A Pony Named Freckles
              Pony Named Freckles

by Van © 2016

Chapter 9



"Actually, we'll be discussing exactly why I can't let you go."

Meredith's words hung in the air like a pronouncement of doom.  For all Bridget knew, they were a pronouncement of doom; but for some reason, she didn't think she was in actual danger.  She didn't think Lydia was off someplace on the property digging an unmarked grave.

Bridget knew she should probably be angry and outraged, not to mention terrified and in shock, but to her infinite surprise, she found she was feeling none of those things.  Her heart was beating at an elevated rate and her armpits were a little moist, but that last reaction might have been in response to the "novelty" of wearing clothing after all this time as a naked pony.  Anyway, Bridget found she was taking the news... well?  Curiosity had a lot to do with it.  What did Meredith have in mind?  The devil would be in the details, of course, but she may as well hear her out.  She reserved the right to freak out in the future, of course... possibly the very near future.

Bridget continued eating.  Maya's bacon, scrambled eggs, hash-browns, and toast were, indeed, perfect.  But like her reaction to wearing clothes, her culinary delight may have been a reaction to the blandness of pony-chow and her return to humanity.  She noted that Meredith was also eating, apparently content to let her "guest" mull things over... and to gauge Bridget's reaction.  The best defense is a good offense, Bridget reminded herself, and set down her fork.

"You're going to continue keeping me a prisoner against my will?" Bridget huffed.

Meredith sighed... then set down her fork, as well.  "The Wilkinson Group is a worldwide family of corporations and limited partnerships that employ tens of thousands of workers.  Our properties and assets are valued in the billions.  My rivals and competitors would be all too willing to exploit the inevitable scandal of my little sister being arrested and put on trial for a string of serious felonies.  The media's reaction to the sensational and kinky aspects of the scandal alone would be enough to dismantle everything we've worked so hard to build."

"All of which is rationalization," Bridget intoned.

Meredith smiled.  "I have no intention of indefinitely holding you as my prisoner," she announced.

Bridget chewed and swallowed a fork-load of hash-browns before responding.  "I hear an unspoken 'but' coming."

"Before I make my proposal," Meredith continued, "I'm afraid I must fully explain your current situation.  My sister—"  She nodded towards Eve.  "—has arranged to have your apartment cleared out and all of your possessions disposed of.  At some point, I'm sure your publisher will realize you've disappeared and will make inquiries, but my security personnel are very professional.  At the moment, as far as the outside world is concerned, you have disappeared."

Bridget finished the last of her eggs.  "Way to ruin breakfast," she muttered.

Meredith laughed, covering her mouth with her napkin.  "Oh, Bridget.  Delightful.  Such strength.  I believe after what you've been through most people would be hysterical."

"I'm thinking about it," Bridget sighed as she lifted the carafe and replenished her coffee.

"So," Meredith continued, "at the very least, you need a place to live.  Might I suggest... Wilkinson Ranch?"

Bridget sipped her coffee before answering.  "The house... or the stables?"

"Oh, the house, of course," Meredith purred.  "You can move into Eve's old room."  She sifted her gaze, again, to her naked, bound, gagged, and shock-collared little sister.  "My sister has decided to move into the stables... indefinitely."

Eve's pale blue eyes were welling with tears and her naked breasts heaved, slightly, as she panted through her flaring nostrils and squirmed in her inescapable bonds.

Bridget felt sorry for her erstwhile kidnapper and trainer—not!  It couldn't have happened to a nicer sadist."  Bridget took a sip of coffee, then set down her cup.  "So, I'm supposed to not call the police, or the sheriff, or whoever arrests criminals around here... in exchange for what?  Free room and board?"

Meredith smiled.  "My most trusted lawyers are working on a carefully crafted set of nondisclosure agreements and contracts, as we speak."

"No nondisclosure agreement ever written can indemnify you against criminal acts," Bridget said evenly.

"Hence the 'carefully crafted' caveat," Meredith purred, then her smile widened.  "Congratulations are in order, Ms. Riordan.  One of my charitable foundations has selected you as the recipient of its first ever 'genius grant.'  There will be a very large lump sum prize and a generous annual stipend.  You're now a rich woman, and need a place to stay commensurate with your wealth and where you can continue to write.  Why not Wilkinson Ranch?"

