A Pony Named Freckles
              Pony Named Freckles

by Van © 2016

Chapter 2



Bridget quickly came to the conclusion that Wilkinson Ranch had the facilities to house and train the mounts and remounts of an entire troop of cavalry, including a circular indoor training track, a double row of stalls down either side of the main stable, multiple tack rooms, and even a smithy for the fitting of iron shoes.  She knew there were a lot of details she was missing, not being an equestrian enthusiast, but she was quite impressed.  And they never even got to the outbuildings.   Bridget assumed they were more of the same, or perhaps held gardening and maintenance workshops and equipment.

Lydia was smiling, friendly, and informative, as if she'd given such tours before.  Finally, they arrived back at the main house and Lydia handed Bridget off to her boss.

Eve had said she was going to change, and she had.  Bridget's eyes widened, slightly, but she controlled her reaction.  Her hostess was now wearing a pair of sandals and a light cotton robe over a string bikini in a shade of sky-blue that more-or-less matched the color of her eyes.  "After a quick tour," Eve explained, "I'm going for a dip.  And after that, we'll have dinner on the patio."

"Uh, okay," Bridget responded.  Eve Wilkinson certainly kept herself in good shape, Bridget noted, and her athletic but very feminine body was certainly no stranger to the sun.

"Things to do," Lydia said, then turned on her booted heel and left.

The tour was, indeed, quick, and the mansion's interior decor complemented its rustic exterior.  That is, rough, mortared stone and richly stained wood were everywhere, and Bridget decided the furnishings might be described as Arts and Crafts meets Pioneer.  In any case, she was impressed.  There was a vast "Great Room" with a grand staircase, balconies overlooking from the second and third floors, and a mammoth fireplace.  There was also a large, very well-stocked library, a home gym, additional parlors and sitting rooms, and a home theater, and all of that was just on the first floor!

They passed the kitchen, but Eve explained that when Maya was busy preparing a meal, it was more or less off limits, even to Eve.  Bridget assumed she was joking.  They did get close enough to hear the clatter of pans and to savor a spicy, delicious aroma.

Next, they entered one of the smaller lounges and Eve led Bridget through a pair of French doors and out onto the patio and pool area.  Stone flags were underfoot, there was a wrought-iron dining table and chairs, and groupings of teak lounge chairs with soft cushions.  The pool was large and vaguely kidney-shaped, with a picturesque pile of boulders and a splashing waterfall at one end.  Like the mansion and its interior, the theme was Rustic Luxury.

Obviously, Bridget thought, Eve Wilkinson is loaded... very loaded.

"I'll show you to your room," Eve said, then led her back to the Great Room, up the grand staircase, and down a side hall to a charming guest room on the second floor—and by "charming" Bridget meant larger than her entire apartment back in the city.  It had an attached bath, with separate tub and shower, a balcony overlooking a magnificent forest vista, and a second balcony overlooking the Great Room.  The bed was queen-sized, possibly king-sized, with a canopy and four corner posts that were actually peeled logs.  A love seat, easy chair, and small fireplace completed the furnishings.  There was also a walk-in closet, but its various drawers, shelves, and racks were empty; although Bridget did notice that someone had hung her jacket from a hanger and placed her sling-purse on an otherwise empty shelf.  She assumed it had been Maya, or possibly Eve, herself.

"This is beautiful," Bridget gushed, smiling at her hostess.  "The entire house is beautiful."

"Thank you," Eve beamed, then led Bridget to the bed.

Bridget's eyes popped wide, again.  Draped across the foot of the neatly made bed was a white cotton robe, but next to it was what was obviously a white string bikini.  There was also a pair of sandals similar to Eve's waiting on the floor.

"Why don't you freshen up, change, and meet me down at the pool," Eve suggested.  "You'll be able to find your way, won't you?"

