Bound In Leather 14 | pony bondage story

She had me pull up outside the big garage (room I later found out, for six cars), suggesting, "First maybe you'd like to have me show you around the garden. Then we could have a game of golf." "Golf!" I exclaimed. "Surely you don't have a private golf course here?" "Well," she dimpled, "not a full sized one. But a chip-and-putt course, laid out through the garden designed to let girls in high heels and tight corsets show their form. "

 "Tell you what,' I grinned eagerly, "Let's skip the guided tour and get right to the golf game. Oh how about Fifi? Do we leave her?" "Oh, no. We need her to caddie." Nicki suggested, "Tell you what, chief. I'll have to go up to the house and have Anna put on my golfing costume for me. While we're doing that, you could be taking Fifi into the -well, we call it the "Pro's Shop," because we keep all the clubs and things in there-and fix her up as caddie, with the golf bag and so on." "I'll be glad to, but I don't know what she's supposed to wear." "Oh, that's easy. I took a picture of her one day last year. It's tacked up on the wall in there." That made it simple enough. While my wife minced off along the winding path to the house, following each turn with an ease and certainty that belied her lack of sight, I was heading for the station wagon and Fifi. I freed her from the "Reverse Hoop" slowly, of course; release from a strained position is always painful unless slow.

I left her helmet on and led her to the Pro Shop by a rope through her wrists, which I left bound in front of her. The photograph made everything simple. There was a golf bag full of clubs leaning against the wall and some straps nearby; I placed the bag across the arching small of her back, brought her arms around and under it, and ran a strap from one wrist to the other across her waist in front. Thus she carried the bag at a convenient height for putting clubs in and taking them out again. A huge imitation golf ball, split in two halves was waiting on a bench. This I placed over her head there was an opening for her neck-and joined the halves, as I did so I noticed it was heavily padded inside to deaden sound. A deaf, dumb and blind caddie, with a golf ball for a head is a very interesting sight. While waiting for Nicki, I idly examined the clubs; about half of them were oddly short, with head and shaft, but no grip, just a short screw thread. I heard feminine footsteps behind me and turned to see Nicki entering the shop. She had the use of her eyes again and was wearing a very interesting golfing outfit, consisting of a very soft suede shirt, with half length sleeves and a low-cut front. She also wore a matching skirt of suede, to about six inches below the tops of her legs, but so tight that it pulled at every tiny step. 

 Her feet were poised on seven-inch heels attached to brown kid oxfords, and she had a matching belt of the same leather about her wasp waist. Her hands were in special brown kid gloves which reached almost to the elbows, and which fused into one at the hands, holding them curled into fists, her right hand ahead of her left. Then I realised what the short-shafted clubs were for. They screwed into a fitting on the end of the glove-arrangement, which obviously communicated with a club grip permanently held in her gloved fists. Under one arm she carried what looked like an overgrown version of the mitten like bag that serious golfers use to protect the heads of their wooden clubs. "Ready?" she smiled, "I'll explain the local rules on the way to the first tee." "Just a minute. How do I guide our blind caddie? She's too deaf to follow us by sound, and can't see anything, either." "Easy. Take a club, hook it between her legs, and lead her. When you stop, she stops, and stands still till you hook on again." Away we went. As we walked, Nicki explained that the girl players on this particular course, in addition to being unable to use their hands for anything except using whatever club their partners attached for them were also blind and preferably gagged as well.

And always as we moved around the short nine hole course, we were followed by our silent, deaf and blind caddie who moved obediently at the end of my club or stood still as a rock. It's not surprising that I won the game. But then that was the idea. Before going into the house for a pre-dinner drink I took the two girls onto a nice patch of lawn released their hands, but left their gags fin place, and tied them for a cock-fight. I made them squat down, passed a short-shafted club behind their knees, crooked their elbows around it, outside the knees, and then bound their wrists together. With their feet free, yet unable to rise higher than a crouch, they could only move with a duck like waddle. On the word "go," each was to try to knock the other over. I allowed three falls, and Nicki won all of them, quickly barging her slower opponent off balance. Once on her ride or back, of course, Fifi was as helpless as a turtle that has been turned over, quite unable to regain her feet. "Okay," I stated on the third fall, "Nicki owes me a forfeit, Fifi owes Nicki a forfeit." Then I released them and we headed for the house and a drink. As we came around the front of the house and up to the front door, my wife remarked: "You haven't met Anna, have you?" "Not yet," I answered, "but I'm looking forward to what I am sure will be a pleasure." As we reached the top of the steps, the front door opened, seemingly of its own accord, and the little Chinese maid stepped forward to welcome us. 

