Camp Crucible Part 5: Kidnapped!

Robert Louis Stevenson never envisioned this...

This was the tenth year for Camp Crucible in its current incarnation and in that time, they have become expert at showing people a great time. They have also had time to develop some particularly interesting features to the weekend that may just set camp apart from other gatherings and retreats.

One such feature is the kidnapping. Yes folks, if you are going to camp, you can sign up for a kidnapping scene. You can either be a kidnapper or get kidnapped. If your choice is to get kidnapped, you have an opportunity to play out a fantasy that you design yourself. Sounds great, doesn’t it? I certainly thought so, so when it came time to register for camp, I signed up to be kidnapped.

You have to pause and think about this for just a moment. Kidnapping has to be a tricky business. You have to round up the people to carry it out and figure out where the victims are going to be. You also have to deal with some of the restrictions that would be victims place on their availability, not to mention the fantasies that some creative minds can concoct. “I’m a naughty schoolgirl and the teacher needs to punish me,” is easy. “I want to be carried off by one hundred randy pirates who will then have their way with me for the entire night,” not so much. Would you settle for Mr. Smee and a cabin boy? And then there’s the risk involved in making a mistake. A lot of effort must go into making sure that the right person gets kidnapped and that they are matched up with the right fantasy. It could get ugly if something went wrong. That must be what all those liability waivers I singed were about.

Mistress asked someone in the kidnapping business about that. What would they do if they ever made a mistake? She was told that in ten years, no mistake had ever been made. Ever.

Enter yours truly.

I guess I have to admit that my fantasy was a little elaborate. After all, I’ve had most of my adult life to work on it. When I signed up to be kidnapped, I put it down in as much detail as I could while leaving some latitude for the kidnappers to play with. I didn’t specify exact numbers or conditions, I didn’t say exactly what had to happen, and the only limitation I placed on my availability was that I didn’t want to be kidnapped while I was engaged in any pony activities. It’s rather difficult spiriting a pony away to parts unknown if he’s pulling a lady in a cart to the Victorian Tea, after all. Plus, I didn’t want to be too deep in pony head space lest I kick and hurt someone. I can’t count on reacting the way I need to as a human when I’m in head space and doing pony stuff.

So the fantasy was complicated and the restrictions were pretty tight. I didn’t realize just how much time I would spend doing pony activities, but it turned out to be almost all day and well into the night all weekend long. On top of that, I was in tack from dawn until late at night, making it more difficult to figure out when I was available and when I wasn’t. I basically ceased to think about getting kidnapped. That didn’t bother me as I was having far too good a time to worry about it.

Monday changed all of that.

If I learned anything at camp it was to be careful when I chose to nap. The day before, I had taken a short nap only to open my eyes and find Ms Reina Darkness hovering over me with an evil smile on her face and a friend at her side. It seems the friend was due for a grooming lesson and I was to be the demo pony. That led to a fantastic grooming session, but they were a little disappointed that I woke up before they wanted me to. They had plans for dealing with a sleeping pony and those had been thwarted.

Mistress likes to take a power nap in the afternoon. It usually lasts about one hour but can make a big difference in your ability to stay alert well into the night. I picked up the habit from her and was getting ready to nap on Monday afternoon. Just for a few minutes. Mistress asked me if I was going to be in the cabin for a while and without thinking too carefully, I said I would be. I rolled over and shut my eyes thinking that would be it for the time being.

Silly me.

Moments later the door opened. Instinctively I turned my head to see who was coming in. To my surprise, I saw two women I did not recognize. They were looking right at me with evil grins on their faces and maniacal looks in their eyes. One of them held a hank of rope. “Hello, Rusty!” they said, “We’re so glad to find you sleeping here because this is your kidnapping!”

If you are just coming in on this blog, let me state for the record that I was raised Episcopalian. Manners are everything and one doesn’t want to be a spoil sport. I’m also gay, so it was a little surprising to me that I should be kidnapped by women when my kidnapping form stated that I didn’t want women involved. I suffered a momentary conflict over what to do, and that was probably a mistake. These two were fast. They climbed on top of me, put a gag in my mouth before I could say anything and had me pinned fast. Lying there, unable to move and not able to say anything, I thought, “Well, one of them had a hank of rope. I bet they’re going to tie me up, stuff me into a body bag and haul me off to parts unknown where my fantasy will be enacted. That they are women probably has something to do with the availability of kidnappers, and besides, these two are good at what they’re doing! I’ll go with it…for now”

At the time, I was wearing minimal tack. I had removed my bridle, moccasins, gauntlets and tail, but the chest harness, belt, jock and collar were still in place. Or they were for a few more moments. I’m not quite sure at this point how they managed it, but I got rolled one way and then the other as what tack I still had on came off like lightening. The next thing I knew, I was stark naked, still pinned to the bed, unable to do anything but issue muffled screams through the gag and attempt – admittedly weakly – to escape. The two women kept up a steady stream of talk concerning how happy they were to be kidnapping me and what they intended to do to me as they writhed all over my body and began torturing my nipples.