Bridget's gaze was still on the bikini.  It looked rather... skimpy.  But then, so was the collection of sky-blue swatches hugging Eve's breasts and, uh, bikini area.  "Yes, I—"

"Excellent," Eve chuckled, leaned close and planted a quick kiss on Bridget's right cheek, then turned and strolled towards the bedroom door.  "Welcome to Wilkinson Ranch."

Bridget opened her mouth to object, or to say something, but she was too late.  The bedroom door had closed and her hostess was gone.  She turned back to the bed and gazed down at the bikini, again.

Well, she thought, when in Rome...

A Pony Named Freckles
Chapter 2

Bridget felt a little silly as she made her way down to the door leading out to the patio and pool.  It wasn't like she never went swimming or never wore a swimsuit.  Granted, the suit back at her apartment was a one-piece training suit she used to swim at the gym, and the borrowed white bikini she was now wearing was somewhat minimal, but she wasn't a prude.  And it wasn't like she had anything to be ashamed of in the body department.  Bridget kept herself in good shape, because it made her feel good, and while her naturally fair skin was nearly as white as the bikini, she had boobs, a flat tummy, firm hips, and... anyway...  Let Eve get as judgmental as she wants, Bridget decided.  She opened the French doors and strode confidently (yeah, right) towards the pool.

Eve was already in the water.  Her robe and a fluffy, jade-green towel were draped over a lounge chair with her empty sandals nearby, neatly side-by-side on the stone flags.  A second towel was draped over a neighboring chair, and Bridget assumed it was for her.  She removed her robe and sandals, did a full-body stretch, then stepped to the deep end of the pool and executed a graceful overhand dive into the blue depths.

The water was cool and refreshing, and didn't sting her eyes or smell of chlorine.  Bridget assumed the pool was fed by either a well or a nearby stream, and the water was filtered.  More obscene rustic luxury, she mused as she returned to the surface and began to tread water.

Eve swam to her side and also began to tread.  "This time of year I enjoy a swim nearly every day," she said.  "Lydia is also my personal trainer, so after we go for a run or she spots me in the gym, there's nothing better."

"Amen to that," a husky, alto voice chuckled from behind Bridget's back.  She spun in the water and found Lydia smiling down at them from poolside.

A towel draped over her right shoulder, the blond stable mistress/personal trainer was in a bikini, like Bridget and Eve, but Lydia's bikini was a pastel brick-red.  Also, she was gorgeous (in Bridget's personal opinion).  Lydia's skin was naturally fairer than her employer's, so she didn't have the same rich, "beach bunny" tan, but she was quite obviously just as familiar with the sun as Eve.  And as for her body...  Lydia was no musclebound bodybuilder, but she was an amazon goddess (again, in Bridget's personal opinion).  Strong, well-defined muscles, sculpted, flat stomach, full breasts—full, but not huge—Lydia was... hot.  Bridget made the impromptu decision to start thinking of Lydia as "Hot Lydia," but decided to keep the joke to herself.

Lydia tossed the towel on another of the lounge chairs, then went to the pool's diving board and executed a full somersault into an overhand dive, disappearing into the depths with nothing that could be called an actual splash.

"Wow," Bridget sighed, continuing to dog-paddle.

"She is amazing," Eve chuckled.  "I was thinking of having a tower installed, but Lydia says I'd have to enlarge and deepen the pool.  I may still do it."

Lydia's head broke the surface beside Bridget and Eve, and now all three were treading water in a group.  "Maya says dinner is almost ready," she said to Eve.

"It is ready!" a fourth voice shouted from the direction of the house.

"I swear, she has ears like a bat," Lydia purred.

Maya was wearing the same boots, jeans, and blouse as before, and was pushing a wooden serving cart.  "Get out of the pool," Maya ordered as she started arranging four place settings at the table.

"When the food comes!" Eve answered.

"If it all gets cold!" Maya huffed as she finished the arrangements and pushed the cart back towards the kitchen, "it's nothing to me!"