Bridget wasn't smiling.  "I'll be free to come and go?"

Meredith shrugged.  "I'm afraid I must insist on an initial period of... probation?  Yes, let's go with probation.  While we work out the details, Lydia will make sure you don't 'get lost' while strolling around the property.  After I'm satisfied there's no danger of my rivals exploiting my little sister's faux pas—"

"Faux pas?" Bridget demanded.

"Faux pas, gaffe, indiscretion, egregious violation of etiquette?  You're the writer, Ms. Riordan.  I'll leave the choice of euphemism to you.  Anyway, once I'm satisfied that the situation has stabilized and is acceptable to all parties, then yes, you'll be free to come and go as you please."

Bridget nodded at Eve.  "What about her?"

Meredith sighed.  "Eve has always been a problem for the family.  No head for business.  No creative talents to speak of.  I confess I've let her rule the roost at Wilkinson Ranch for want of someplace better to keep her out of trouble.  Obviously, that plan was an abject failure."

"No, ya think?" Bridget growled.

Meredith's smile returned.  "My staff is researching the average sentences for kidnapping and false imprisonment.  Preliminary results suggest decades of maximum security incarceration, at the very least; therefore, I've decided Eve will remain at Wilkinson Ranch and will serve her unofficial sentence as a pony."

Eve's eyes popped wide and a strangled scream escaped her ball-gagged mouth and tape-gagged lips, cut short by a painful zap from the shock-collar around her throat.

"You need not worry yourself, Bridget," Meredith continued.  "May I call you Bridget?"

Her gaze on the struggling and now openly weeping Eve, Bridget nodded.

"Anyway," Meredith purred, "Eve will be Lydia's responsibility.  You won't be involved in her training and care."

Eve continued struggling... and weeping.

"I have a confession to make, Bridget," Meredith said.

Bridget turned her attention to her hostess.

"Interest in the unusual and unconventional aspects of the equestrian lifestyle is a family hobby," Meredith purred, "not Eve's personal foible.  Prancine and Scheherazade are my ponies.  I let Eve pretend they were her property, but they're mine.  Unfortunately, business occupies almost all of my time.  I manage a brief vacation at the ranch now and then, but they're my ponies.  Eve took it upon herself to add a third pony to the herd, and I've decided that's exactly what's going to happen... only not in the way she intended."

Eve continued squirming and fighting her bonds.  Her cheeks were now flushed and wet with tears, above the smooth, taut strip of tape plastered over her ball-gagged mouth.

"Well," Meredith said as she rose from the table, "it will take Lydia and Maya some time to move Eve's things out of her bedroom, so you'll have to continue using the attic guest room for the next day or so.  I suggest you wait the suggested half-hour, then take a nice swim.  Does that sound pleasant?"

Bridget nodded.  Her gaze was back on Eve.

"I know you have a lot to think about," Meredith said as she took Bridget's hand and helped her stand.  "We can talk again later."

"Uh... okay."  With a final lingering glance at her former mistress and trainer... who had just been demoted to full-time pony... Bridget left the dining room.

A Pony Named Freckles
Chapter 9

There seemed little point in returning to the attic bedroom.  Even if Bridget wanted to change clothes, there was nothing in the combination wardrobe/chest of drawers for her to change into.  She made a mental note to inquire after the clothes she'd worn to her meeting with Eve... back when being a "ponygirl" was a means for Bridget-the-writer to research the various aspects of being an enslaved centaur maiden, not what in her wildest dreams Bridget thought was something that might actually happen to her.

A self-guided tour of her new, greatly expanded prison—the ranch house—seemed in order.  Bridget wandered from room to room.  She entered a living room, then a large, formal dining room that was different from the small, more intimate dining room where she'd just had breakfast.  Next was a library with hundreds of books, some bound in leather, some in cloth, and some still retaining their publishers' glossy book-covers.  In a neat stack on a side table she noted hardback editions of her complete works, all "Young Adult" adventure/fantasy novels.  The books were new, but creases and minor tears in the covers suggested they'd probably been read, at least once.  The decor of all the rooms she'd visited thus far was the same mix of Western, Hunting Lodge, and/or Arts and Crafts.  Bridget was entering what was probably a home theater—

"There you are!"