By this point in time, my nipples were pretty tender. Mistress likes to give them the treatment with the stiff bristle brush when grooming me. It makes me dance in a manner that amuses her no end. In addition to that, Madame Adria had spent some time working them over the night before. So when these two got a hold of them with their teeth, I was already hot wired and jumpy. Each of them took a nipple and gave it all they were worth until I thought I’d pass out.

“Okay,” I thought, “This isn’t quite what I had in mind, but being pinned to the bed stark naked with a gag in your mouth while your nipples get tortured is pretty hot no matter who is doing it! I’ll go with it a little longer. I’m sure they will soon tie me up, stuff me into a body bag and drag me away to someplace where my fantasy scene awaits me!”

Still, you would have thought by this time that they might have noticed I was not getting…aroused…by any of this. Didn’t that seem odd to them? I mean, they certainly seemed competent to me and I’m sure any straight man would have enjoyed this a whole lot. But…

While all this was going on, Stormy came into the cabin. He got an eyeful of what was happening but didn’t stay for long. I didn’t give him any reason to suspect that things were anything but fine, so that didn’t surprise me. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder why he had come in, taken a look and then walked right out again. I would find out later.

Then I heard something that got me a little worried.

“Rusty! We’ve been so good to you giving you what you asked for…”

I beg your pardon…?

“Now it’s time for you to reward us!”

What…??

And with that, one of the women removed her panties and climbed onto the bed straddling my face while the other one positioned herself between my legs – with a pair of latex gloves. Black latex gloves.

“Oh my GOD!” I thought, “The rope didn’t mean anything and they aren’t going to toss me into a body bag! This IS the scene!”

How do I stop this without hurting anyone’s feelings?!?

I contemplated that problem as I stared up at a pair of lips that I really didn’t want to kiss. They were lovely, I’m sure, but I had no earthly idea what to do with them and they scared me a little. But survival instinct took over when they began to lower in the general direction of my face. I turned my head to the side and finally spoke up.

“Um…hold on a moment.”

To their absolute credit, the scene stopped dead in its tracks and my kidnappers asked me what was wrong. I told them.

“Apparently someone failed to tell you that I’m gay.”

“WHAT?”

I repeated my hypothesis. The woman between my legs took out a piece of paper and reviewed it. “But you are Rusty aren’t you? Isn’t this your fantasy?”

All at once I got it. Remember the problem with the name tags in the first camp story? This was going to be a lot of fun.

“Yes, I am Rusty, but there are TWO ponies in camp named Rusty. I believe you have the wrong one!”

Shock was quickly followed by profuse apologies and then hysterics. Mistress and Stormy came rushing in. Apparently they felt things had gone far enough and should be stopped. They relaxed when they found me and my kidnappers on the bed in fits of laughter.

It turned out that Mistress had been aware of the mistake all along and decided to play a double whammy of a practical joke. The kidnappers had presented her with the description of the pony named Rusty, and although Mistress knew about my restrictions, she saw nothing about them on the paper. Realizing that they had come to the wrong cabin, she allowed them to proceed just the same. When Stormy had come to the cabin for reasons of his own, Mistress stopped him going in except that one moment to check on me and make sure I wasn’t in distress. By the time they decided things had gone far enough, I had already safed out.

Did I tell you that Mistress is deliciously evil?

So there we all were; the kidnappers and I in laughing fits, Mistress and Stormy standing close by and enjoying the well-played joke and nobody any the worse for wear. I had a moment to reflect on the fantasy I had originally requested and I suddenly had a thought. I started laughing hysterically all over again.

“What are you laughing about now?” asked the kidnapper who was still sitting between my legs.

“It just occurred to me that as we speak, four men in uniform are trying to make off with the other Rusty. I wonder how that’s going for them!”

Needless to say, more laughter ensued until one of the kidnappers said, “Well, I guess we’d better get dressed and find the other Rusty!”

I recovered from the event pretty quickly. Life has endowed me with a sense of humor if nothing else, and I realized that I had just found my way into Camp Crucible history as the first ever kidnapping mistake. I’ll always have that to tell people. I got many apologies in person from several camp staffers including the person who was in charge of the kidnappings. I told all of them not to worry about it because I thought it was a hoot and would have a funny story to tell for a long time to come.

And if I’m not very much mistaken, Mistress has a payback due at some point. I doubt the camp staff will forgive the practical joke.

Camp Crucible Part 4: Aphrodite's Embrace

“Catharsis (Κάθαρσις) is a Greek word meaning ‘purification’ or ‘cleansing’ derived from the ancient Greek infinitive καθαίρειν transliterated as kathairein ‘to purify, purge,’ and adjective katharos ‘pure or clean.”

Thanks, Wikipedia.

