Maisey liked the pampering she got as a ponygirl; the petting, the sensual strapping on of her bondage, the shameful exhilaration of being made to run around the estate naked - or nearly so - pulling her Mistress along in a small wooden cart whose single shaft (Gosh!) jutted between her legs like a phallus whilst every step and away of her hips moved the dildo about inside her; bringing her to climax again and again.

The shame and humilaition only set in at night and she lay in the straw, tethered to the stable wall or trussed up and gagged at the foot of her Mistress' bed after servicing her with her tongue.

But Sunday was different.

Sundays were the days she dreaded the most, for this was the day that she left the privacy of her Mistress' estate and was made to trot, naked and exposed in all her bondage and pony regalia down the country lanes to the little church on the edge of the bayou; where her Mistress, dressed like a Southern Belle would attend Sunday service.

Maisey never set foot inside the church. She was made to stand amid the other carriages and carts whose drivers hald the reins of their real horses and ponies and eyed her with lust and greed, disgust and contempt.

When the service was over and the congregation made their way out of church, many would gawp at the spectacle before them and make moralistic comments and sotto voce' insults about her. When someone challenged Maisey's Mistress as to why she was trussed up and disported in such a shameful manner, she would be further shamed by the reply that she was being punished for being a wanton slut and that if she was going to rutt around like an animal in heat, then she deserved to be treated like one.

None, Maisey noticed, ever ordered her Mistress to release her.

It was only after they returned to the estate that Maisey's sense of shame and humiliation began to change. For the moment they returned home, parking the cart at the rear of the big house, her Mistress would unclip the cart from Maisey's restraints and lead her by the reins into the house and up the stairs to her boudoir. she would throw the helpless ponygirl onto the big four-poster bed and retire behind a screen. The elegant dress would come off and the tall, golden locked woman would step out, strapping the huge double dildo thong onto and into herself, before climbing onto the bed ready for an afternoon, evening and night of passion.

Yes, Sunday mornings were bad... but the rest of the day was WICKED!

THE END