A Pony Named Freckles
A
              Pony Named Freckles


by Van © 2016


Chapter 3


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ


OUR STORY CONTINUES

The next morning, Bridget was awakened by a quiet knock at the bedroom door followed by the immediate entry of Maya.  She was dressed much as the day before.  Apparently, Bridget mused as she came awake, cowgirl boots, jeans, and Western or Mexican blouses are the staff uniform at Wilkinson Ranch.

"Breakfast in half an hour," the unsmiling Latina announced as she dropped a neatly folded pair of panties and matching bra on a chair near the bathroom, then entered the bathroom and emerged with Bridget's underwear from the previous day, the bra and panties she'd worn to the ranch.  "Laundry," Maya stated, waving the used underwear as she made her exit.

Bridget climbed from the bed and stretched.  She felt totally refreshed and ready for the new day as she padded into the bathroom and performed her morning toilette.  She then took a step back into the main bedroom and gazed down at the underwear Maya had delivered.  More borrowed clothes, she realized.  Eve really is a gracious host.  She then reentered the bathroom, stripped, and took a quick shower.

Returning to the bedroom squeaky clean, her hair dried and brushed, and wearing the new bra and panties, Bridget quickly made the bed—ever the courteous guest—left the nightie and panties set neatly folded at its foot, then donned her skirt and blouse, stepped into her heels, left the bedroom, and headed for the kitchen.

I could get used to this place, Bridget thought as she descended the grand staircase.  She fully expected this to be a one day visit, but if Eve's demonstration of the ponygirl costumes and their discussions of Bridget's writing went long, maybe she'd be invited to stay a second night so she wouldn't have to drive back to the city in the dark.

Last night, upon retiring, Bridget had pulled her MacBook Air from her sling-purse and tried updating her blog, but found the Wilkinson Ranch WiFi system to be password protected.  If this was to be a longer stay, she made a mental note to ask Eve for guest access.  Bridget never went more than two, or at most three days without updating her blog and/or writing a few lines.  Anything longer and she started feeling a little antsy.

It turned out breakfast would be in a small dining room off the kitchen at a cozy table with two place-settings.  Eve, cup and saucer in hand, was standing at the room's expansive window and gazing out at a magnificent wild garden and the forest vista beyond.  She was dressed in brown riding boots, tan jodhpurs, and a white cotton blouse.  Bridget started to ask if Eve planned on going riding after breakfast, but decided to keep the inquiry to herself.  If Eve's answer turned out to be "no," the question might be taken as a fashion criticism.

"Good morning," Bridget's hostess greeted her with a warm smile.  "Did you sleep well?"  She gestured to the coffee service on a sideboard.

"Morning," Bridget smiled.  "Yes, thank you."  She poured herself a cup from the insulated carafe.  The coffee was piping hot and bold, just the way Bridget liked it.  "Delicious," she sighed after a careful sip, then joined Eve at the window.

"I've asked Lydia to dig out the costumes I used for the last photo shoot," Eve said.

Bridget glanced back at the table and its two settings.  "She won't be joining us?"

"I usually eat breakfast alone," Eve explained.  "With our various schedules, with Lydia in the stables and Maya puttering in the kitchen, it's easier that way."

"Your gardens are beautiful," Bridget sighed.

"All native plants," Eve purred.  "It more-or-less takes care of itself, but the lawns do need mowing and the verge managed, to keep the natural succession from creeping out and devouring the mansion and stables."

"Breakfast," a now familiar voice announced.

Bridget and Eve turned to find Maya pushing a cart into the dining room.

"And I do not 'putter' in the kitchen," Maya huffed as she loaded the table with various plates.

Bridget smiled as she joined Eve at the table.  Lydia's right, she thought.  Maya really does have bat-like hearing.  Bridget could also tell the Latina's personality was anything but hostile.  Her gruff manner was just Maya being Maya.  Obviously, like Lydia, Eve found the talented cook's grumpy banter to be entertaining.  She's lucky she has such an understanding boss, Bridget thought as she took her seat.

Breakfast was a chorizo and eggs scramble with warm tortillas and sliced fruit.  "I don't want you to think Maya's repertoire is limited," Eve said, "but this is one of my favorite breakfasts."