Sometimes a scene is all about fun. Sometimes, however, things go in a very different direction. That happened when Mistress and I scened on Monday night – the last night of camp. There was a sober feeling in the air and in my heart because it would be over very soon. Some part of me wanted things to go on a few more days while other, probably more rational parts of me knew that it was time to wind things down and get ready to face the rigors of real life again. Things had gone very well for me at camp in my first year. I appeared in my first pony show and took two ribbons, I made a lot of new friends that I know will be a part of my life for a very long time to come, I won a race (the results were made official and announced just recently), and I managed to make camp history in my virgin year (more on that in the next story). It would be difficult to come back to earth after all that but I knew I had to land sooner or later. Still, there was one more night to savor.

I hadn’t planned on doing much of anything. I had played pony all day and had marched in the procession for Buck’s collaring ceremony that evening. Now I was sitting at HQ watching the slide show and wondering if a night can be made to last forever and, if so, how a pony would keep himself entertained for that long. Earlier that day a young woman had stopped by our cabin and asked if it would be possible to play with me. I wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but she wanted to play with a pony and someone had told her that I would be a good choice. Mistress had done some negotiating with her but nothing had come of it by late night. By this time, I had learned that it’s not a good idea to count on anything at camp. It’s not that people were unreliable, but there were so many things to do and so many play opportunities that you couldn’t be sure about one play date or another unless you had made clear arrangements with someone. Events at camp had a life of their own and would unfold in unpredictable ways. In some respects, that was part of the fun. It could also leave you with time on your hands.

Mistress came in wearing one of her smacking outfits. Clearly she was in the mood to scene with someone. She had a signal whip coiled up in one hand and a crop in the other. The ever-present deerskin gloves were also in evidence. Her idea of the perfect day is to play with ponies from breakfast to dinner and then do smacky things to people all night. If you’re a pony who likes to get smacked, life is good!

Mistress said she was on her way to the upper dungeon. Either she was going to meet someone there or find someone else to scene with. I didn’t miss a beat as I told her that I was in the mood to scene if she was interested. That settled, we hailed a camp taxi and headed up the hill.

Heaven was in full swing when we got there. It seemed as though everyone was working to get a session in on this last night. There was a palpable energy that was almost frantic in its intensity. Everyone had several days to get comfortable and now that comfort was established, they were getting vulnerable. There were suspension scenes, fire scenes, medical scenes, floggings, whippings, bondage and even a couple of sex scenes going on. People were emoting and making a wide range of interesting noises. The atmosphere was ripe for adventure. Mistress quickly discovered that the person she thought she would be playing with was already in the midst of a scene with someone else (remember what I said about the best laid plans at camp?) who was happily flogging her with a two-handed technique she apparently found exhilarating. That meant I would get the attention I desired, so I can’t say it bothered me.

Mistress had me strip naked and place myself against a St. Andrew’s Cross. It wasn’t the one I had used the night before. This was a double cross, so there was another person on the other side facing me. Her energy and my energy would intertwine as this scene unfolded even though she was miles away from me psychologically at that point in time. Mistress had not brought her grip cuffs so I would have to forego the pleasure of being tied up this time. She also did not have her buffalo hide flogger. So it would be the crop and the single tail tonight. Nothing to worry about, really, but more of a challenge than I had originally thought.

A single tail is any whip that ends in a single strand. Single tails range from dog quirts that are only about three feet long to the ever famous bullwhip. Mistress favors a three or four foot signal whip normally used for sled dogs. At least that’s the function for which they are manufactured. Usually. It’s important to note that the whips are intended as noise makers and not something you actually strike a target with.

Unless that target happens to be your submissive.

There are many different sorts of sensations out there. I won’t go into a listing of them all, but to contrast a flogger with a whip won’t take a lot of time or space. Floggers like the buffalo hide piece Mistress uses produce a sound thud when they hit. The impact can be focused tightly on a small area or spread out as the dominant sees fit and the submissive prefers. The result is usually a nice red back and butt and a flight into sub space. Results can range depending on the intensity of the flogging and the tolerance of the sub. Some floggers are smaller or made from different materials that change the sensations, making them sharper or duller. But the overall effect is one of impact.

In contrast, a whip like the one Mistress uses carries a sting in its tail. It falls with a cutting sensation and leaves a welt that can run from light pink to angry red. While the after effects of a flogging tend to dissipate quickly, a session with the single tail can leave me feeling sunburned for at least a couple of days. That sounds savage and uncomfortable, but the sensations and the memories they evoke produce a very different feeling. I am by no means a straight up masochist, but there is something about the combination of pain and the endorphin rush produced during a scene that rocks my world. I can’t explain it.

And this time, with this particular scene, something else would rock my world.