"Well, this was a short dip," Lydia chuckled as she swam for the ladder.

"After you," Eve purred, indicating the ladder with a languid, dripping gesture.

Bridget exited the pool, followed by her hostess.  Soon, all three swimmers were drying themselves with their towels.  Eve quickly ran a wide-toothed comb through her rather short blond locks, then handed it to Bridget, who ran the comb through her still very damp pageboy, then handed it to Lydia.

Bridget watched as Eve stepped into her sandals, then strolled to the table and sat.  She hadn't shrugged into her robe, and as far as Bridget could tell, Lydia hadn't brought a robe with her.  She gave a mental shrug, stepped into her own borrowed sandals, and joined her hostess at the table.

Maya had returned with the cart and was loading the table with hot platters of steaming food.  "Rio Verde chicken enchiladas, roasted vegetables, black beans, tortillas, and cerveza.  Eat."

Bridget's mouth was watering.  It was a feast!  The cerveza in question was bottles of Corona Light nestled in a small tub of ice.

"You aren't going to take a swim?" Lydia chuckled as she took a seat.  Obviously, she was teasing Maya.

"It isn't Saturday," Maya huffed as she spooned a pair of enchiladas onto Bridget's plate.  "I only bathe on Saturdays," she said to Bridget, "whether I need it or not."

Bridget couldn't help but smile.  Obviously, Maya did not have a hygiene problem.

"Also, I don't swim," Maya added as she loaded Eve's plate with enchiladas.

"Liar," Lydia chuckled, then grinned at Bridget.  "She swims like a frog."

"A frog?" Maya gasped in outrage, then loaded her own plate.  "I swim like a fish... a beautiful, silver fish."

"Maybe a brown carp," Lydia purred as she took the serving spoon from Maya's hand and loaded her plate with a generous serving of enchiladas.

"Enough," Eve laughed, then lifted the lid of the tortilla warmer and held it for Bridget to make her selection.

The rest of the food was distributed and the meal began.  Bridget liked Mexican cuisine, but Maya's cooking took the usual chain restaurant fare to a whole new level.  "This is delicious," Bridget said to Maya.

"Oh, thank you," Maya said with a warm smile.  "It's nice to have my efforts appreciated by someone."

Eve and her employees were a lot of fun, the evening was pleasantly warm, the beer refreshing, and the food delicious—and no one was staring at Bridget's inadequately clad, pale body—as far as she could tell.  Also, Bridget wasn't staring at either Eve's or Lydia's exquisite bodies.

Night was falling, and foot-level lighting across the pool area automatically turned itself on.  Also, the elements of infrared heaters atop posts on either side of the table began glowing with a dim, reddish light, shedding welcome warmth.

Suddenly, Bridget noticed something dark and tiny erratically flit and flutter across the twilight sky.  "Is that a bat?" she asked.

Eve nodded.  "It's about that time."

Bridget smiled and continued eating.

"Banana tacos with papaya and strawberry salsa for dessert," Maya announced as the plates emptied.

A Pony Named Freckles
Chapter 2

Scheherazade and Prancine had been tied to their posts in the outbuilding basement for hours.  Night had fallen, the light from the doubly-barred window had long since dwindled, and now they were in near total darkness.  When either ponygirl turned her well-gagged head and sad gaze in the direction of her fellow captive, her dark-adapted eyes could just make out the glinting outline of the naked curves of her equally helpless companion and a hint of the white ropes binding her to her post.  Otherwise... darkness.

How long? Scheherazade wondered.  How long is Mistress going to leave us down here?  This certainly wasn't the first time the naked, bound, and gagged captive had silently asked that question; but for once, to her relief and surprise (but with a tad of apprehension) she received an immediate answer.