"No, I can cook all sorts of exotic cuisines," Maya muttered as she returned the cart and herself to the kitchen.  "Chihuahua, Sonora, Oaxaca, Yucatán, Michoacán, Jalisco, Veracruz, Chiapas—"

Bridget and Eve shared a quiet chuckle.  Maya's litany of "exotic cuisines" had been cut off when the door to the kitchen swung closed.

"Lydia promised she'd have everything ready by the time we've finished," Eve said as they began eating.

"Delicious," Bridget sighed after chewing and swallowing her first fork-load of fluffy eggs and spicy sausage.

"Thank you!" Maya's faint voice shouted from the kitchen

Bridget nearly choked on her bite of rolled tortilla—and the food really was delicious—then recovered and laughed, quietly.

Eve limited her response to a smile.  Obviously, she was more familiar with Maya's antics.

Bridget smiled at her hostess.  "I really appreciate you indulging my curiosity.  I'm sure a better understanding of 'ponygirl' tack will help me with my writing."

Eve's smile broadened.  "I assure you, Bridget," she purred, "it's my pleasure."
A Pony Named Freckles
Chapter 3
After breakfast, Eve led Bridget to the Main Stable, the large, barn-like collection of horse stalls and tack rooms of which Lydia had given Bridget a partial tour the day before.  The blond Stable Mistress was waiting in a side room beside a wooden worktable strewn with a collection of leather straps, panels, and buckles.  Lydia was dressed the same as yesterday in boots and jeans, only today her Western blouse was a camel-tan and gray plaid with black pearl snap-buttons.

"Oooh," Bridget sighed in a whisper as she approached the table.  As if on its own, her right hand began slowly sliding across the array of gleaming, light brown leather and bronze metal fittings... then she remembered her manners and sheepishly smiled at Lydia.  "Good morning."  She hoped the blush she felt warming her cheeks would go unnoticed.

"Good morning, to you," Lydia chuckled.  "This is representative of the stuff we used for the ponygirl photo shoot."

Bridget raised an eyebrow.  "We?  You were involved?"

"I did the photography," Eve purred, "but Lydia did the rigging.  Such things are her area of expertise, after all—meaning horses, ponies, tack, harnesses, bridles, care and feeding...  That sort of thing."

Bridget's gaze returned to the table.  The faint aroma of the oil used to polish and preserve the leather hung in the air.  She'd noticed the same not unpleasant smell yesterday during the tour, as they passed the stables' many rooms of hanging bridles and neatly racked saddles.  She liked the finish of the items on display.  Their tawny color and ever so slightly pebbled texture more or less matched the sling purse in her guest bedroom up in the mansion.  However, she was having a difficult time making sense of the neatly arranged straps and various panels, to discern the specific function of each of the different items.  Some of the interconnected straps and bronze rings and buckles were clearly a harness of some sort, but there were other things she thought she might understand, like what was probably a wide corset-belt, and a pair of... mittens?  It was the system as a whole that eluded her.

"And all this is a ponygirl costume?" Bridget asked.

"Actually," Lydia answered, "it's bits and pieces, but I believe everything is in your size."

Bridget turned to Lydia in wide-eyed surprise.  "M-my size?"

The Stable Mistress smiled and turned to Eve.  "You said she was up for this."

Eve returned the smile and gave a shrug.  "I thought she was."  She shifted her smile to Bridget.  "You asked for a demonstration.  You've changed your mind?"

"Yes, but..."  Bridget found herself a little flustered, and she hated it.  Not cool!  "I, uh, I thought we'd just be looking at the stuff.  It never occurred to me I'd be t-trying it on."

"What better way to appreciate the experience?" Eve suggested with a gently cajoling smile.  "You said you wanted to better understand everything your centaur maidens were feeling during their enslavement."

"Yes," Bridget admitted.  "I did."

Lydia was still frowning.  "Wait... centaurs?"  Then her lips curled in a sheepish smile.  "Oh, your fantasy books."

"Surely firsthand experience is better than simply... watching," Eve added, pressing her argument.

Lydia's frown returned.  "Wait, watching?  Who is she supposed to be 'watching' wear this stuff?  Certainly not me."  Again, her smile returned.  "Hey, I've got it!  She can watch Maya prance around like a pony.  Why don't you go to the house and fetch her," she suggested to Eve.

If Eve was amused, she hid it well.  "I have no desire for a black eye," she huffed.  "Nor do I want the hassle of having to hire a new chef."  She turned back to Bridget.  "I suppose we could settle for Lydia just explaining the function of each of the items, one by one."

