Even though she had been with the company for almost two years, her fellow workers knew very little about Marcia Sokolowski. To them she seemed rather plain, mousy girl, small and slightly-built who never had much to say, and seldom smiled. Her clothes were drab and uninspired, mostly somber business suits. When she first started, her co-workers would drop in for a chat, but after a few weeks, she took to keeping the door to her office closed, and the visits soon stopped.

Marcia brushed aside the offers of friendship from the other girls at work. They found her cold, and mostly indifferent to happenings in office. The guys knew she was not a girl to joke around with, in fact she seemed to make no more effort to be sociable to the men in the office than she did to the women. At first she was invited to go out with the gang for drinks on Friday afternoons, but she always seemed to have some excuse, and soon those invitations stopped coming. All in all, Ms. Sokolowki was written off as a rather dull, uninteresting type, whose life seemed to be limited to her small apartment and her two cats.

Marcia eased open her office door and cautiously stuck her head out, looking up and down quickly, to be sure the hallway was empty; her escape path, clear. Snatching up her purse and a light coat, she scurried in rapid strides down the carpeted hall toward the back stairway, her heart pounding all the way. At all costs she had to avoid the elevators and the front lobby with the ever-present Shirley behind her receptionist’s desk. By using the utility stairs at the back of the building, it was unlikely that anyone from the office would see her ducking out early, really much too early -- even if it was a Friday afternoon.

Once in the protective shell of the cement stairwell, she flew down the five flights of stairs, and plowed her way through the solid metal door at the bottom to find the freedom of the parking lot. Dashing across the asphalt, she jumped into her waiting Camry, and made her escape.

Marcia was sitting erect, her hands white-knuckled on the wheel, her body tingling in wild anticipation. She drove, much too recklessly, ignoring stop signs, speeding through the narrow city streets as she headed towards the beltway.

The silver Camry smoothly surged onto the beltway and began passing cars that whipped by in rapid blurs as Marcia drove with eyes straight ahead, her serious mien set in grim determination.

The Camry careened off the beltway ramp and onto the country road without slowing very much, taking her further into the softly rolling hills. This was horse country, unbelievably vibrant green fields, with their imposing estates and neat stables, secure behind mile after mile of white wooden fences. Another sudden turn had the little car swaying drunkenly, the wheels scrambling on a gravel path before finding the traction to send it speeding more confidently along the long and winding road towards the place they called “Chelsea Farms.”

The Camry came to shuddering halt in the gravel parking lot. Marcia grabbed her overnight bag, but left her purse and her keys in the car -- as instructed. Tingling with excitement she walked briskly to the path that would take her up a small hill to the training stables.

Striding with her head high, she was halfway up the rise when she was stopped in her tracks by a quiver of keen anticipation that knifed through her, taking her breath away. At that point, somewhere along that path between her car and the stable’s entrance, Marcia Sokolowski, businesswoman had become Silky the Ponygirl.

In time, the perverse desires of Marcia Sokolowski had crystallized to a need, the need of an addict, a burning, all-consuming obsession. Nothing else mattered. Every Friday, without fail, she headed straight from work to the training stables; early on Monday mornings she drove directly back to the office. She thought about nothing else all week long, going through the motions at work, her thoughts always returning to Chelsea Farm, to the weekend she would spend bound in her trappings, thrilled to serve…as a ponygirl!

With single-minded purpose, she scurried down the corridor to the changing room. It was a wide and spacious room, comfortably warm and well lit, with a row of lockers along the far wall; the sides walls were mirrored from floor to ceiling. She was mildly surprised to find the room was empty. Still it was early; the others were bound to be rushing in later. By Seven, they would all be properly outfitted and in their place.

Now the plain-suited business woman stopped before the locker that bore the name “Silky” neatly lettered on a strip of tape. She opened the locker, and began taking off her clothes, her hands moving in a most perfunctory manner, simply undoing the two-piece business suit, slipping out of it, folding it neatly. With the same casual indifference, she removed the slate blue blouse that hung loosely past her hips.

Reaching up behind her, her fingers found the catch of her bra. She brushed the loosely dangling straps off her arms, baring her modest breasts to the warm slightly moist air of the changing room.

