added, when he saw his audience looking at each other. “No, just dressing up and showing off a bit.” His hand slid lower, and he briefly cupped Blaze’s denim-clad bottom, giving her a little reassuring pat before moving on.
It turned out that what Spaulding had in mind for his guests was an afternoon of racing, run on the hard mud track that circled the stables. Normally, that track was used to exercise the horses, but today it would not be the thoroughbreds of Spaulding’s stables that would make the run for the roses.
Franco recruited two of the hired hands who worked in the stable as grooms to help out with fitting the costumes on the girls. The three men now huddled in the corner of the makeshift dressing room that had been set up in the plush, air-conditioned stables. They were patiently waiting for the girls to get undressed, and loving every minute of it. The walls of the dressing room were lined with mirrors, making it possible for Blaze to watch the men in the corner without looking their way. Franco preened, pleased with himself, indolent, slouched back against a counter, smoking a cigarette; silently watching through hooded eyes as six beautiful women took their clothes off before him. The other two were laughing and joking like schoolboys, but he paid no attention to them.
Blaze joined her five sisters casually shedding their traveling clothes. The tall brunette with the short-cropped stylish hair shimmied out of her snug shorts, slipped off her thong panties, and with one quick gesture, peeled off her thin crop top to toss it aside. Blaze glanced sideways to a mirror to find Franco was watching her. She ignored him and instead turned her attention to the “costume,” the dull leather trappings she would be wearing for today’s equestrian show.
The gleaming high-heeled boots would pose no problem, as she was used to performing in such tall boots. Rather thoughtfully, thin socks had been provided to protect her feet; although she still wasn’t looking forward to running in those wicked 5-inch heels. Telling herself his was just another show, she plunked her bare bottom down on the smooth cool vinyl bench and tugged on the long boots, running the zippers up each calve. Sleek and shiny, the snug boots ended just below the knee.
Next, she picked up the body harness, puzzling over the tangle of straps. The board belt, with its double buckles in front and D-rings attached at the sides, was obviously designed to be worn around the waist. This waist-cincher was wide enough to band her naked torso from just beneath the rib cage to the top of the hips. A single strap ran up the back to meet a crossing belt that would pass around her body high up under the arms. She saw the others struggling with the trappings, and watched the male “volunteers” practically tripping over themselves to give them a hand.
Blaze slipped on the contraption. The upper cross-piece could be looped and buckled in place to form a strap traversing her upper chest just above the breasts. A second vertical strap hung down in front from the center of the waist-cincher, swaying before her like some obscene dangling penis as she settled the belt above the ridge of her hips.
By now Franco had thrown away his cigarette, and he too stepped up, eager to join in “helping” the girls with their costumes. Like the other two guys, he moved from girl to girl, joking with them, encouraging them, flattering them; and all the while he was inspecting the fit, buckling straps, tightening belts, and of course taking the opportunity to run his hands over their naked bodies to assure a snug but comfortable fit.
Stepping up to Blaze he began by examining her belt, tightening it, tugging on the twin straps to gain an extra notch, urging the girl to suck in a breath and hold it, while he cinched her up tight and buckled the straps into place.
Satisfied with the fit, he gave her a big smile, then stepped behind her to continue his job. Blaze watched herself in the mirrored wall as the man worked behind her, making the necessary adjustments. The tightly-fitted belt molded her lithe torso into smoothly tapering hourglass. He was adjusting the back strap, tightening it till the crossing strip of leather indented the soft flesh at the top of her chest.
Suddenly, seeing herself naked, in nothing but leather strapping electrified Blaze. The erotic thrill sent a shiver through her. There was something exciting about tightness of the dull leather belt, the snug feel of the buttery leather straps encircling her naked body -- it that took her breath away. She closed her eyes, and swallowed down a knot of lust as Franco’s greedy hands freely explored the smooth slope of her back, her slender hips; fondled and squeezed her naked bottom till she squirmed unable to keep still. He laughed and ran a finger around her waist under the belt testing its tightness and then he reached between her booted legs to take up the strap that hung from the front of the belt and pull it through her slightly-opened thighs.
Blaze had to bite down on her lower lip to suppress a moan as the strap that bisected her clean-shaven vulva was pulled up into her crotch, biting into soft pussyflesh, pressing its way between the folded labia while Franco silently tugged on the notched end. She clenched her teeth and murmured: “Ohhh, not so tight.” It was a whispered plea, meant for just the two of them.
The pressure eased but slightly. Franco leaned against her long naked back and his hot breath whispered in her ear. “You love it, don’t you Baby? The tighter the better. I knew you were the type that liked it rough” And with that he yanked on the leather strip hauling it up in back forcing Blaze up on her toes as he drew the strap between her cheeks and held it there tight in her crack. The end was threaded through the slip buckle; the crotch strap secured.
He kissed the back of her neck and let his hands trail down over her naked shoulders stepping back, while Blaze stood stock still before the mirror. Her soft brown eyes flew open to behold the erotic sight of herself in leather restraints; she took a deep shivering breath.
Franco continued to help her with the preparations; assisted in securing soft leather cuffs to her wrists and ankles. An additional set of straps, with D-rings attached to them, were buckled into place banding the upper arms just above the elbows. To complete this stage, a final strap was looped around her neck and buckled to form a high 4-inch leather collar. And here her dresser was careful to allow some slack so that the collar loosely encircled the tall girl’s slender neck.