Bridget could tell Eve though such a demo would be far inferior to firsthand experience, and as much as Bridget hated to admit it, she agreed 100 percent.  "No, no, I'll try it on, just... what do I do?"

"Excellent," Eve sighed.  "First off, you'll have to change."

Lydia turned to a nearby set of wooden shelves, opened a cardboard box, and pulled out a neatly folded garment of some sort.  She took it by the shoulder seams, let it fall open, and held it for Bridget's inspection.

Bridget found herself staring at a full-length, long-sleeve, unitard of bronze spandex, and as Lydia slowly turned the dangling bodysuit, the fabric shimmered with vermilion highlights.  It was pretty, but...  "I-I think it's too small," Bridget objected.

"It stretches," Eve said with a gentle smile.  "I'm sure it will fit you just fine."  She pointed to a nondescript door in the back.  "That's a changing room.  Remember, nothing underneath."

Bridget stared at the unitard for a couple of seconds, then took it from Lydia's hands.  "Uh, you mean... no underwear?"

Eve nodded.

"Uh... okay."  She made her way to the door indicated, opened it, stepped inside the cozy cubicle beyond, and pulled the door closed.

Eve leaned close and whispered in Lydia's right ear.  "I guess she's decided to be cooperative."

Lydia shrugged.  Some prospective ponygirls liked to fight, to be actively captured, and some liked to be tricked into captivity.  It was all the same to Lydia.  She was well paid and enjoyed either option, as well as the fun that inevitably followed.
A Pony Named Freckles
Chapter 3
Bridget's heart was thumping like crazy, and she didn't know why.  That wasn't quite true.  She was nervous... very nervous.  A ponygirl costume?  Me?  Simultaneously—and Bridget was well aware of the contradiction—she was excited, but not in a sexual or prurient fashion.  Perhaps intrigued was a better word than excited.

As a writer, Bridget was looking forward to getting into the head of an enslaved centaur maiden.  At book signings and readings and via blog comments, her readers always praised her characters, and it wasn't just the heroic, two-legged Princess Siobhan who had a fan following.  Teagan, the escaped Centaur slave who became a leader of the Centaur freedom fighters, and Roisin, the young Centaur maiden forced to serve as the evil queen's handmaiden, were also very popular.

I owe it to Teagan and Roisin to better understand what they went though, Bridget told herself, and the same goes for the enslaved Centaurs still suffering under the yoke of the neighboring kingdoms' Slavers Guilds.  This was total rationalization, of course, but concern for her fictional, mythical characters was as good a reason as any for satisfying her curiosity.

There was a bench against the changing room's back wall, and above the bench was a row of wooden pegs.  Also, a full-length mirror was mounted on the back of the door.  Bridget unbuttoned and removed her blouse, then hung it from a peg.  She then stepped out of her heels, unbuttoned and unzipped her skirt, and hung it next to the blouse.  Her bra and panties were next... and now Bridget was nude... embarrassed and nude.

Stop it! the naked soon-to-be-pretend-pony scolded herself.  Bridget picked up the unitard, sorted out its front from its back, sat on the bench, then lifted her left foot and slid it into the seemingly too small garment's left leg.  The iridescent spandex was, indeed stretchy.  It took a little tugging, wiggling, and squirming, followed by more tugging, but she managed to pull the thing up both legs.  She then stood and managed to get both arms and her torso into the bronze bodysuit.  More squirming and wiggling was required to achieve a proper and uniform fit, but finally, Bridget was covered in taut spandex from ankles to wrists.  She zipped up the seam running from her navel to her throat, and now only her bare feet, hands, neck, and head were exposed.

Bridget turned and posed for the mirror.  Eve had been entirely correct.  The unitard was a perfect fit... a skintight, perfect fit.  Oh-by-the-way, her reflection sported a pair of pokies and an unmistakable camel-toe.  Well... they aren't too bad, she decided.  Bridget continued striking poses.  It isn't like I wasn't showing the same yesterday... in the bikini... at the pool.  Eve and Lydia's suits had also been sheer and tight enough to reveal pokies and camel-toes, especially when wet.  That said, the unitard was tighter and the results more prominent.  Of course, at the moment Bridget was showing significantly less skin—as in almost no skin, actually—but the unitard was the functional equivalent of body-paint.  Bridget felt simultaneously fully covered... and totally nude.