Bridget flinched in surprise, then turned to find Scheherazade and Prancine rapidly approaching from behind.  They were naked, of course.  "Scare me to death, why don't you," Bridget complained, then her eyes popped wide.  "Mrrrpfh!"  Scheherazade had pulled her into an embrace and kissed her lips.  The brown-eyed pony then handed the startled Bridget off to her blue-eyed companion and another kiss ensued.

Blushing and wiping her lips with the back of her hand, Bridget was released.  "Stop that!" she gasped as the naked brunettes shared one of their trademark giggling fits.  "Hey!"  The ponies had taken her by the hands and were dragging her down the hallway.

"C'mon!" Scheherazade laughed.

"Mistress says you're going swimming," Prancine added.

"We're here to help," Scheherazade explained.

"You need to even out your freckle collection," Prancine observed.

"It was a suggestion," Bridget huffed, "going swimming, I mean."

"Right," Scheherazade giggled.  "Mistress told you to do something and it was only a suggestion."

The ponies found this to be the very height of hilarity, and Bridget couldn't help but smile.  She wasn't really resisting, but her naked "captors" continued their firm grips on her wrists as they pulled her along.  They exited the house via a side door, hurried down a flagstone path to the pool, then the ponies started unbuttoning, unzipping, unclasping, and removing Bridget's borrowed clothes.

"Hey!" Bridget objected.  "Hands!  Hands!"  Bridget's complaints were ignored and her fluttering hands slapped away as she halfheartedly tried to impede the ponies' highly successful disrobing efforts.  "I can do it myself!  Stop!  No.  No!  Don't you dare—EEEEEH!"  Her borrowed clothes now a disorderly heap atop a lounge chair, Scheherazade and Prancine had seized Bridget by the ankles and wrists, lifted her into the air, given her a single swing, then tossed her into the deep end of the pool!

Bridget's shriek of mock dismay was cut off by the cool, churning water closing over her head.  She touched bottom, planted her feet, and pushed off.  As soon as her head broke the surface she glared at the laughing and pointing ponies.  "You rats!" she accused, then found herself laughing, as well.  The sky as blue, the sun yellow, and there wasn't a single cloud anywhere to be seen.  It was the perfect Summer day for a swim.

"Be careful," Scheherazade giggled, "that pool is infested with tickle monsters."

Treading water, Bridget favored the ponies with a skeptical pout.  They were sharing the task of folding and stacking her clothes.  "Tickle monsters?" she drawled.

"Oh, I'm afraid it's true," Prancine nodded.  They'd finished arranging the clothes in the order required for Bridget to dress herself, once the swim was over.  "You never know when they might strike."

"They sometimes let you drift for hours," Scheherazade added in a grave manner, then stepped to the edge of the pool.

"And then, when you least expect it," Prancine added as she joined her fellow pony, "they strike!"

Bridget was already swimming away as the ponies dove into the roiling water.  It was a short chase.  Soon, the naked, brunette "tickle monsters" were having their way with the poor, naked, giggling and sputtering ginger.

A Pony Named Freckles
Chapter 9

Eve—the naked, helpless pony who was formerly a mistress—was standing between Meredith and Lydia—who very much were mistresses, fully-clothed mistresses—at the windows of a cozy reading room, watching Bridget, Scheherazade, and Prancine cavort in the pool.  The naked swimmers' girlish giggles and laughing shrieks were barely audible through the double-pane glass.

Meredith was dressed in sensible pumps, a pencil skirt, and a light cotton blouse, which was about as laid back a costume as she usually wore, not counting the exercise togs appropriate for any of the different sports and physical activities she used to maintain her exquisite figure and high state of athletic fitness.  The ensemble was stylish and very expensive, of course, but her business associates would have recognized it as "casual wear."

Lydia was in her preferred Stable Mistress costume: cowgirl boots, jeans, and a Western blouse.  The end of a leather lead clipped to Eve's collar was in her left hand and her right hand had a firm grip on Eve's tousled blond hair.

Eve was still naked, ball- and tape-gagged, shock-collared, and box-tied, but now her knees were bound together and her ankles hobbled a few inches apart.

