Part One

Tucked away in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains, just outside of Reno Nevada, is a small estate called “A Pony’s Place Inn”. It is a place where select women can go to shape up.

From the air, it would look like a lot of hedges streams and gardens. With a sprinkling of cottages orbiting the main house along with a couple of stable barns, as well as a few small arenas.

I found out about it after following a few rumors on the web of a well organized ponygirl club. It took a while to actually find someone that had seen their website and was willing to share if with me. Most everyone thought that I was a cop or some kind of a weirdo since I was really hounding them about it. The web site talked about pony-play as an exercise routine. That sounded cool so I decided to check it out but as it turned out, this was easier said than done. They only accepted women and men were only allowed if they were invited by said women as husbands, owners, trainers or grooms.

Damn, I didn’t have a ponygirl in my pocket nor did I know a girl that would do anything like that. So I was beached right there. I pleaded in a second E-mail, that I had written some ponygirl fiction and was looking for research material and they suggested that I look to the many ponygirl shows for inspiration.

I passed my frustration on to a webmaster that often posted my stories on his website and he offered to help.

“I’ve been there a few times with my ponygirl and I’m sure that I can mediate a little for you,” He E-mailed back to me.

The following morning I had a new E-mail from “A Pony’s Place Inn” with completely new attitude.

“We have received a request from one of our registered ponygirls (056) that we assist you, and are surprised to learn that some of our ideas are actually based on your writings,” it was not signed.

So after trading a few more E-mails, to work out all the arrangements and costs, I was on a plane to Reno, a week later.

As I was exiting the plane I quickly spotted a well dressed, tall, thin woman holding my name on an elegant white sign, and I hurried over to her.

“Mr. Smith,” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered just a moment before she turned toward the exit and we were off.

I guessed that she was about 5' 10" tall (when she wasn’t wearing heels) and all of 150 lbs. Wearing a full length linen dress and a white linen Hajab veil or scarf. The dress was a modern version of what might have been a Victorian style, while the Hajab would have been Muslim in design, although I doubted that they often made them out of linen.

I lagged back a bit just to watch her walk and couldn’t help but smile as I noticed the stares and whispers she was getting. She was striking, and I after a time I guessed that she was probably one of the “New” ponygirls that I was also hearing whispers about on the net.

A chauffeur met us in the baggage claim and helped me porter my luggage to a new Limousine that sat ready at the curb. He was more of an over dressed ranch hand than your normal pretty boy driver.

Then as the driver was loading my luggage into the trunk the woman held the door for me, intimating that I needed to hurry up and get in. So I did. I sat there for a moment and watched as she removed a small wedge from her dress, before she followed me in. I couldn’t help but eye her as she sat across from me. She was watching me, as if wondering what I was really there for.

There wasn’t any of the pleasant conversation like, “how was your flight” or “I’ve read your stories”, like I might have expected. But to be fair, I didn’t start anything up either. I just watched this fantastic looking woman sit there. Not cross legged like you might expect of a elegant woman but with one foot tucked neatly behind the other. She just exuded submissiveness, which made her all more interesting and likeable.

Her feet were tucked under her and to the left, so the open wedge of her dress was parted. The opening revealed that she wasn’t wearing any stockings, and I could see a brand on her right thigh, it looked to be still very raw. That meant that she hadn’t been a ponygirl for all that long. Also now that her feet were visible, I could see that they had removed her heels and that her ankle now acted just like that of a pastern on a real horse.

Suddenly I felt uncomfortable as I realized that I had been staring. It must have registered on my face because she smiled back.

“I’m Fantasy,” she finely broke the silence.

“I’m Hugh Smith,” I replied. It wasn’t my real name but simply one that I had decided to use while I was there.

“I’m told that you want to be a ponygirl as well,” she offered bluntly.

Ouch, I was suddenly uncomfortable that my secret was out.

“Ummm, yes. Have you read any of my stories?” I asked her.

“Yes, I like them. They are often written from the transsexual ponygirl’s point of view. but I didn’t know until this morning that you were writing as ConnieW,” She seemed more relaxed but no less prim and proper. She slowly leaned forward as if to confide something to me, “Don’t worry, I was a boy, just like you a few months ago.”

I think my jaw really did hit the floor. She looked very “Barbie doll” but I never would have thought that she was a transsexual.

By this time we were entering the brick and wrought Iron gate of the estate. I could see the wide dirt pathways that often crossed the driveway, lush gardens and hedges. At times I got a glimpse of girls pulling rickshaws and others on horse back.

The girls pulling the rickshaws weren’t naked as I had expected. They were just as they were portrayed on the web site, wearing white jogging shorts and a blue sports bra, along with white jogging shoes. There weren’t any bridles or tack on any of the girls that I saw while we drove in.

Two more of the “New” ponygirls met us at the curb when we pulled up to the front of the house. They were dressed just as Fantasy was. One opened the door and the other simply curtsied before welcoming me. Fantasy introduced them as “Sugar” and “Spice”. Each curtsied as they heard their name.