There being no grip cuffs, I stood against the cross and hugged it to my body. It was cool – almost cold – to the touch for a few moments and I shivered a little. The scene on the other side of the cross was already underway and the soft moaning coming from the sub began to lull me into that state of mind that is relaxed and open to all possibilities. I closed my eyes and readied myself. Mistress began warming me up by rubbing and patting my back with her hands. The feel of her soft deerskin gloves against my skin was wildly erotic and my body became instantly alert. The gentle rubbing turned to patting and then slapping to wake the skin up and prepare it for what would be happening next. That was the crop. Actually, it was more like a wombat in that the end was wide if not rigid. This particular crop produced a very stingy slap that brought the blood to the surface in a hurry. It was also my first sensation of pain and heat. My mind perked up and started to take notice as my body became more rigid and tense.

People tend to tense up instinctively when sensations turn painful. The human body releases hormones that produce a “fight of flight” response. The pupils dilate, breathing speeds up and the pulse rate quickens. Muscles used for sprinting and escaping receive more blood and oxygen while digestion and the skin receive less. Sweat begins to surface and the senses become hyper acute. Sexual arousal stops dead in its tracks at a time like this – at least for me – which may explain why BDSM and sex, while often closely related, don’t tend to happen at the same time. I like being on edge without knowing what is coming next. That is the threshold to sub space for me.

Mistress waited until I had calmed down slightly and was again resting against the cross. She smoothed my back down and came in very close, almost to where I could feel her breath on the back of my neck. She threaded the whip around my neck and over my collar, taking control of my head and tipping it back slightly. This simple action sent a definite message that she was in complete control now. I was at her mercy and under her protection. I was all hers. I felt my body go slightly limp under her control and my mind sank a little deeper.

There would be some impact despite the lack of a flogger. The signal whip has two ends, after all, and the handle makes a handy impact device. Blows from the handle fell lightly at first and then increased in their intensity. They came down on my shoulders and buttocks in the sort of winged pattern she tends to favor. Then I felt the kiss of the single tail.

It didn’t sting much at first, but over the course of several minutes, it began to intensify. I noticed my grip on the cross tightening and the moaning of the sub on the other side was met by the sudden, much louder sounds that were coming out of my mouth. I shifted position and writhed about as stinging pain turned to a burning sensation and then to a mild heat just in time for the next stroke to fall and start the process all over again. Mistress would flail in a pattern but she would also change the order in which the strokes fell. Just because a particularly intense hit came to the right shoulder didn’t mean that one of equal intensity would fall to the left right away. It was going to come; the question was when. Somehow, my body language, my breathing and her intuition made those decisions, but sooner or later the strokes would fall. They came one after the other, mingled with occasional cooling periods when Mistress would smooth over my back with her gloved hand, reassuring me of her presence and love while at the same time reminding me that she held all the power right now and had no problem exercising it. As an emphasis, she ran her hand gently up my back to the nape of my neck and grabbed my pony tail, pulling my head back and holding it.

If you’re on the outside looking in on something like this, you are bound to see it as a violent act. Ordinarily we humans get pretty upset if someone grabs our hair and pulls it, especially when the obvious purpose is to control the movement of the head. But in this one sacred moment between Mistress and me, I felt no violence. I felt loved, protected and cherished. That moment has a name.

Power exchange.

Complete surrender on the one hand and a sacred bond on the other. Call it trust, love or whatever you want, I knew that at that one, singular moment, I was the only person in her world and she was the only person in mine. It’s a brief moment and it goes by quickly, but it’s very real.

The whipping resumed and continued until my back felt as though it would burst into flame. I was beyond thinking rationally at this point – the point at which trust in my Mistress was so crucial. My mind was afloat and adrift, reacting only in the most animal ways to the pain sensations that were pleasure sensations all at the same time. A crescendo had been steadily building and although I didn’t fully realize the end was close at hand, Mistress did. She stopped whipping my now tender back and came in one last time to smooth my flesh over and cool it down. Then unexpectedly she withdrew, apparently waiting for something to happen.

And happen it did. A flood of emotions overtook me and I began to weep very softly. As my body began to shudder, Mistress (who had been watching carefully) embraced me from behind and in that moment, Aphrodite stepped in. Pure celestial love, the power of Aphrodite Urania surrounded and cradled me.

Standing there hugging the St. Andrew’s Cross, my body aflame with the heat of the whip and enfolded in Aphrodite’s embrace, I burst into tears. Emotions that had been walled off – probably for years – suddenly broke free and came out in torrents. As my body shook with sobs, Mistress moved in a little closer and held me tighter, occasionally stroking my hair and forehead, quietly and wordlessly reassuring me that what I was doing was not only right but necessary as well. I knew that without having to be told but the reassurance in this very public sort of place was beyond value. As I realized what was happening and chose to allow it, the intensity of my release increased. Tears ran down my face and onto the cross and I began sobbing openly.

Catharsis.