"This is going better than I expected," Meredith said, smiling as the ponies and Bridget splashed and played.

"You can thank Scheherazade and Prancine for that," Lydia drawled.  "They're having more to do with making Bridget feel welcome than the rest of us."

"Probably," Meredith nodded.

"Probably," Lydia agreed.

Several seconds passed as the naked, giggling, laughing women in the pool, two deeply tanned and one freckled, continued their fun.

"Go ahead and say it," Meredith purred.

"This is your fault," Lydia growled.  "I told you ten days ago that things were out of control and that I needed to act."

Meredith sighed.  "And I ordered you to wait until I could free up my schedule and assess the situation personally.  I ordered you to wait.  As you say, this is my fault."

"I feel like a rat," Lydia huffed.  "Maya hides it well, but she's livid.  Even the ponies are feeling guilty, although what they could have done, even if they fully understood what Eve was doing to poor Freckles, I have no idea."

"It's all on my head," Meredith sighed, "but I'll do everything I can to set things right."  They watched the splashing games in the pool for several seconds in silence, then Meredith cleared her throat.  "Anyway... I believe you have some work to do in the stables before you can begin preparing Bridget's new room.  I'll take care of my sister until her new accommodations are ready."

"Very well."  Lydia handed the end of Eve's lead to Meredith, released her hold on Eve's hair, then spun on her booted heels and left the reading room.

Eve watched Lydia's exit, then turned to face her older sister.

Meredith had resumed watching the fun in the pool.  "Remember the Summer before I turned eighteen?" she said.  "Mother and Father were on that world tour vacation they'd been planning for so long, and it was just you and me and Ms. Prichard at the Hampton beach house."  She turned her smile to her naked, bound, and gagged sister.  "She was the best governess we ever had, don't you agree?"  She turned back to the pool.  "She really knew how to tie someone up.  I learned a lot from Ms. Prichard.  I learned how to languish in ropes... and I learned how to tie up my bratty little sister so she couldn't possibly wiggle free.  Remember?"

Eve remembered.  She squirmed and tugged on her bonds, but Lydia was every bit as expert a rigger as Ms. Prichard had been.  Eve knew she wasn't going to free herself, and with the compound gag and the shock-collar punishing her every attempt to speak, she couldn't even beg for mercy.

"Don't even bother," Meredith purred, as if reading her sister's thoughts.  Her eyes remained on the pool.  "Maybe, after I've had a chance to calm down... perhaps in a few months... I'll have Lydia ease your situation.  But don't even try.  I'm very angry."

All Eve could do was weep, and struggle against her inescapable bonds, and wait for Lydia to return and drag her to her "new accommodations."

A Pony Named Freckles
Chapter 9

Bridget was lying in bed in her temporary attic bedroom and staring up at the dark rafters overhead.  Dinner was hours in the past.  It had been a delicious meal, another culinary triumph for Maya, but it was accompanied by a long discussion—more of a lecture, actually—with Meredith detailing the freedoms and limitations of Bridget's new life.

Bridget would be denied access to the internet, or any other means of communication with the outside world, at least for the next few months.  After Meredith's lawyers had prepared papers for her to sign and Lydia was satisfied that the new permanent house guest at Wilkinson Ranch—meaning the prisoner of Wilkinson Ranch—could be trusted, that would change.  Bridget would be allowed to send and receive e-mails with her publisher, transmit drafts of her new, and as yet nonexistent writings, and continue her professional career.  The same went for her blog.  There was already a posting explaining that she was taking an extended vacation, but eventually, she'd be able to communicate with her fans... again.

With regards to leaving the ranch, that wasn't going to happen for some time.  The keys and/or key-fob transponders that would allow her to drive away in one of the vehicles in the ranch garage were kept locked in a steel cabinet.  And as for hiking to freedom, Wilkinson Ranch was isolated, to say the least, and Meredith hinted about various surveillance and security systems that would alert Lydia and/or Maya that she was attempting to go off the reservation, so to speak.  Escape attempts would not be tolerated.  There were no dire warnings of being dragged to the stables and punished with restrictive bondage, but it was made quite clear that the implementation of unspecified "extra precautions" would ensue if she tried to leave without permission.