She led me into the house and up to my room. When I asked about a key, she told me that there were no locks on the doors. She offered to give me the ten cent tour, while my bags were being brought up for me.

“We have only been open for a little over a year now. Used to work as a security guard at night and here during the day. I was hired while they were building the place as a gardener. I asked if some of my pay could be held in trust for me, so that I could transition. They countered that if I took all their ponygirl classes, they would pay for everything. So I jumped at it.”

Suddenly something about her personality, struck me as really cute. It was weird, I was starting to fall for her a little, though I rarely really warmed up to people. I loved people as a concept but they often let you down by being rude or insensitive in real life.

We went out the back doors and she showed me the cement pool first. I noticed that clothing was optional there. I asked her about the colors of the ear rings the women were wearing.

“Well, that tells the trainers how to handle us. You see, some women just come here to lose weight and aren’t really into the ponygirl thing at all. They and the first timers get blue earrings. Those that want a little more get green ones, then red ones, then pink ones and then finally bare gold ones for the ponygirls and those girls that have their own trainers. You will find that the blue ones often sleep in the house at night and maybe pull the rickshaws, or even just jog by themselves for exercise. The green ones may sleep in the stables and are still pretty independent. Reds are a little more serious and pinks are often registered members of the Inn and so they get their board for free as long as they help out around the property. You know, making beds and serving food." I nodded. "Oh, I hope that you like vegetarian, that is all that is served here.” she stated.

Soon we were in the horse barn and there were a few grooms working with the horses. One woman with blue ear rings was just starting her ride. She was very elegant and rode English.

Fantasy walked over and started to pet one of the horses in a stall and gave it a carrot. “He is mine.” she said proudly. “I try to ride him everyday. Would you like to ride with me before you leave?”

She was just too sweet, so I took her hand before saying a little dramatically, “I’d love to.” I felt so corny, I was just a step away from getting down on one knee before I said it. But she smiled and let it slide.

We then went on to the ponygirl stables. It was a smaller barn and the stalls were very different. They were more like a combination bed and stall, with a twin sized water bed in a wooden frame that continued up, to form a stall-looking thing. It seemed to be a good combination for the comfort of a human pony. There was also a small light, one electric plug and a data port in each of the ponygirl stalls.

Fantasy took me to hers, and pointed out that there was a closet along one the side and a dresser below the mattress. It seemed to me that if the mattress leaked, all her stuff would get soaked.

While we were there, we also watched one of the pink ear-ringed ponygirls being tacked up.

They started her out naked, in the wash rack. They hosed her off with cold water from a green garden hose, then shampooed and soaped her up before rinsing her off again. Then they lotioned her. I could see that she really enjoyed that part.

“The lotion is also a sun screen so she doesn’t get burned.” Fantasy volunteered.

They moved her over to some cross ties, for putting a corset and a bridle on her. Then they moved her again to the rickshaw and soon they were off.

“Do you want to follow them?” Fantasy asked.

“Sure.” I started walking after them. Well, at least until I reached the end of Fantasy’s arm.

“Not that way silly, we can use horses.” she said, smiling.

And just a few minutes later, we were.

“Her name is Candy and she comes out here for a few days just about every month. I think that her registration number is really low, like 017 or something. She wants to be a ponygirl like me but David won’t let her, because she has three kids. He doesn’t accept parents at all. Most of the genetic female ponygirls that applied are over the hill strippers.” Fantasy was telling me as we reached an oval track.

There were a few greens and reds on the track, but the pink was outpacing them all. She was obviously in much better shape.

“What is this about registration numbers? I thought that was just for real ponygirls, like yourself.”

“We have our own registration here.” She pulled back her hair, to show me a tattoo that she had just behind her right ear. It was a PPI in a letter format (just like the brand on her leg) with a number straight across below it. Fantasy’s registration number was 062.

“But I am registered with the American Ponygirl Association as well,” she added. “You can check out my tattoo for that later, if you like.”

She was definitely pushing all the right buttons with me.

Back to reality, and the girls on the track. I noticed that most of the girls seemed to do one or two laps and then they were done. But Candy had completed at least four before she left and I would bet that she probably did at least that many before we got there. Since that was about a quarter mile track, she had probably run two miles pulling a rickshaw, and then they were off to do more on the trail.

“I just realized that they are showing off for you. She was here last week and so someone must have told her that you were coming.” Fantasy confidied to me. “Truthfully, it was me, I wanted you to see what a real amateur ponygirl can do. We just don’t have a bunch of bored housewives and business women that come here. We also have a lot of dedicated amateur ponygirls. We just didn’t have any of them coming this week end.” There it was, the big confession.

I realized that she hadn’t seemed to see were she was going. “Is she blind?” I asked Fantasy.

“No silly, she is wearing opaque contact lenses. I saw that you talk about them in your stories.” Sshe answered as if I had disappointed her by not realizing it myself.

When we returned to the horse barn, Fantasy took my reins.

“It is lunch time and you are expected. I’ll take care of the horses. I’ll catch up to you later, so that you can watch my training and see those registration tattoos.” She was trying to be seductive as she said it and she sure succeeded.