Mistress helped me into a chair where I continued to cry for at least ten more minutes. She brought me cup after cup of water and watched over me until the flow of emotions subsided and I was again able to talk although very little was said at that point. What do you say at a moment like that anyway? Forcing a conversation after traveling so deeply is usually a mistake. The aftercare would happen, but not right now. It could wait for the six and a half hour trip home the next day.

For now, Aphrodite would have Her due. Love and power had been exchanged. It was time for food and drink. Midnight snack anyone?

Camp Crucible Part 3 – Scening Is Believing

Up to this point, I have observed my policy of avoiding overly racy narrative. I don’t feel I have the talent to write good pornography (that is NOT an oxymoron), and in general, you want to think about what your family might say if they blunder onto your blog. So anything that might cause shame or embarrassment is best avoided.

Now I am essentially breaking that rule. I still believe this is not pornographic, but I feel the need to warn you that reading further may result in at least mild embarrassment. Yours, that is, not mine.

And I have no shame. I gave that up for Lent about 40 years ago.

So onward…

Up until camp, I had only scened with Mistress. I know her style and what to expect to some extent. I know that she will push my limits, but never to the point of my having to safe out. She has an uncanny ability to read my body and its language, to know when I have had enough and the scene should end. I have never regretted putting myself in her hands. Camp would not change this but it would introduce me to another delightful Domme and a completely different style of play.

It would also teach me just how differently scenes can end and how indelible the impressions they leave can be.

When you attend Camp, you have the option to buy your way out of doing chores. The cost of camp is reduced for campers who volunteer to do certain tasks like serving meals, driving camp taxis and other such things. I bought out of chores for this my first year because I wanted to immerse myself in the atmosphere and delve deeply into pony head space without having to worry about a work schedule. Now that I have done that, I will do chores when I go to camp (note I did not say ‘if I go to camp’). Mistress was doing chores this year as a dungeon monitor on Friday evening. There wasn’t much for this pony to do between dinner and midnight snack, so eventually I chose to take a hike to the upper dungeon and visit with her.

When I walked in the door the first thing I saw was a man in a set of stocks. Apparently he had asked Mistress to secure him in them. He didn’t think to specify for how long, however, and he found himself confined for quite some time. “This is an example of poor negotiation,” Mistress told me with that evil grin of hers. I watched for a few minutes as the poor man changed positions frequently, trying to find one that would relieve his discomfort only to discover that stress positions are just that; stressful.

One station over from him I saw two stunningly beautiful women – one a Domme and the other her sub - just finishing a scene with a man who had been lashed to a St. Andrew’s Cross. How best to describe them; diminutive, slender, each with a sharp glint in her eye that spoke of a no-nonsense character. One had the bearing of a cat and the other the mischievous inclinations of a bespectacled fox. Both wore long coats that lent an air of severity to their demeanor.

Their scene had concluded and the aftercare the Domme was giving was an impressive mixture of compassion, love and pure enjoyment of a moment. Just prior to this, the man had been enduring a somewhat spectacular flogging and was slowly coming down as he sat wrapped in a blanket and sitting in a chair. The Domme, whose name I later learned was Madame Adria, sat at eye level and smiled into his eyes as she checked in to see how he was doing. I found myself impressed not only by this scene but by the chops she displayed while wielding her implements.

Mme. Adria was friendly and had a ready smile that broadened when Mistress asked for Her assistance with the man in the stocks. I’m not sure about the details, but it seems that the rules had been renegotiated. I may be wrong, but apparently it was decided that getting out of the stocks would require that the poor subbie scream like a girl. To push him to that point, Mme. Adria administered a wicked stick. Have you ever seen a wicked stick? There isn’t much to look at. It’s basically a wire less than one foot in length and Mme. Adria knew how to make it sting. She would draw it back with one hand while holding an end with the other hand. Then she would release it with a snap against the sub’s naked flesh. She went up and down his legs and all over his exposed buttocks much to his distress and her evil glee.

Well, not just her glee. Frankly, the lot of us were enjoying this. Yours truly was pressed into service by Mistress when the sub began pushing the stocks around in an effort to escape his torture. It became my job to foot the base and prevent it from moving. That avenue of relief denied to him, the sub began attempting to scream in the manner demanded for release. I couldn’t help but notice how much fun Mme. Adria was having tormenting this guy. Her laugh was audible all over the dungeon, its lilt carrying above all the other noises in the giant room. And it was infectious. Even the sub found his sense of humor once he met criteria for release and was freed from the stocks.

I was impressed and I wanted to play with these fascinating people I had just met. I mentioned this to Mistress as we headed down to HQ for midnight snack, but then started focusing on socializing and the pony show. I didn’t want to get marked up before the show so any play sessions would have to wait until after lunch on Sunday.