Also, Lydia was in charge.  When Meredith wasn't in residence, which, apparently, was something like 300 or more days out of the year, Lydia was in charge.  Next came Maya, but the brunette ponies weren't in the Wilkinson Ranch chain of command.  Bridget's status was that of permanent house guest.  She wasn't in the chain of command either.

As for Eve, Meredith reiterated that Eve was not Bridget's concern.  Again, Lydia was in charge, of the ranch in general and Eve's training and care in particular.  Bridget was not to interfere.

Bridget heaved a sigh and rolled onto her side.  Her borrowed sandals, jeans, and Western blouse were in the wardrobe, and additional pairs of panties and bras had mysteriously appeared and were waiting in the attached chest of drawers.  Supposedly, the skirt, blouse, and jacket she'd worn during her arrival would be forthcoming, as well a few more changes of clothes.  Also, several catalogs from which she'd be allowed to go on a shopping spree would soon start arriving.

At the moment, Bridget was nude.  This wasn't her usual sleeping "costume," but she'd grown accustomed to not wearing clothes (not counting harnesses and other restraints) during her captivity... meaning her earlier, much more restrictive captivity... as opposed to her current, much more expansive captivity.  Maybe she'd select a few nighties from the catalogs, or maybe not.  Hmm... I wonder if they ordered a Victoria's Secret catalog? Bridget mused.  Anyway, for tonight, she was nude.

Bridget had a lot of thinking to do, and apparently she was going to have all the time in the world in which to do it... as well as to catch up on her reading... and to write (eventually, once they gave her back her laptop)... and to swim... and...

A smile curled Bridget's lips as she remembered today's "pool party" with Scheherazade and Prancine.  There had been a lot of splashing and tickling, some of it quite intimate, but no serious hanky-panky—meaning no prolonged finger-fiddling or licking—meaning no sex.  Maybe I should do something about that, Bridget thought.  Her right hand slid between her legs, and she gave her labia a slow, tentative stroke with her fingers.  Did she need to "relax?"  Yes.  Bridget could feel the tension in her neck and shoulder muscles.  Her fingers and hand continued to glide... slowly...

Suddenly, Bridget heard the sound of the bedroom door being unlocked.  She sat up in bed and stared across the dark room.  The door opened, and with the curtains of the barred windows pulled back, there was just enough starlight for her to confirm the arrival of Lydia.

The Stable Mistress (and true Mistress of the Ranch when Meredith was away) wasn't wearing her usual cowgirl costume.  She'd changed into a skimpy, slinky, baby-doll nightie and a long, frilly, whisper-thin robe.  Whatever their color or colors, the ensemble was dark, possibly a deep shade of red, but the fabric was as sheer as a layer of smoke and did nothing to disguise Lydia's athletic curves and full breasts.  Her blond hair was pulled back and restrained by a narrow hairband-ribbon, and a smile curled her lips as she strolled to the bed.

Bridget rolled onto her back with her head cushioned on a fluffy pillow, pulled up the tangled covers, and clutched them at her chin to preserve her modesty.  "W-why are you here?" she gasped.

"I just thought I'd check in on you and make sure you're okay," Lydia explained.  "It's been an eventful day."

"Ya think?" Bridget mumbled.  Her heart was hammering, but she wasn't scared... much.  Oh-by-the-way, Lydia was gorgeous.  Even in the near darkness of the attic bedroom, she was gorgeous.

Lydia sat down on the bed, reached out, and gently combed the hair from Bridget's freckled face, straightening her ginger pageboy.  "I also came to apologize," she explained.  "I've been busy and couldn't find an opportunity... until now.  By the way, you'll be able to move into your new suite of rooms in the morning.  The former occupant's things have all been removed.  One of the ponies will give it a quick cleaning, then it will be yours."

Bridget gazed into Lydia's smiling face.  "Apologize?"

Lydia nodded and her smile faded.  "It didn't take long for us to tell that Eve was out of control.  She lied to us.  She said you wanted to be trained as a ponygirl.  We had no idea you were here against your will.  And once we realized the truth, I let Meredith talk me into waiting until she could get here to see for herself.  I should have acted as soon as I was sure.  I'm sorry, Bridget.  We didn't want this to happen to you."