The vermillion highlights are very pretty, Bridget thought as she struck pose after pose, although what that has to do with anything...

Finally, Bridget heaved a sigh and reached for the doorknob.  She was keeping Eve and Lydia waiting.  "Screw your courage to the sticking-place!" she whispered under her breath, quoting The Bard to herself for encouragement—then opened the door.
A Pony Named Freckles
Chapter 3
The concrete floor was clean, meaning it had been swept, but as Bridget padded to the table she could feel powdery dust under her bare feet.  I'll have to clean them after we're finished, she thought.with a sigh.  "Here I am," she announced with a sheepish smile.

"Told ya so," Eve purred, a broad smile curling her lips.

"Excuse me?" Bridget asked.

"It fits," Eve clarified.

"Yes, spandex stretches," Lydia said, perfectly deadpan.  "Film at eleven."

"Just get on with it," Eve responded with a good-natured chuckle.

Lydia picked up one of the leather "mittens" and held it open for Bridget.  "Right hand," she specified.

Bridget was slightly dubious.  Quite obviously the thing was, indeed, a mitten, and a close-fitting mitten at that, with a row of grommets down one side and a thin, crisscrossed rawhide lace to make it even more close-fitting.  There was also an integrated cuff that tightened by means of three small roller-buckles.  "Uh, why mittens?"

Lydia smiled.  "Because ponies don't have opposable thumbs.  There are individual channels inside, one for each finger."

"Uh, okay."  Bridget carefully slid her hand into the mitten.  There were, indeed, channels, and it took a little wiggling and tugging on Lydia's part until her fingertips bottomed out.  She watched, in something she decided to characterize as amazement, as Lydia tightened the laces, tied a doubled bow, then closed the cuff over the bow and her wrist and secured the three buckles.

As Lydia helped her don the left mitten, Bridget tried flexing her right hand.  She found it had been more or less converted to a leather-clad flipper.  The cuff allowed her wrist only a limited range of motion, and the mitten itself, to coin a phrase, fit like a glove, a very stiff glove.

Soon, both of Bridget's hands were reduced to flippers and Lydia was picking up the corset-belt.  "Hands atop your head would probably be best for the next part," she suggested.

"Uh, okay," Bridget said as she adopted the pose.

The corset-belt was more of a corset, actually.  Now that it was tightening around her midsection, Bridget realized she should have recognized it as such all along.  The fact that most of the images she'd seen from Eve's photo shoot had concentrated on pony boots and the female human legs filling them may have had something to do with it.  Anyway, the corset in question hugged Bridget's waist from just below her breasts to just above her hips.

Eve was standing directly in front of Bridget and holding the corset in place as Lydia tightened, adjusted, and secured what felt like a dozen small straps in the back.

"How does it feel, dear?" Eve asked, smiling in Bridget's face.

"It's okay," Bridget answered, then bit her lower lip as Lydia secured the final buckle.  There were more buckles still dangling loose in the front, and Bridget watched as Eve secured each of them, one by one.  The corset grew progressively tighter... but not too tight.

Bridget noted a few rectangular bronze brackets or flanges sewn into the corset's top and bottom hems, but had no idea what they were for.  She found soon out.  Working in concert, Eve and Lydia dropped a tinkling harness of straps and buckles over her head.  This required Bridget to move her hands and arms to either side, of course, but soon the mittens were back atop her head and Eve and Lydia were threading harness straps through the brackets and buckling them tight; but, as with the corset, not too tight.

Bridget's shoulders were now yoked by a pair of diagonal straps that met at a bronze ring just above her spandex-covered breasts.  A vertical strap continued from the ring between her breasts and passed through a flange in the top of the corset, and was buckled tight.  She could tell there were more straps behind her back, but at the moment they were dangling loose.

Next came what might be called a diaper-harness.  It was a chamois-thin triangular panel, more or less a leather bikini-bottom, and cupped her crotch, hiding her camel-toe—for which Bridget was grateful—and incorporated straps that buckled to the bottom of the corset in the front and back (cleaving her spandex-clad buttocks in the process).  There were also a pair of long straps that completely encircled her upper thighs, further anchoring the "diaper."

"Almost finished," Eve purred with a reassuring smile.

Lydia lifted Bridget's mitten-encased hands from atop her head, pulled her arms behind her back, and folded them against the corset at the small of her back.  Bridget felt a flap of some sort close over her forearms and Lydia began tightening buckles.