The basement's lights, such as they were, clicked on, the ponygirls squinted in the sudden glare, and watched as Lydia and Maya descended the basement stairs.  There was a pause while Lydia unlocked and opened the door in the wall of iron bars that would have kept Scheherazade and Prancine trapped in the basement in the astronomically unlikely event that they had somehow freed themselves from their rope bonds, then the smiling Stable Mistress and Mistress Cook entered the basement proper.

Both Mistresses were dressed in their usual boots, jeans, and blouses.  Somewhat ominously, draped over Maya's right shoulder was what both ponygirls recognized as a full set of "slave-chains."  Its manacles, shackles, collar, and connecting chains rattled and swayed with the Latina's every step.  Maya also had a black leather hood in her left hand and a riding crop in her right, and the crop was one of Mistress Eve's "special" models with a shock-wand built into the handle.  Lydia was totally unencumbered.

The blonde and brunette stopped in front of the helpless ponygirls and gazed at the naked, bound and gagged prisoners with their very familiar wicked smiles.

"Rock-paper-scissors?" Maya suggested.

"I know you prefer playing with Prancine," Lydia purred, "and tonight's enchiladas were a work of art."

The ponygirl's stomachs rumbled at the mention of enchiladas.  They'd had nothing to eat since breakfast.

"How very sweet," Maya cooed.  "And I'm sure the fact that your favorite is Scheherazade has nothing to do with anything."

Still smiling, Lydia locked eyes with Scheherazade.  "Accept the compliment, Maya," she purred, "and take good care of Prancine.  Mistress would be very displeased if the new pony hears her making a fuss."

Maya had no intention of removing Prancine's gag, not now, and not after releasing her from the post, "dressing" her in the slave-chains, and dragging her to the mansion.  Nor would she remove her gag (which would be reinforced by the leather hood) while the ponygirl-in-chains cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom under Maya's demanding and highly critical supervision.  Once she had the helpless beauty behind the locked door of
her private apartment, that would be another matter.  The new, unbroken, strawberry roan pony's guest room—by which she meant Bridget's guestroom—was in the opposite wing of the mansion and one floor up from Maya's rooms.  She might ring-gag her playmate-for-the-night or fit her with a double-penis-gag, but Maya had no intention of giving Prancine more than a fleeting chance to scream, and the ponygirl knew full well what would happen if she tried.

"No problema," Maya purred, then began the process of replacing Prancine's multitude of tight rope bonds with cold steel.  The smiling Latina was every bit as competent a rigger as Lydia, even though she was admittedly less expert in the equestrian aspects of Mistress Eve's "hobby."  In any case, Prancine never had a chance to mount a credible resistance, much less escape.  The tight web of white ropes was removed and replaced in carefully planned increments.  This wasn't Maya's first rodeo.  Far from it.

At the same time, Lydia set about the task of releasing Scheherazade from her post.  Lydia's favorite pony would also experience the now familiar process of having her bondage changed without ever being even remotely free.  In a surprisingly short time, Scheherazade was prone on the floor with her arms behind her back and bound with the same white rope that had lashed her to the post.  Tight, well-cinched ropes bound her ankles, her shins and calves, passed above and below the knees, her thighs, and lashed her wrists.  There was a crotch-rope, more ropes encircled her waist and forearms, her elbows, upper arms and torso, above and below her breasts, and yoked her shoulders.  And all of the elements of her new bonds were interconnected by a web of vertical and diagonal strands of tight, flesh-dimpling rope.

It wasn't Scheherazade's first rodeo either.  She'd been bound in this same "wiggle-worm" fashion many times before.  Her gag remained intact, with the same sponge filling her mouth and held in place by the same cleave- and over-the-mouth Vet-wrap gag.

Scheherazade gazed up at the smiling Stable Mistress she would be servicing this evening.  Lydia slept in an outbuilding, well away from the main house.  It was actually a comfortable, even luxurious cottage situated on the far side of the stables.  Once Lydia had her favorite ponygirl safely inside her private domain and removed her gag—hopefully to feed her a generous helping of reheated enchiladas—Scheherazade knew she could scream her head off (if she was that stupid) and would be unheard from inside the mansion.  She sighed as Lydia lifted her onto her shoulder and carried her towards the stairs.