Bridget nodded.  "W-what's happening to Eve?  I mean, what's happening right now?"

Lydia's smile returned.  "Don't worry about Eve.  She's put away for the evening and will start her pony training in the morning.  Eve will never trouble you again."

"And Scheherazade and Prancine?" Bridget whispered.

Lydia's smile widened.  "Prancine is spending the night with Mistress Meredith.  This is a special night for Prancine.  Meredith's visits are few and far between, and Prancine loves her Mistress.  You see, Prancine was her first."

"Her first pony," Bridget whispered.

Lydia nodded.  "As for Scheherazade, Maya is making sure she doesn't have reason to pout.  That just leaves you and me."

Bridget's heart was still hammering.  "And you're here to apologize," she whispered.

"Yes," Lydia nodded.  "You don't have to forgive me.  I realize—"

"I do," Bridget interrupted, then managed a shy smile.  She had no idea why, but Bridget found she did forgive the Stable Mistress.  "I do," she repeated.

"T-thank you," Lydia stammered, continuing to comb her fingers through Bridget's hair.

With the decidedly poor lighting, Bridget couldn't be sure, but the glint in Lydia's eyes suggested... tears?  Go figure.  "Really," Bridget said, "I forgive you... sort of."

"I can live with that," Lydia chuckled.

"I do have a question," Bridget continued.  "Can you do something about my nipple-rings?"

Lydia stopped combing Bridget's hair and pulled down the bedclothes, exposing the ginger's freckled shoulders, breasts, and the gleaming steel nipple-rings in question.  "These nipple-rings here?" Lydia purred.

Bridget blushed, batted Lydia's hand away, and pulled the covers back to her chin.  "Yes," she responded, "those nipple-rings there."

"If you mean can I remove them for you," Lydia sighed, "I'm afraid not.  They really are permanent.  But there are other things I can do with them."

Much to her surprise, Bridget found a smile curling her lips... her trembling lips.  Her heart was hammering, again... or still.  She realized her heart rate hadn't been normal since Lydia's unexpected appearance.  She watched as Lydia reached behind her head and untied the hairband-ribbon restraining her long blond locks.  The ribbon slithered away, she shook her head, and Lydia's hair flowed free.  Then, the smiling blonde grabbed Bridget's left wrist and pounced!

"Hey!" Bridget objected.  Lydia had flipped her onto her stomach, pulled down the covers, was astride her back, and was using the ribbon to bind her wrists behind her back!  "No!"  It was all but over before Bridget could mount an effective defense... not that Bridget was sure she could prevail against Lydia no matter how much time she was given to prepare.  Anyway... "Ohhh!" ...the ribbon was knotted and the deed was done.  "Lydia!" she whined as she was flipped back onto her shoulders, naked rump, and now bound wrists.

Lydia's knees and thighs were to either side of Bridget's waist and hips and at least a part of her weight was pinning down the pouting ginger's squirming body and weakly kicking legs.

Bridget satisfied herself that she was, indeed, inescapably bound and unable to wiggle free of Lydia's kneeling, nightie-clad body.  She stopped struggling and glared up at her captor's smiling (gorgeous) face.  "Meanie!" she accused.

"Just to be clear," Lydia purred, "Mistress Meredith is ultimately in charge, and I will execute her orders... within reason."  She leaned close and kissed Bridget's pouting lips.  "You're to have the run of the house, reasonable access to the stables, outbuildings, and grounds, and you will go on regular runs to maintain your fitness, accompanied, of course—"  She planted another kiss.  "—and you will follow all orders of Maya and myself.  If you're disobedient, or start sulking, your clothing privileges will be revoked."

Bridget couldn't help but smile, just a little.  "My clothing privileges?" she whispered.

"Your clothing privileges," Lydia confirmed with a grave nod.  "In the same vein, you're to maintain and nurture your freckle collection.  Skinny-dipping at the pool will be mandatory."

Bridget continued smiling.  "Does that go for the Stable Mistress, as well?"

Lydia smiled.  "Cheeky monkey.  Just for that..."  She reached down and pinched the index fingers and thumbs of her left and right hands through Bridget's right and left nipple-rings, respectively... then gently pulled... until Bridget's breasts stretched into freckled cones.