"I-I'm t-tied up!" Bridget blushed, as Lydia continued.  Soon, the panel was secured by three buckles, and two other straps had been threaded through D-rings in the mitten cuffs.

"I believe the term 'in harness' is more appropriate," Eve purred.  Her hands were on Bridget's corseted waist, again, holding her in place as Lydie stretched the remaining straps of the harness around Bridget's upper arms and torso, above and below her breasts, and buckled them tight.  "You aren't frightened, are you?" she asked, then took a couple of steps back.

"No, no, I just, uh..."  Bridget twisted at the waist and tested the harness.  I'm helpless! she realized, then managed what she hoped was a brave, albeit sheepish, smile.  "I guess I just didn't think this through."

"I guess not," Lydia chuckled, then took a firm grip on Bridget's waist.  "Up you go," she chuckled, and lifted Bridget onto the table.

"Oh!"  Bridget was now sitting on her spandex-clad and strap-cleaved butt on the hard wood with her spandex-covered legs and bare feet dangling off the side.

"I'll go get the boots," Lydia announced, then spun on her heels and left the room.

Meanwhile, Eve had pulled over a wooden stool and was sitting at Bridget's feet.  She'd brought with her a bucket sloshing with soapy water and a folded towel.

Bridget watched as Eve lifted her right foot, picked up a small scrub brush that had been floating among the suds, and began gently scrubbing the sole of her foot.  Bridget bit her lower lip and stifled a giggle.  She was very glad the brush's bristles were soft and not stiff; however, what she acknowledged was a necessary foot bath tickled... just a little.

Eve smiled.  "Are you all right, dear?" she inquired.

"Nervous," Bridget blurted.  "I'm nervous."

"Understandable," Eve purred as she gently scrubbed Bridget's left foot.  By the time she had finished cleaning both feet and drying them with the towel, Lydia had returned.

"Oh my!" Bridget gasped, involuntarily.  She'd seen Eve's photos of such "pony-boots" before, of course.  After all, that was why she was here.  But the boots were... remarkable.  They were the same tawny brown as her harness, corset, and, uh, crotch-piece—Bridget had decided to think of the leather bikini-bottom/thong/diaper as a "crotch-piece"—and with the same gleaming texture.  They were knee-boots, with elevated heels—no heels, actually—and a horseshoe-shaped sole shod with a literal horseshoe.  A long, vertical, double-row of bronze grommets and rawhide laces ran up the front of each boot.

Lydia took Eve's place on the stool and began pulling a pair of wool socks onto Bridget's feet.  They were unlike any socks Bridget had ever worn before.  There was the usual padding under the soles and heels, but the toe regions were especially well protected.  Lydia lifted a boot and held it ready.  "Point," she suggested (ordered).

Bridget pointed her right foot and watched as Lydia slid the boot up her foot and lower leg.  It was a tight fit, and became even tighter as Lydia tugged on the laces... then tied a double-bow and buckled the boot's top strap.  The left boot followed, and now Bridget's dangling feet were encased in leather and permanently on pointe.  The boots were heavy and stiff.  Bridget found she couldn't really flex her feet or ankles at all, but that was probably a good thing.  Once she tried standing, she'd be balanced on tiptoe and would be almost certainly very grateful for the support.

And then, the moment came.  "Up you go," Eve said, and with Lydia's assistance, helped Bridget slide off the table and onto the boots.  They held Bridget steady as she took a few tentative steps.

"Surprisingly stable," Bridget said, "with good support."

"You'll find they do take some getting used to," Eve purred, "but I quite agree.  It's an excellent design."  She draped an arm across Bridget's shoulders and slowly led her from the room.  "Careful now," she cautioned as they entered the main stable.

At Eve's direction, Bridget clomped her way towards an open door at the far end of a side wing of the stable.  She found she didn't really need to rely on her hostess for support, but her gait was a little wobbly, something like a newborn colt, she reflected.  The thought was amusing.

They emerged into the sunlight and Bridget found herself gazing at a stretch of lawn divided by the sandy track of a riding path.  The trail passed a few yards in front of a pair of vertical log posts supporting a horizontal log crossbeam, then took a gentle turn and disappeared into the forest beyond.

As Eve led Bridget between the posts, she noted a pair of chains dangling from pulleys on the underside of the beam.  Eve took hold of the right chain and snapped its terminal clip through a D-ring on the harness over Bridget's right shoulder.  She did the same with the left chain and left shoulder, and Bridget was now more-or-less tethered in place.

