|by Van © 2016
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
"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
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
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
"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
"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
"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
"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,
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
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
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
"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
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
"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
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,
Bridget stared at the unitard for a couple of seconds, then took
it from Lydia's hands. "Uh, you mean... no underwear?"
"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
|A Pony Named Freckles
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
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
"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
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
"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
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
"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 Lydia 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
"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
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
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
"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
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
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!
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,
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
"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
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