Shoes were next. She placed a foot on a nearby bench, and reached down to untie her sneaker. Bending over, she glanced sideways at the mirror to regard the unsmiling eyes that met hers under the row of even bangs of dusky brown hair. Her gaze took in the slim figure, the curves of her lean haunches smoothened by the elasticized press of a pair of snugly-fitted pantyhose.

The pantyhose would be stripped off next. Sitting on the bench, she tugged the clingy nylon down her legs and off her feet. Without pause, she stood up, slid her thumbs into the waistband of her hip huggers, slipped them down her legs and stepped out of the silky nylon that ringed her bare feet.

Now the naked girl turned before the mirrored wall, her body all a-tingle with a renewed rush of sexual excitement. She was pleased with what she saw: a lean and wiry body, and light brown hair, cut short. She turned to look over her shoulder at her boyish, tightly-curved butt. A straight, not spectacular body; but reasonably fit and without a trace of fat. Not bad for a 36-year-old! She smiled to herself.

Turning back to the locker she began to take out the trappings that was all she would wear for the next two days. She pulled out and set aside a pair of sleek black books, long and shiny, with their tall heels. Then she grabbed a handful of the leather straps that would form the head-gear and the body harness.

She closed her eyes and fingered a strip of soft buttery leather. Scooping up the tangle of straps in both hands, she brought them to her face, rubbing her cheeks, her nose, her mouth in the tangle of pliant leather, inhaling deeply, intoxicated by the heady, earthy smell of raw leather. She drew the two handfuls down her chest rubbing the leather all over her naked writing body, uttering a whimper that deepened into a hollow moan.

Her hands were shaking with impatience; she moved eagerly now, untangling the harness, holding it up against her sleek front. Wiggling with excitement, she quickly slipped her arms though the shoulder harness. Now two cross straps encircled her upper body, framing her slight bosom between them, while another single strap hung straight down the front just between her small-mounded breasts to attach to the center of a broad belt that would band her lower torso from ribcage to hips. This waist cincher could be tightened to assure a snug fit by buckled straps at placed at either hip. She wondered if, in a little while, a Master would be tightening it even more when she went for the final fitting, further compressing her waist into a smoothly tapering hourglass figure. The thought sent a delicious shiver through her.

Now she had to attend to the final strap that hung down behind from the back of the waist cincher. Reaching between her legs, she drew it forward, pulling it up into her crotch. Her left hand dropped down to finger her furry vagina. Two fingers pressed open the labia to assure the thin strip was perfectly seated in the cleft of her bulging lips. The end was threaded through a slip buckle. She tugged up on the strap and grunted, before snapping the notched end in place at the front of the belt. Next, she sent a hand back to explore between her narrow buttocks. There her seeking fingers found the little metal ring centered in the belt and lodged deep between her clenching cheeks. She nudged it into place, directly over her anus.

Ignoring the temptation to check herself in the mirror, the ponygirl reached back into the locker to pull out the head harness. She placed the open straps over her helmet of soft brown hair, carefully tucking her loose hair under the straps as she drew them into place.

Now she looked in the mirror. A thin band looped over her head from front to back, crossing her brow. From this head band an inverted vee angled down on either side of her nose. A hard rubber bar could be inserted into side rings to form the bit the girl would be made to accept between her teeth when she was placed in the traces. The bit would be attached later; for now her lips and mouth must be available. It was possible that a Master might choose to make use of them.

A second strip, attached to middle of the headband ran from ear to ear over the crown of her head, its loose ends dangling down along her cheeks. Adjusting the head harness one final time, she gathered up the two straps under her chin, tightened them through the slip buckle, and secured the chin strap in place.

As she worked, her trembling hands had steadied. She moved more methodically now, going through the familiar routine. Seating herself on the padded bench, the ponygirl took up a pair of black nylon stockings, thigh-high stockings with wide elastic tops that would band her thighs halfway up their slim tapering lengths. After putting the stockings on, and adjusting them to assure a smoothly even fit, she dipped a foot into one of the boots. The knee-high boots were of a gleaming black leather, with full length zippers down the side. Once in place and zippered up they encased the calves in tight sheaths, while keeping the ponygirl well up on her toes. Their comfortable fit and thick stacked heels assured they were sturdy enough for the continued pounding of a furious race.