Protocol can be a real assistance to a submissive, especially a relatively new submissive. I had never asked a Domme other than Mistress for a play session and I had no idea how to go about it. The answer turned out to be very simple in this context. I put the request to my Mistress and she would ask Mme. Adria about it. The following day, after we had finished choreographing my dance number for the pony show, Mistress and I were walking back to our cabin. The path took us past the lower dungeon (called Hell by the camp). Sitting there on the porch in the sun and watching her sub get a righteous caning sat Mme. Adria In a flash, Mistress took me by the bridle and led me over for introductions. She told Mme. Adria that I had been quite taken with her scene the night before and wondered if I might not be able to arrange a play session with her for Sunday at some point after the pony show. Mme. Adria looked me up and down and then smiled in a manner that made me back up reflexively. After all, I was in pony space still and some things are a matter of instinct. She agreed to set a time for a play session, looking more than a little delighted at the prospect and Mistress led me back to the cabin.

The next twenty-four hours would leave a lot of scope for those who enjoy a good mind fuck – if you’ll excuse the term. It’s common in the scene for the practice of playing with someone psychologically. The scene, after all, is not just a matter of floggers, whips, rope, bondage and physicality. It’s also about the more subtle and very powerful way in which the human mind responds to the atmosphere in which it finds itself. The truly artistic Dominant can turn a willing submissive inside out before the physical scene even starts, leaving all sorts of possibilities wide open for exploration. Other submissives will often lend a hand.

For example…

When NorthernBelle heard about my play date, she gushed, “Oh my GOD she s so EVIL! I’ve played with her before and you are so DOOMED! You’re going to LOVE it!”

That’s not a contradictory statement. It just reads that way.

Once the pony show was over and lunch had passed, Mistress and I began to talk about the play session scheduled for that evening. I was to present myself in the upper dungeon at 10:30 p.m. showered, shaved and in readiness. That much we knew, but I couldn’t help but wonder how the process of negotiation would unfold. Mistress and I talk a lot and often the subject turns to negotiation. For us it’s a subtle process involving questions, answers and thought. We may not be discussing a particular scene or even pony play at the time, but limits, tastes and other information of that sort will get passed back and forth to be filed for future reference. A discreet negotiating session was a new concept to me and I asked when I should speak to Mme. Adria about it. “You won’t,” Mistress said, “You will speak to me about it and I will discuss it with her.”

Protocol.

So Mistress and I talked for a while about what I was hoping to get out of the play session and what I wanted to avoid. It’s a good idea to go into a scene with these sorts of issues laid out in your mind. Without some sort of map – even a sketchy one – it is difficult to determine if the scene worked for you. And right away, I started working against my own interests. I wanted to limit the time the scene would take. Mistress turned that idea down by firmly stating that a scene takes what time it takes and putting an artificial limit on time was a great way to scuttle the experience.

No time limit. Check.

Next, I began to detail the implements that scared me the most. I have no experience with canes or paddles and the thought of someone taking one of those out and whacking me with it…

Well…

Wait a minute. Maybe I should be facing fears like that by not putting limits on the implements Mme. Adria could use. I could always safe out if I needed to. And besides, I didn’t remember seeing anything other than floggers and whips in her collection. So I decided not to limit the implements that she could use. I didn’t want to stifle her creativity.

In the end, the only limits I placed on the session were the hard limits that Mistress is already well aware of. No electricity, no breath play, no intentional cutting or puncturing of my skin. In all, pretty basic stuff. Besides, I noted, Mistress would be there to protect me. “No,” she said, “I’m going to be there to watch!”

Oh.

Finally we talked about an appropriate safe word. I had intended to use ‘red’ as my safe word, but Mistress reminded me of the safe word from the Temple of Aphrodite, which is Athena. As a pony, I am dedicated to Aphrodite though my Wiccan patron deity is Anubis. He doesn’t seem to mind. My tack has roses and myrtle leaves tooled into the belt because those plants are sacred to Aphrodite. Our stable is called Aphrodite’s Meadow. Mistress is a priestess of Aphrodite. Athena as a safe word made perfect sense.

Mistress again told me when to make an appearance at the upper dungeon and added that, should I see her talking with Mme. Adria, I should take that as a cue to be somewhere else. We walked to HQ together and got separated in the hubbub. I settled in to watch the slide show that was playing on a big screen. The pony show was the theme of the evening and I got engrossed but not so lost that I forgot the time. I could see Mistress and Mme. Adria in a corner talking quietly but intently and avoided that corner of the room. In fact, I did all in my power to keep from looking in that general direction. Eventually, I had to leave. It was after 10:00 p.m. after all.

A brisk walk the long way around brought me to the upper dungeon a couple minutes early. Mistress and Mme. Adria had not yet arrived but were not far behind me. Mme. Adria approached me with a smile that said, “I have plans for you.” And indeed, she did.

“I’ve never played with a pony before,” she said. I can’t recall exact words beyond that, but she made it clear that she wanted me to dispose with human language and respond with whinnies, nickers and other such pony noises. I confess I hadn’t stopped to think that the Domme might want to get a thing or two out of this scene as badly as I did. Okay, a shared experience it would be. I was happy to be a pony for this session and readily agreed. I was allowed my safe word only, but that would be enough for me.