Prancine was right behind, obediently shuffling in her hobbling shackles with her wrists manacled in front and the collar's leash in Maya's left hand.  She knew her hands were in front so she'd be able to work once they reached the kitchen.  The hood now covered and tightly encased her head with only her nose, eyes and forehead exposed, and together with the sponge still stuffed in her mouth and the Vet-wrap still mummifying her lower face, would make sure she kept any complaints (or warnings) to herself.

Even though it was a special day—the arrival of a new pony—it was business as usual at Wilkinson Ranch.

A Pony Named Freckles
Chapter 2

Eve Wilkinson was semi-reclined, resting her back, shoulders, and head on several pillows piled against the headboard of a four-poster bed strikingly similar to the one in the "guest room" where her new pony was spending her first night at the ranch.  In point of fact, Bridget's accommodations were usually reserved for the exclusive use of Eve's big sister, Meredith, on the rare occasions when she visited the Ranch—hence the equality of size, features, and furnishings to Eve's bedroom suite.  Technically, the entire estate was Meredith's property, but Eve's elder sibling was a city girl and had little interest in rural living (although she was into ponygirl husbandry).

Eve was dressed in a white, whisper-thin, baby-doll nightie, and was gazing down the length of the bed (and her scantily clad body) at the titanic screen of a high-definition television mounted on the far wall of the bedroom.  In point of fact, it was three screens flush-mounted edge-to-edge in triptych fashion.  The estate's security and entertainment systems were totally integrated, and Eve could simultaneously open multiple windows on the screens and display movies, television programming, or the output of any of the multitude of HDTV/infrared surveillance cameras hidden across the estate, including the interior of the mansion.

At the moment, three equally sized windows filled the three screens, side by side.

On the left screen was a view of the kitchen, one floor below.  Maya, riding crop in hand, was supervising Prancine as the chained and hooded pony diligently scrubbed a large, wok-like pan at the scullery sink.  The naked and gagged captive had already loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the island cook-top, and a mop and bucket were standing by to clean the floor once all other tasks were properly completed.  Eve noted that Maya had allowed Prancine to don heavy rubber gloves to protect her manacled hands, but this was as much self interest on Maya's part as kindness.  No one likes a ponygirl with rough hands that smell of soap or harsh cleaners.

Eve also noted the five or six distinctive, vaguely leaf-shaped marks on Prancine's naked buttocks, evidence that Maya had used the crop to punish Prancine when the pony's efforts failed to live up to her exacting standards.  The red marks weren't serious, of course, and would fade quickly, as would any others Maya might feel impelled to inflict.

Eve smiled.  Once the kitchen was sparkling clean and ready for breakfast, she knew Maya would lead her prisoner to her room, and there, Prancine would entertain the demanding Latina.  The entertainment in question might take any of several forms.

If Maya was in a passive mood, she might make Prancine sleep on the floor, tethered by her collar-chain in some manner.  Or she might leave Prancine up on her toes, if Maya was feeling bitchy.  Lashing the proud pony to a straight chair with clamps on her nipples was another option, as was locking her in the tiny "puppy-cage" Maya kept in the very back of her walk-in closet.

If Maya was in an active mood, however, Prancine would share her bed, at least until her lips and tongue had given Mistress Maya one or more orgasms.  A diligent mistress (and always obedient to Eve's orders) Maya would probably replace Prancine's hood with a ring-gag.  That might make the pony's servicing efforts more of a challenge, but Prancine was both well-trained and experienced.

Eve knew a covered plate atop an electric warmer was already waiting on a side table in Maya's bedroom, and Maya always kept cold cerveza in a nearby mini-fridge.  The plate probably held the same food Eve, the new pony, Lydia, and Maya herself had enjoyed at their poolside dinner.  At some point, Maya would remove Prancine's gag and feed her, more evidence of the Latina's diligence.  Ponygirl maintenance is never neglected at Wilkinson Ranch.