Silky stood up and stamped about to settle her feet in the boots. She looked at herself in those wicked gleaming boots, sleek, stylish, very sexy, yet quite serviceable. She smiled. Silky loved her boots.

Next, she had to cuff herself. The 3-inch wide straps were padded and lined with red satin. Each cuff had a D-ring sewn in, useful should a Master wish to apply a bit of restraint. She took off her wristwatch and then buckled the straps in place, banding her wrists in a business-like manner. Then she turned back to the locker for the final piece of adornment she must wear – the tail.

She found it hung on its peg inside the locker. The long luxurious mane of hair matched her own dusky brown hair. She found the tube of gel and liberally greased the squat double-flanged plug that would be used be inserted through the metal ring between her cheeks to secure the tail in place up her pert bottom.

She turned her back to the mirror, and bent over, reaching behind her with one hand to pry open her butt cheeks while she used the other hand to carefully thread the butt plug through the ring. She took a deep breath, forced herself to relax, and slowly shoved the butt plug up her anus. It popped into place, and she felt the instinctive spasm of the sphincter as that tiny muscle tried to expel the invader. She closed her eyes and forced herself to relax even further, preparing herself to accommodate the plug in her rear end. She looked at the results in the mirror, arched her back to raise her rump and gave the little wiggle to her hips, swishing her newly-acquired tail in a gesture of saucy delight.

Standing up to face the mirror, the new ponygirl worked to make the final adjustments, while feeling the creamy rise of excitement surging up in her. She tightened the straps that crossed her chest; gave an extra tug to the crotch strap, drawing it deeper into her rear crack. A final tug on the narrow strip at her groin pulled it even tighter to compress the soft flesh of her vulva, as she hitched it up yet one more notch.

The feel of the snugly-fitted leather straps constricting her body, sent an electric thrill rocketing through the girl. She closed her eyes in dreamy reverie as her hands slid down from her naked breasts, curving to follow the sweeping contours of her hourglass figure, savoring the slimness of her waist, the flare of her hips, her naked haunches and the bands of the lacy elastic at the tops of her stockings.

When her eyes opened again, it was to behold “Silky” in all her glory, her thin body adorned with the black leather strapping of a ponygirl – it made her hot, incredibly randy.

She looked into the big brown eyes that met hers with an even stare, and she slowly widened her booted stance, to stare boldly, defiantly, back at the girl in the mirror. The way she looked in bondage never failed to turn her on: her small naked breasts framed in leather, seemed to stick out in proud display, nipples tightened and protruding, already stiff with arousal. Her whole body tingled. Her eyes fell to her lightly-furred vulva, indented by the crotch strap; her half-naked thighs, the black nylon stockings, and those sexy boots, sleek and tight, that kept her arched up high up on her toes. Her fingers touched the crotch strip, pressed hard into her softly yielding vagina, and instantly sent an orgasmic thrill racing through her.

There was one final act of the changing ritual yet to be completed. From the open locker, she took out the short buckled strap that would be looped around her neck to form a 4-inch high collar – in a defining act that would complete the transformation from earnest young businesswoman to charmingly submissive ponygirl.

She checked herself in the mirror one final time, turned around to examine the back view. She fingered the strap that ran up to disappear between her taut butt. The rear strap would undoubtedly be further tightened once she had presented herself to a Master. If she was lucky enough to find Master 4 to attend to her, she knew he would be sure to test her butt strap because he so loved to dally there, tracing her twin curves, slipping his fingers under the strap to test the fit while she braced herself, bent over with hands on her knees. Then, once he was satisfied, he would kiss her jutting ass, for he could never resist the temptation to make love to Silky’s tightly rounded bottom. His slow hands were delicious; his kiss incredible, setting the girl on fire. Master 4 was Silky’s favorite. She hoped it would be him that she would find today.

Now she patted herself on the behind, ran her fingers through the cascade of hair that hung down back of her, lifted the thick tail, let it drop into place.

Then, with butt cheeks clenching her new tail, hips shifting in a provocative sway, the slender ponygirl tottered away on her high-heeled boots, scurrying down the long hallway in search of one of the four Stable Masters before whom she would present herself on her knees, and beg to be collared, and thus begin yet one more wildly erotic weekend.