The details worked out, Mme. Adria turned to Mistress and said, “Well, La Dresseuse, I think your pony is just a bit overdressed!” That was my cue to strip naked. The scene was underway.

I had asked to be bound to the St. Andrew’s Cross with grip cuffs to prevent me from getting away. In addition, Mme. Aria asked if I wanted to be blindfolded. While the thought hadn’t occurred to me before that moment, it made perfect sense. There was a lot going on in the dungeon and while noise was no problem for me, being able to see what was going on elsewhere would no doubt distract me. I opted for the blindfold and did not regret my decision.

I have little experience with bondage, but what experience I do have has been good. I can’t rationalize it, but there is something about being dependent on another that is particularly erotic for me. This arrangement had me half standing and half hanging by my wrists while still able to hang on to padded handles with my arms outstretched. Mme. Adria put the cuffs on my wrists while she talked softly to me, showing me her various implements and noting that one of them was made of horsehide. Gulp.

After I was secured to the cross and unable to see, I heard and felt Mme. Adria lean into me. She put her mouth next to my ear and asked me to tell her my safe word. Reflexively, I replied, “Red.”

Oops.

“Oh! I was told that it was Athena!”

“Yes! It’s Athena!” I said. There was a light moment of laughter and some reference to a sub who was already distracted before the scene really got going, but we got the safe word down and agreed upon.

I was nervous and they were enjoying it. Okay, let’s be honest, so was I.

Then the sensations started. Slowly Mme. Adria began moving her hands up and down my body tracing my contours with just her fingertips. She went up and down my back and legs and then around my sides to the front finding every ticklish spot in the process. “It’s funny,” she said, “but most people think torture always involves pain.” I was in trouble. Clearly, Mistress had told her all about my ticklish nature and was probably sitting in her chair pointing out the extra sensitive spots! She was going to have a lot of fun. A few minutes of this treatment had me so wound up that I could have taken just about any form of punishment in stride. I forgot my pony nature until I heard Mme. Adria observe, “I don’t think that’s how ponies giggle, is it?” That was gentle talk reminding me that I was not following the rules of the scene. I had to think fast to come up with a giggle that sounded like a pony. To the best of my knowledge, bio-horses don’t giggle. Still, whatever I managed seemed to satisfy the requirement. And it took an unbelievable amount of concentration to manage that giggle for any amount of time.

Then I felt the unmistakable sensation of leather strips brushing gently up and down my back. As she slowly moved the flogger around allowing me to feel its cool, soft texture on my skin, she leaned into my ear once again and said, “I killed one of your kind to make this.” A shiver ran down my spine as the first gentle strokes fell across my back and I nickered softly. Mme. Adria took quite a long time to warm me up and I found myself dropping more and more deeply into pony head space. That had never happened to me in dungeon play before, but I found myself enjoying it.

The flogging continued with intermittent moments of soft or scratchy cool down that had me riding a roller coaster of sensation and emotion. Fear had long since flown out the window because the sense of fun in the scene was palpable. Perhaps it also had something to do with the unusual rules we were following. But although fear may depart, trepidation will hang around for a long time. Mistress took part silently as did a number of my friends who happened to pass through the dungeon. At one point, Stormy came in. Mistress silently signaled to him to whinny. Remember that rule I mentioned in an earlier post? I immediately responded with a whinny of my own. Other ponies were recruited to the same purpose and on the occasions that I didn’t hear or failed to respond, Mme. Adria gave me an extra hard whack with the flogger. So this scene really turned into a community event. Not that I minded. For starters, I had no idea until after the fact. But any measure of fun is made that much better if your friends can take part. And of course, things can turn on a dime.

Which they did. Sort of.

You see, being attached to a St. Andrew’s Cross essentially put me into a stress position. After some time standing there bearing up to the impact of Mme. Adria's floggers, my knees began to get numb. The resultant twitching proved insufficient to stem off restless legs and eventually I attempted to relieve the discomfort by quickly lifting my left leg while bending at the knee. That’s when I felt my foot make contact with something.

Or someone. There was a long silence. Then I heard what I was afraid I’d hear. “Your pony kicked me!” said Mme. Adria with as much outrage as she could muster. I put it that way because this little wrinkle in the plot gave her the sort of opportunity that any Domme with an evil streak dreams of. A good excuse for punishment. She decided that something would have to be done to teach me a lesson about manners. And what a lesson she devised.

She reached down and took hold of the offending foot, bending it backward toward my back as though to put a shoe on it. She held it as securely as any farrier could and I knew there would be no escape. I would have to endure whatever was coming next. I expected something hard and smacky would crack across the bottom of my foot causing me some degree of agony.

