Chapter 11: The Pony Girl Ride
After a day of classes, Kim fell into her bed, her body humming with a new kind of anticipation. As she drifted off, a playful smile crossed her face in the dark. She let out a soft, experimental whinny into her pillow. The sound was silly, secret, and utterly thrilling.
The shift from dorm room to dream was seamless.
She was standing naked on a packed-earth floor, the air cool and thick. The seventh dream. A rustic stable, walls of rough-hewn timber, lit by flickering lanterns that cast dancing shadows. The scent was profound: dry, sweet hay, old wood, oiled leather, and beneath it all, the musky, intoxicating aroma of horse sweat. It smelled of labor and submission.
She was already aroused, her body preemptively slick. A slow, warm trickle of her own excitement dripped from her cunt, falling onto the scattered hay beneath her feet. She waited, breathing the heavy air, her nipples tight.
The stable door slid open with a wooden rumble.
Shego entered, and the image seared itself into Kim’s mind. Dressed as a rider in impeccable, skin-tight black jodhpurs, polished knee-high boots, and a crisp white shirt open at the throat. Her raven hair was pulled back in a severe tail. In one hand, she carried a long, tapered riding crop. In the other, a sleek leather case.
“Hello, my eager filly,” Shego said, her voice a husky command that echoed off the beams. She set the case down on a wooden bench and opened it with a click.
Kim’s breath hitched. The gear inside was not cartoonish. It was beautiful, terrifying, real. Shego turned, holding up first the boots. Knee-high, of supple black leather, but ending not in a heel but in a polished, pointed rubber hoof. “Lift.”
Kim lifted a foot. Shego slid the boot on, the interior cool and smooth, buckling it tightly just below her knee. The hoof made a solid clack on the ground. Then the other. The posture change was immediate, forcing her onto the balls of her feet, her calves taut.
Next, the hoof gloves. Same leather, covering her hands, rendering her fingers useless, ending in similar, smaller points. Shego buckled them securely. “No hands for you. Only hooves.”
Kim flexed her new extremities, a shiver running through her.
The bridle was next. A network of fine, black straps. Shego fixed it over Kim’s head, the leather cool against her cheeks and scalp. Attached at the crown was a pair of elegant, articulated horse ears that twitched subtly with some hidden mechanism. The bit was a solid, polished steel bar that pressed into her mouth. Shego fastened it behind her head. “Open.”
Kim obeyed, letting the bar settle on her tongue. It forced her jaw open, a constant, humbling stretch. Drool pooled instantly. Shego attached the blinkers next, two leather cups that narrowed her world to a tunnel directly ahead. Her peripheral vision vanished.
“Now, the tail,” Shego murmured, her tone almost ceremonial. She held up the butt plug. It was long, tapered, a deep obsidian black, and from its flared base sprouted a cascade of genuine, glossy black horsehair.
“Present.”
Kim turned, leaning forward, offering herself. She heard the slick, squelching sound of Shego coating the plug with lube from the case. The cold, rounded tip pressed against her tight hole. Kim breathed out, pushing back, willing herself open.
It slid in with a steady, burning stretch. The fullness was incredible, deeper than anything before, the flared base settling snugly against her. The tail hung down, brushing the backs of her thighs. She moaned, a guttural, damp sound around the bit.
Shego attached the reins to the bridle rings, then hefted the saddle—a small, lightweight English saddle—onto Kim’s back. She cinched the girth beneath Kim’s stomach, pulling it firm, not cruel but inescapably secure. The leather creaked. The weight was a grounding presence.
“Good girl,” Shego whispered, a hand stroking down Kim’s spine. “Let’s see how you run.”
Shego took the reins and led her out of the stable into the twilit paddock. The air was cooler here, the sky a deep violet. The packed dirt was smooth under Kim’s hooves. Clack. Clack.
“Trot,” Shego commanded, giving a slight tug on the reins.
Kim moved, an awkward, bouncing gait at first, then finding a rhythm. The plug shifted inside her with every jolting step, a relentless internal pressure. Her cunt was soaked, her juices making a sticky mess between her thighs.
Thwack!
The riding crop landed on her right ass cheek, a sharp, stinging kiss of fire.
Kim jolted, a muffled “mmmph!” escaping around the bit. Her cunt clenched violently.
“Keep the rhythm,” Shego said, walking beside her. Thwack! On the left this time.
Each strike was a lightning bolt of pain that melted instantly into a wave of deep, shameful pleasure. Her moans became a constant, needy drone. Shego drove her in circles, figure eights, the crop landing in a cruel, random pattern that kept her trembling on edge. Her world narrowed to the tunnel of her blinkers, the scent of leather and her own sweat, the sting, the grind, the wet sound of her own helpless arousal.
“Faster,” Shego demanded, her own breath becoming ragged.
Kim obeyed, breaking into a clumsy, hopping canter. The jolts were more intense, the plug driving into her ass, her breasts bouncing wildly. She was a creature of pure sensation, reduced to movement and obedience and the building, screaming pressure in her core.
After an eternity, Shego led her, shuddering and slick with sweat, back into the stable. Shego quickly unbuckled the girth, removed the saddle, the reins, the bridle. The bit came free with a string of saliva. The blinkers and ears were lifted away. Finally, the hoof gloves and boots were unbuckled and discarded.
Only the tail remained, buried deep inside her.
Shego, her own shirt damp with sweat, looked at Kim’s flushed, desperate face. “You were magnificent,” she breathed, and it sounded like worship.
Shego lay back on a deep pile of fresh, clean hay and pulled Kim down on top of her. They fumbled, a tangle of hungry limbs. Shego guided Kim’s thigh between her legs, pressing her own thigh firmly against Kim’s dripping cunt. They slid together, finding the angle, their wet folds aligning, their clits meeting in a slick, grinding press.
Scissoring. The technical term felt absurd for the raw, primal rhythm they found. Kim cried out, her hands finally free to clutch at Shego’s shoulders, to tangle in her hair. The tail in her ass shifted with each rock of her hips, a maddening counterpoint. Shego’s kisses were deep, devouring, tasting of salt and shared need.
“Fuck, Kim… your cunt is so goddamn wet,” Shego gasped against her mouth, her hips rolling up hard.
“You made me this way,” Kim moaned, driving down, grinding her swollen clit against the hard muscle of Shego’s thigh. The friction was exquisite, brutal, perfect. “Oh god, right there… Shego!”
The coil snapped for both of them, violently, in unison. Kim’s orgasm tore through her with a silent scream, her body locking, her cunt pulsing around nothing, her ass clenching on the plug. Shego’s followed, a sharp, shuddering climax that soaked Kim’s thigh. They rocked through it, milking every last spasm, until they collapsed, spent and breathing raggedly into the hay-scented air.
Slowly, Shego reached back and gently removed the tail plug. Kim whimpered at the loss, the sudden, sensitive emptiness.
For a long while, they just lay there in the humid quiet, skin cooling, hearts slowing. Then Shego turned her head, her lips brushing Kim’s ear. Her voice was low, a secret for the dream-space alone.
“New rules,” she whispered. “Weekday nights… we swap ideas. You send me a theme, I’ll build the dream. Or I surprise you. But the weekends…” She pulled back, her emerald eyes gleaming with possessive promise. “Weekends are for my penthouse. For real. For whatever we can think of.”
She kissed Kim then, deeply, a kiss that tasted of closure and a wide-open future. A kiss Kim returned with every ounce of her waking and dreaming self.
The dream began to fade at its edges, the stable dissolving into soft, gray nothingness. But the promise, and the smile on Kim’s sleeping face, remained utterly solid.