Like many Oriental girls, she was tiny, but with an arrestingly full figure, truly beautiful legs and amazingly small feet. All these points of interest were displayed by her Chinese-style outfit. Her feet were poised right up on tiptoe by a variation of the block-toed, ballet slipper, instead of coming up, slipper-like, to the heel and being held in place by ribbons wound tightly about the ankle. These shoes came up only as far as the ball of the foot, leaving the instep, sole of the foot, and ankle uncovered, save for her long, mistily black stockings, which covered her lovely legs for their full length, the tops disappearing under the hem of her extremely short, ultra-tight, high-necked black satin tunic. This latter, which was decorated by a brilliantly embroidered dragon, both back and front, displayed her stiffly corseted wasp-waist and obviously artificially raised, but very full bosom. So high was the stiff collar, she was forced to carry her chin very high, with a charming air of arrogance. Her arms, in long, full sleeves that almost touched the ground, were secured wrist to elbow behind her back. As I had come to expect, she was gagged, her mouth filled and forced wide open by an ivory egg, split length-wise and hinged at the back; the two halves were held wide apart in front by an adjustable brace.

She minced back across the hall and pressed a small pedal or button in the floor. The door closed again. "I've got an idea, chief, " Nicki volunteered, "Suppose you release Anna's arms for a while. Then she could help me get harnessed up as a `Parlour Pony' for the rest of the evening. Okay?" I was going to ask what a Parlour Pony was, but realised I was shortly going to be shown. So I simply nodded and signalled to Anna to come and let me un-strap her arms. As the three girls left, I told them to fix Fifi up nicely, too. In about an hour, which had passed very pleasantly, thanks to a tray of drinks by my side, Anna came strutting back for me to refasten her arms. (It was interesting to note that in spite of the fact that her gag was obviously extremely severe, she made no attempt to remove or even touch it when her hands were free.) Helpless once more, she went and stood by the door, as though waiting. A moment or so later, my Parlour Pony minced proudly into the room. 

From waist to toes she was poured into wrinkle-less gleaming black satin latex tights, while her feet were propped up as high as possible in very tight, round-toed, low-cut black patent pumps, with slim eight inch heels. From the waist up she wore a flesh-coloured, Venus corset, concealing her arms completely and a black brassiere, which showed quite distinctly through a very tight, black elastic-lace blouse.Around her waist was a wide, red leather belt, with Martingale straps, and a check rein ran up to the elaborate red leather bridle strapped around her pretty head. A bit, consisting of a metal cylinder about two and a half inches in diameter and four inches long, hung loosely by one of the bit rings. Kneeling in front of me, she murmured enticingly: "Will you bit your pony, please, and then tighten her harness and check-rein to your pleasure?" She was really tightly harnessed and bitted before I was satisfied too. Then Anna indicated my dinner was ready. I followed her followed in turn by my defenseless Parlour Pony. The dining table, charmingly enough, turned out to be Fifi. Nicki looked so lovely without arms, I decided she could remain that way until further notice. 

Early that afternoon a very light pony trap stood outside the coach-house, ready to go. Fifi was harnessed between the shafts. From head to toe she was enclosed in a one-piece "Pony-Skin" of satin latex, dappled in grey and black; her arms were high up behind her back, elbows anchored tightly together. Around her slim waist was a wide belt of gleaming black leather, pulled very tight and held in place by straps up over her shoulders and Margingale straps underneath; at either side a metal fitting engaged the shafts of the cart. Her feet were poised tip-toe in special "hoof-boots" that held her insteps vertical. Her head was enclosed in a helmet arrangement, complete with ears that were part of the skin; there were generous openings for the mouth and eyes. These latter were made useless by wide blinder strap buckled very tightly to the black leather bridle, which also held the severe bit designed to hold her jaws wide open, jammed as far back as possible in her mouth. A check-rein ran from the top of the bridle down under her body and up to a buckle on the front of the belt. It was pulled up very tightly, to force her to arch her back, thrust her bosom forward arrogantly and carry her head extremely high. The trap, instead of a conventional seat, had a very narrow saddle, to which I was strapping my wife. She wore her Venus-corset, a high-necked, no-sleeve sweater in yellow, skin-fitting green rubber tights and eight inch heeled brown knee boots. On her head was a brown leather, discipline helmet, with a very narrow eye-hole for each eye and a green jockey cap cocked over one eye. When I had her strapped to the saddle I placed a bar from one shaft to the other, just behind her knees, so her booted legs hung free. Then I attached to driving reins, one to each arching instep. Thus, the driver, without arms, without voice and unable to leave her seat, was almost as helpless as her blind, tightly harnessed pony. But she could control her with the reins. Pulling back on both meant "go ahead," pulling one or the other meant "turn to right or left" and slacking off meant "stop." I told my two victims I was going to hide somewhere in the huge gardens As they couldn't get loose until they found me, they better keep looking. It took them three hours. Of course, I actually had them in sight virtually all the time and only let myself be found when it was obvious that Fifi had really "had it." But they both said it was one of the most exciting afternoons they had ever had.