Bridget looked up at the pulley's and noted the far ends of the chains were clipped to rings set at waist level in either post.  "What are you—Hey!"  Bridget's inquiry regarding Eve's intentions had been sidetracked by the smiling blond pulling a double-ended clip from her pocket and snapping its two, spring-loaded clips through D-rings on the insides of Bridget's boot-top straps.

"You're now effectively hobbled," Eve purred.  She then stepped to the left post, released the overhead chain's terminal clip, pulled out all the slack, and re-secured the clip, snapping it through a link of chain.  She stepped behind Bridget to the right post and did the same to the right chain.  Now Bridget was, indeed, tethered in place, with no significant slack in the almost vertical chains.  "And this is for support," Eve continued, "so you can stand here, get used to your new boots, and relax in your harness if it becomes too much for your toes."

"I, uh, do you have to do this?" Bridget demanded.  She was trying to be a good sport.  The "enslaved Centaur" fantasy element was the point of the exercise, after all, but this was taking the enslaved thing a bit too far.  "Can't I just walk around for a while and—Hey!  No!  Mrrrpfh!"

Eve had stepped behind Bridget again.  She saw a flash of a brown leather strap passing through the center of a jade-green rubber ball, and—"MRRRRF!"—and now the ball was in her mouth and Eve was buckling the strap at the nape of her neck, tight enough to make her cheeks bulge!

Bridget stutter-stepped in place, twisted her upper body and fought her harness restraints, tossed her now gagged head, and continued mewling complaints.  "Nrrrf!  Nrrr!  Mffffh!"  The ball filled her mouth, was something like two-inches in diameter, and she realized she'd have difficulty expelling the dreadful thing even without the tight strap.  With the strap, it was patently impossible.  "M'mpfh!"

Eve stepped to Bridget's front and watched the show, a truly evil smile curling her lips, dimpling her cheeks, and sparkling in her ice-blue eyes.

Bridget continued her futile struggles, but soon realized her situation was hopeless.  Finally, panting through flaring nostrils, her spandex-covered breasts heaving with every breath, she gave her head a final shake in a semi-successful attempt to straighten her ginger pageboy, and glared at her hostess.

Still smiling, Eve took a step forward and began first releasing, and then tightening the many straps of Bridget's corset, harness, and crotch-piece, front and back!

"Mrrrrrrf!"

Eve pulled each strap tight until Bridget's spandex-clad flesh bulged between the straps.  This took a while, and by the time she's secured the last buckle, Bridget's breathing had returned to something resembling normal.  Her angry stare, however, remained unchanged.

Eve returned to her former position.  "There," she purred.  "Now that's a proper fit.  You look very pretty in your new harness, Freckles."

Bridget's angry stare became a slightly confused, angry stare.  'Freckles?'

"That's your new name, my dear," Eve continued, "your ponygirl name."  She leered at Bridget's helpless form.  "And once I have Lydia peel you out of that unitard and you have a few days to bask in the sun, your new name will become even more appropriate."

She's playing with me, Bridget thought, trying to get me into the 'enslaved' fantasy.  She squirmed in place, giving her harness another pointless test.  The damn thing was now tight, very tight, uniformly hugging her body and folded arms from shoulders to crotch.  She's certainly a good actress, Bridget thought, continuing to glare at Eve.  She's really acting like a slaver who's tricked me into captivity.  I guess the best thing would be to simply play along... not that I have any real choice in the matter.

"Well, as much as I'd like to stay and watch you come to terms with your new life," Eve said, "Mistress has things to do.  As the saying goes... no rest for the wicked.  Enjoy the sun."  And with that, "Mistress" turned and strolled back to the stables.

"Mrrrf!" Bridget complained, squirming in her bonds and looking back over her shoulder as Eve entered the stable and closed the door behind her.

I'm really going to give her a piece of my mind when she lets me go, Bridget decided.  Staying a second night at Wilkinson Ranch was now out of the question.  As soon as she was free of this hateful harness, beastly boots, and ungodly unitard, Bridget fully intended to dress, stomp back to her guest room for her purse, and drive home, no matter what the hour.  And as for her new ponygirl name...

'Freckles,' Bridget fumed.  'Mistress' can stuff it!
A Pony Named Freckles
Chapter 3
The  End


Chapter 2
Chapter 4


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