Bridget shivered and bit her lower lip.  "Lydia!" she complained.

"Quiet," Lydia chuckled.  "I told you there were things I could do with your nipple-rings, didn't I?"  She continued tugging on the rings in question, varying the pressure on each breast in turn.  "Your heart is beating a mile a minute, Bridget," she observed, "and you're beginning to sweat."  She released the rings, leaned close, and kissed Bridget's lips for a third time.  "Say the word and I'll leave," she whispered.  "I'll even be nice enough to untie your wrists before I go."

Bridget could tell she was, indeed, glowing, meaning was beginning to sweat.  Also, her breasts were bobbing as she panted through her slightly open mouth and flaring nostrils.  "So, I'm to be your obedient prisoner," she sighed, "but you'll go if I tell you."

Lydia nodded.  "Most assuredly... on both counts."

Bridget shivered again as Lydia cupped her breasts and gently squeezed, then took hold of her nipple-rings and gave them another tug.

"Well," Bridget whispered, "I'll let you know."

Lydia's smile widened.  "The ponies say you're a bit of a screamer," she purred.  "The ranch house has pretty good soundproofing, inside and out, but we can't have you disturbing Mistress Meredith.  You're to keep the caterwauling to a minimum, or I'll gag you with my panties."

Bridget smiled... and shivered.  Lydia continued tugging on her rings.  The sensation was... remarkable.  Bridget had never felt so completely under the control of someone else, not even when she was buckled into her training-harness, laced into her pony-boots, and hitched to the garden cart.  "I'll spit them out," she warned, meaning the hypothetical panties-stuffing.

"My robe has a belt," Lydia countered.

Bridget's lips curled in a coy smile.  The belt would make an excellent cleave-gag.  "Touché."

"You came here to learn what it was like to be a pony, right?" Lydia continued.

"Actually," Bridget responded, "I came here to research what it might be like for my fictional centaur maidens to be enslaved, but... yes."

"Do you still want to learn?" Lydia asked.  She was massaging Bridget's breasts, again.

"I... maybe."  Idiot! Bridget chided herself.  Why did I say that?"

"I'm not Eve," Lydia said quietly.

Bridget's coy smile returned.  "I know.  Your hair is longer.  I can tell the two of you apart nine times out of ten."

"Cheeky pony," Lydia purred.  "Just for that, your learning will continue... when you're ready."

"When I'm ready."

"When you're ready," Lydia confirmed, then climbed off the bed (and Bridget), shrugged out of her whisper-thin robe, then pulled her equally sheer nightie over her head and tossed it aside.  She then hooked the sides of her panties with her thumbs, pulled them down her long, strong legs, and stepped free.  Gloriously, gorgeously nude, she tossed the panties onto the bed, just to the right of Bridget's head; then pulled the ribbon-like belt from her robe and tossed it to the left of Bridget's smiling head.

Bridget didn't miss the not-so-subtle reminder that if she made too much noise, the makings of the promised effective gag would be close at hand.  She watched as Lydia reached for the sky in a spine-bending, boob-flattening stretch... then smiled down at Bridget and climbed back onto the bed, as graceful as a puma.

"Remember," Lydia purred, "no screaming."

"Yes, Mistress," Bridget sighed.  She knew she still needed to do a lot of thinking about her changed circumstances, but obviously all of that would have to wait.  She shook her head in a vain effort to straighten her pageboy, and watched as Lydia slid down the bed between her splayed legs, settled onto her stomach, and used her strong fingers to spread her flushed labia, meaning Bridget's glistening labia.  The helpless ginger flinched and felt her pussy tingle and thigh muscles tense in response.

"No you don't, Freckles," Lydia warned.  "Don't you dare close those legs."

"Yes, Mistress," Bridget sighed.

Lydia extended her tongue and gave Bridget's pussy a slow, kittenish lick.

And thus it was that Bridget Riordan, a.k.a. Freckles the pony, became the writer-in-residence at Wilkinson Ranch and the fourth member of Meredith Wilkinson's ponygirl herd.

A Pony Named Freckles
Chapter 9

The  End

Chapter 8 Epilogue