Trendsetters

by Sogo
with art by SirJeff
- do not use without the author's permission.




The New Fashion

Breena had her reservations about the new fashion trend as she entered the upscale clothing store, but all her friends had been pressuring her to get with it, and she had finally relented.

Inside, she looked skeptically at the mannequins dressed in leather heel-less boots with horseshoe soles, thick tight-fitting mitts complete with leather imitation hooves, and balaclavas shaped like a racing horse's hood-like blinders, which had leather bridle-like straps that tightened around the head (fortunately, no bit) and an opening in the back where the woman's hair could be pulled out into a mane. How silly and demeaning, thought Breena. Women are actually wearing this?

"May I help you?"

The athletic female executive turned to the smiling salesclerk. "Just looking, thanks."

"No problem. Just let me know if you want to try anything on."

"Sure."

Just beyond the mannequins, Breena saw over a dozen women at a display table filled with the pony mitts, trying them on and joking about how they looked. The executive went over and picked one up. It did look kind of goofy, but then, a lot of women had begun wearing them in spite of that. She slipped one on. It *was* kind of comfortable, she had to admit. Perhaps she would just get the mitts and leave it at that.

As she headed toward the counter, one of the other customers said, "You're just getting the mitts? You just gotta get the boots and hood, too."

The other women started speaking up, too, and after the salesclerk told her that everything was on sale, Breena relented.

As she walked around a bit in the pony boots, she had to admit that they were the most comfortable she had ever worn. And the hood looked silly, but it was inexpensive, and she wanted to get home. "Okay, I'll take them," she said.

She left the boots on as she paid the clerk and exited the store, carrying her own shoes in the sales bag. After a few minutes, she stopped in the street to put on the mitts, despite the fact that it wasn't that cold and that it was awkward carrying her briefcase, purse, and shopping bag with her fists balled up in stiff leather hooves lined with fleece. She was painfully aware of how ridiculous she looked standing there in the busy street as she pulled the wrist straps tight with her teeth.

When she got to the subway station, she realized she couldn't pay her fare without the use of her hands. She turned to the woman next to her.

"Could you--," was all she said before she saw the other woman was similarly handicapped with pony mitts. It was almost forty-five minutes before they found someone -- an elderly lady -- that the could trust to dig into their purses.

The young woman had no problem getting into her apartment building, but then realized she needed to use her key to open her door. A bit red-faced, she asked the doorman to undo one of her mitts so she could enter her apartment unassisted.

Completely exhausted, she collapsed onto her bed and fell into a deep sleep.

When she awoke, she nearly smashed her alarm clock to pieces when she went to hit the alarm button, unaware she was still wearing her pony mitts. It was only then that she saw that she had undressed during the night, leaving her only in her panties and hose and, curiously, her new boots, mitts, and hood. She stared at her imprisoned hands helplessly, knowing she had to get ready for work, then began pulling at one of the wrist straps with her teeth. By the time she got the mitts off, she had to rush through her shower, breakfast, and makeup to avoid being late. She put the pony boots back on, then grabbed the mitts and hood as she headed out the door.

At work, it was an effort concentrating on her job, as she felt naked without the mitts and hood. Her feelings struck her as a little bit odd, but she was too busy to examine them that closely.

Leaving work that day, she saw that the store was offering alterations to the mitts so that the wearers wouldn't be totally helpless, so she went in. They were retrofitting the mitts with velcro openings under the shoes so women could use their fingers without removing them. Breena waited with the crowd of other customers, and it was three hours before she left the store with the expensive alterations. While there, she had also bought a collar with check reins that attached to the back of the bridle on each side of the opening for the hair. And a muzzle that strapped to the bridle to keep her nose and mouth warm in cold weather. And a firm-control girdle with a ponytail protruding from the butt, which she just had to wear home so she could feel the tail swishing between her legs beneath her skirt.

At home, sitting down to dinner with her hooved hands resting on the table, a brief image flashed through her mind of herself eating from a feedbag. It puzzled her, all the more so because she found it curiously appealing.

As she got ready for bed, she found she was putting the new pony girl stuff on before she even realized what she was doing. Normally, she just wore panties, a soft-cup bra, and a nightshirt. She looked at herself in the mirror, feeling fully dressed in the boots, girdle, mitts, and hood (with the collar, check reins, and muzzle, of course), turning this way and that to admire her new profile. It was an effort getting into bed, but in a few minutes she managed to be comfortable.

Breena slept well that night.


At the Store

"How are the sales figures so far, Dan?"

"Through the roof! My God, how did you know this fashion craze would catch on so well?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

Dan imitated a mime stuck in an invisible box.

The other man continued. "It's simple, really. We impregnated the boots with a Haitian zombie drug that numbs the higher thinking centers of the brain when absorbed through the skin, then played subliminal suggestions beneath the Muzak in the store."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Women are slaves to fashion, anyway, and all they need is a little help to take them where we want them to go."

"Holy shit! That's brilliant! How far do you plan to go with this, anyway?"

"Ha ha! All the way. Watch this video from our research department."


One Year Later


Breena, tethered to a hitching post, patiently awaited her turn at the training carousel. She still wore her horseshoe boots and ponytail girdle, and her mitts had been sewn shut once again, but her hood had been replaced with a real bridle and bit, accompanied by a harness that had a sports bra sewn into it. The piercings and tubes inserted into her nostrils allowed her to snort like a horse, and alterations to her vocal cords only allowed her to whinny. Like most women, she had given up her apartment, her job, and everything she loved for a tiny stall in a stable and a career as a domesticated beast of burden. But she was happy. So very zombielike happy.