BONNIE'S SURPRISE II

by Benton
- do not use without the author's permission.

Week-end

It was about the middle of Friday morning, and my contractor client and I were bent over a set of plans spread out on a sheet of plywood on a couple of sawhorses. We were making a list of the final materials he would need to finish up the house he was building. But my mind wasn't really on my work. It was on an incredibly beautiful girl that I had left alone at my house this morning. She had gotten up early with me, made us some breakfast, then sent me on my way. I had done nothing to detain her, or restrain her. This was a completely different kind of circumstance, and whatever I might do would make very little difference in the long run. But by after lunch, and half-way through another client meeting, I knew it was no use. There was no way I was going to keep my mind off her and on my work. With an excuse to my client, and with his plans rolled up under my arm, I headed for home.

Would she still be there? How was she doing, I wondered. And WHAT was she doing? I would soon find out as I drove up my driveway and to the house. There she was waving to me from the porch, wearing only a bikini panty, her tennis shoes, her sparkling smile, and her hair done up in a pony tail. How nice! When I stopped the car and stepped out, she met me with a hug and a kiss, which was a big surprise, and an even bigger surprise came when she took my hand and squeezed it over a breast. Then, keeping my hand, she started for the shed. "Come on," she giggled. "I've got lots of questions."

"Oh, you do, do you? Well, sorry, but we can't do that." I wrapped an arm around her waist and stopped her in her tracks.

"Why not?" she squealed, suddenly surprised and sober.

"Because the rule is, pony-girls are not allowed in the shed without harness."

Her face lit up with another smile. "Oh! Well, Okay," and still holding my hand, we ran into the house. She had been busy in my bachelor pad, for it was all neatly picked up and clean, but I only had time for a glance as she kept on going into the bedroom. In the bedroom it was obvious that she had gotten into the big cabinet, as there were several leather items including bridles and a couple of harnesses laid out on the bed.

"How do you get into these things?" she asked, releasing my hand to pick up a harness and hold it up against herself.

"Well, tell you what, it's kinda hard to do it all by yourself. Normally you would expect some help. So, let's just get you in harness." I helped her into the harness; the same one she had worn before with the wide collar and wide belt, and the cuffs to keep her hands up out of the way behind her. But when I reached for the bridle, she protested.

"Oh! Please, no! I've got so many QUESTIONS!" I laughed and reached for a leash, which I snapped onto a ring at the back of the belt, drew it between her legs instead of the crotch strap, and tugged it tight. It was a leash for big dogs, and she yelped when the cool chain pulled up into her soft, warm bottom. Then, squealing and giggling, she followed me out to the shed. Just inside the shed was the trotting gig from the day before, and she recognized it. "Wasn't this the one I pulled yesterday?" she asked. I agreed that it was. "This one next to it looks like a rick-shaw," she said, and again, I agreed. "What's that big one in the middle?" she asked.

All of the pony carts in the shed I had built as a hobby over several years. All were a little smaller than their real-life horse-drawn counterparts, and as light as I could make them. The 'big one in the middle' was a four-wheel buggy with a fringed top. It had only a single seat in order to keep the weight down, but otherwise was fairly accurate, I thought. "Do you remember the musical from years ago called: 'Oklahoma'? Or are you too young for that?"

"Ohhhh! Oklahoma! Sure, I remember that! And this is the 'surrey with the fringe on top'! Ohhhh, cooool!! Can I pull it?" she asked eagerly.

"Well, probably not, by yourself. It would be fairly heavy for one girl. You see that tongue with the cross-bar out at the end?That's called a 'single-tree', and it is designed to be pulled by a team. That is, TWO pony-girls. Okay, so, what's that next one?"

"Oh, that looks like a sulky," she said. "I've seen sulky races on TV. I could pull that one all right, couldn't I?" then added, "What's that round one on the end?"

The round one on the end I had built from a big, old, wooden wine barrel that are available occasionally. I had cut it from top to bottom on a diagonal curve, fastened on an axle and a couple wheels and a short, single tongue. "That's a 'chariot'."

"I could pull that one,couldn't I?" she asked.

"I'm sure you could, but that one is a little heavier, and will require some running. Why don't you try the rick-shaw for now, and we'll do that chariot in the tomorrow."