On the right screen, the bedroom of Lydia's cottage was on display.  No cleaning required, the Stable Mistress had already fed Scheherazade and taken her to bed.  Lydia was nude and in the same pose as her watching mistress, only her legs were widely splayed and a thoroughly bound Scheherazade was on her stomach, between said legs, and doing her best to bring Lydia to orgasm.  Other than the gloriously erotic sight of Lydia's unbound and the pony's bound bodies, all Eve could really see was Scheherazade's bobbing head as she licked, sucked, and probed Lydia's pussy—that and Lydia's squirming, writhing, grimacing reactions.

A ball-gag waited to plug Scheherazade's talented mouth once Lydia was satisfied, but as with Maya and her playmate, it remained to be seen if the ponygirl would be allowed to share the bed... or would sleep on the floor.

Neither Maya nor Lydia knew that their personal areas were far from private.  Eve had quietly arranged for Lydia's cottage and Maya's apartment to be surreptitiously added to the surveillance system during the last upgrade, but that was neither here nor there.  All of Wilkinson Ranch was the domain of Mistress Eve.  Her Stable Mistress and Cook were well paid (with spectacular fringe benefits), so why shouldn't Eve watch their fun whenever she felt the urge?  It was her right!

Meanwhile, on the center screen... Bridget Riordan was asleep in her borrowed bed.  The image was rather dim and slightly shifted into the red, unlike the relatively bright and much more active images to either side, but Eve could easily examine every detail of her new pony's relaxed, beautiful features.  She'd already watched Bridget make her preparations for bed and dress in a borrowed nightie and panties more-or-less identical to the whisper-thin, frilly organza garments hugging Eve's own form, then slide between the sheets and turn off the reading light.  The infrared camera and image processing software of the mansion's system had taken things from there.

Eve was entirely satisfied with her new acquisition, and she'd already received an e-mail from the operatives she'd hired to handle things in the city.  Tomorrow, Bridget's landlord would be presented with a forged power of attorney and informed that the redhead had taken a lucrative new job abroad and had already left the country.  The paperwork required to break her lease would be handled and all Bridget's worldly goods packed and placed in storage.  Eve had hired professionals.  Nothing would go wrong.

Eve's smile turned decidedly evil and her eyes sparkled with wicked glee as she gazed at the slumbering beauty... the slumbering beauty who had already begun her new life... but didn't yet know it.

Eve's smile faded.  'Bridget,' she sighed.  That won't do.  She remembered her first sight of her new pony's pale, feminine curves down at the pool.  The borrowed white bikini had hidden very little, only her nipples and ginger pubic bush, really, but Eve had caught glimpses of all three treasures on the screen as her "guest" changed for bed.  Bridget obviously took good care of herself, but Lydia would soon have her in even better condition.  The pony's muscles would soon be better defined and her pale skin smooth and firm—not that Bridget's skin wasn't already smooth and firm.  And once she had a few days in the sun, exercising and getting used to wearing pony-boots and full harness...

Eve's smile returned.  That's it!  She'd made her decision.

Eve leaned to the side, pulled a torpedo-style vibrator from the top drawer of the bedside table, clicked it on, then slid the latex-clad, buzzing shaft under her panties and began sliding it against her moist, flushed labia, rewarding herself for her creativity.  Eve had thought of the perfect name for her new ponygirl!

On the center screen, "Freckles" snuggled against her pillow and her lips began to move, just a little, as if she was whispering.  At the same time, her eyes began rolling and twitching under their closed lids.  Bridget Riordan was dreaming, totally unaware that her waking world was about to become a nightmare.

A Pony Named Freckles Chapter 2

The  End

Chapter 1 Chapter 3