"Okay. That'll work," she agreed. "I know how rick-shaws work. I've seen them on TV, too. Let's go." Within a few minutes she was once again in her bit and bridle, and hitched up to the rick-shaw, and out the door we went. We took three or four trips up and down and around and around the field behind the house, until she got tired, and then we unhitched and went back into the house. After something to eat we sat out on the porch swing watching the sun go down and the stars come out. "Do you ever do anything with your pony-girls after dark?" she asked.

"No, I never have. It would take some special lighting and lamps, I suspect. It could probably be done, though. They certainly drove carriages after dark back in the old days, didn't they?" And so we discussed those possibilities for a time. But finally it just got too dark and too late, so we went inside, made a little love, and cuddled for the rest of the night.

In the morning Bonnie wanted to try the sulky. She was young and eager and excited, not at all disturbed by all this 'pony-girl' stuff with its accompanying bondage. I proceeded to put a couple spring-loaded metal clips onto her perky pink nipples, and she wondered what they were for. "Sulky trotters wear little bells, you know. Kinda like sleigh bells, they keep the horses distracted from the noise and commotion of the cart behind them, and all the other horses and carts around them." I wasn't at all sure if that were true, or not, but it served to convince her as I fastened the clips onto her nips and tightened them until she whimpered, then hung a tiny sleigh bell on each. A few minutes later she was harnessed and then we went racing all around the field again with the bells tinkling and Bonnie giggling, having a good time.

Later that afternoon Bonnie was insistent that she wanted to pull the chariot. "That chariot is a little heavier, you understand. The chariot represents a 'war wagon', and therefore has a few more requirements." But she would not be dissuaded, so we went for it. It has a heavier harness, with extra and heavier leather. It incorporates a Pelham bit, which is a long shank bit that puts a lot of pressure on the horses mouth. In a pony-girl bridle it is mounted up-side-down with the shanks up along side the face; still, it exerts extra pressure on a girls' tender mouth. In addition, chariots usually use a single-tree setup for a team, or a double shaft with a horse harnessed between them. In this case I had used a simple single tongue which I had built out of a piece of 2" diameter aluminum tubing with a little extra bracing, designed to be pulled by one. It was about five feet long with a slight curve at the end, which was equipped with a large dildo, and a smaller one for a butt-plug. Several straps and buckles from the heavy belt at her waist held the tongue up tight into her crotch with all its proper insertions. When Bonnie learned about the 'crotch-hitch' she wasn't too happy about it, but by then it was too late; she was committed. Once she was completely secured into her harness with everything tightly in place, I stepped into the chariot and laced her across the rump a couple times with the buggy whip. She squealed and recoiled, and exploded out of the shed with bells jingling and pony-tail flying. I pulled her hard to the left and we started out at a pretty good run. We did a couple sweeping turns right and left and then I pointed across the field. "See that big, dark bush there on the other end? Well, imagine that that is an enemy chariot, and he is attacking us, and we've got to get him first!" I turned her toward the 'other chariot', touched her again with the buggy whip, and she stretched into a full-out run. We swerved a couple more times, then went into a sharp turn as I hollered, "There he goes! He's getting away! We've gotta stop him!" and we raced back toward the shed. About 40 feet away she suddenly slowed, then came to a stop with a moan and a groan, and dropped to her knees, gasping for breath, desperately trying to suck air in around her bit. Her body was covered with sweat and it was running off her face and her breasts; she was moaning and her tummy undulating against the tongue; the two plugs had done their job and she was well into a climax. After a few minutes I drew her to her feet with the reins and walked her back to the shed. We unhitched the chariot and I continued walking her around the house and porch a couple times to cool her down, then we hit the showers. The loving and cuddling later was gentle; she was pretty sore from the crotch-hitch.

Next morning she was feeling good again so we took a couple quick turns around the field in the rick-shaw, but by noon she was dressed and packed and ready when sheriff Jim came up to get her for the rest of his story of 'finding' her walking out on the highway. Suddenly the house was really quiet and extremely lonely -- and I had to get busy on a roll of plans to try to get beautiful pony-girl Bonnie out of my mind.



End of the Week-end -- but NOT the end of the story!