That would have been easier than what actually happened. Mme. Adria started tickling my foot. Now there is no part of my body more violently ticklish than the soles of my feet and when she started in with those fingers of hers, I thought I was going to die. Immediately I went into full panic mode trying to escape. But the cross and the grip cuffs saw to it that I would stay right where I was. I struggled not only against the bonds but (unbelievably) with my concentration as I continued to whinny my responses. No matter how difficult it became, I still had to obey the rules. Unable to get away and just about ready to collapse from the intense tickling my foot was getting, I grabbed a hold of the grip cuffs and hung from them as I stamped my right foot on the floor. By that point, I had attracted some attention and several friends were in hysterics watching this scene.

When Mme. Adria Finally relented, I was drained and exhausted. The scene concluded very soon after. I was taken down from the cross and assisted into a chair. She sat in front of me just as I had seen her do on Friday night and looked at me intently with a broad smile on her face. For some reason, I couldn’t look her straight in the eye. It wasn’t fear that got in the way; it was what I can only describe as profound respect. I was still in pony head space and direct eye contact is confrontational to ponies. I had enjoyed this scene and she certainly seemed to enjoy me.

I sat quietly for a few minutes as I slowly came up from pony space. As the room started to make sense to me again, I began to giggle. This time it was a human giggle and it was quite uncontrollable. It got others giggling around me and took quite a while to subside. This had been fun; a lot of fun. I had some respectable stripes on my back and even more on my butt. Mme. Adria had been particularly fascinated with my butt, at one point exclaiming, “How could I not be when it jiggles like this?”

Thinking back on it, my session with Mme. Adria was a wonderful time. It was about fun, laughter and exquisitely evil torments of mind and body. It doesn’t make sense to anyone who is not of this little world that is the BDSM community, but it does to me.

My session with Mistress the following night would be a different story altogether. It would be equally as good for me and in some ways many times more powerful. It can’t be compared to my time with Madame Adria. The atmosphere with Mistress was different, and probably because of our longstanding relationship, a great deal more intimate. The result of which would be startling, unexpected and deeply moving.

But you’ll have to wait for the next installment for the details.

Camp Crucible Part 2 - the Pony Show

If you are a pony player attending Camp Crucible, chances are you will spend at least half the time you are at camp getting ready for or performing in the pony show. Ponies by nature are show-offs and love to strut their stuff. Even those who scorn the stage can be found hanging around either watching or taking part in some surreptitious manner. They can’t help it, after all.

If you are just out to have fun and kick up some dust, there is no end to the possibilities. In this show, everyone gets a ribbon. What ribbon you get is the real question. If you are the competitive sort, you set your sights on specific ribbons and do what you think it will take to win them. Mistress is the competitive sort. She had a plan for Stormy and Knight Mare that she believed would land the Grand Champion ribbon. It also stood a better than average chance of landing her in the hospital, but that didn’t matter! This was show biz!

And me? This was my first year so I was a bit of a wild card. Still, Mistress felt I had a good chance of landing one of two possibilities. The first would be the ribbon for gymkhana – essentially meaning best display of training and talent. The second was conformation – how looks, body structure and behavior conformed to the pony ideal. There were other possibilities, but either of these would be nice. Best in class seemed a little high to reach, but why not?

Fact is, neither Mistress nor I had any idea what I would be doing outside of a vague notion of a jazz dance routine. I have a dance performance background (albeit in Spanish dance) and Mistress majored in dance - improvisational, that is - in college, doing a stint with the Boston Ballet in the process. We had selected the music a month or so before, opting for a piece called the Boogie Bumper by Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. I don’t know why I played that one for her. It terrified me because it was so fast-paced. Still, I liked it and believed she would not choose it, so why not offer it as an option?

Then she chose it. What’s more, she decided that I should dance in hooves and wear both sets. She reasoned that so many ponies work with fore hooves but don’t do a lot with them. I could change that and possibly raise the bar a bit on performance with fore hooves if I animated them more. Well, that was the idea anyway.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Rehearsal is the stuff of a good performance, so Friday and Saturday were largely devoted to just that. Since the cart routine with Stormy and Knight Mare posed the greatest challenge, Mistress worked with them on Friday morning to rough things out. I spent that time being a demo pony for the littles merit badge program (see previous post). When that was finished, I was to go to the show pavilion and work on my routine. I arrived a little early and waited my turn.

At least, I tried to. The pavilion had a roof over it which, while providing excellent shade, also kept it pretty cool. Cold might be a better word. The temperature outside was not bad, but with the breeze that was blowing, a bare-chested ponyboy that wasn’t doing anything found himself chilled and shivering pretty quickly. Opting for comfort (and not tethered to anything), I stepped outside and into the sun. The warmth immediately enfolded me and it wasn’t long before the shivering stopped. I’m not sure what exactly happened then, but I got distracted by noises that were issuing from a nearby building. It was a large gymnasium close by and I could hear the distinct sound of whips cracking. What was a naturally curious pony to do? I went to investigate, of course!

The building in question was the upper dungeon – called Heaven by the camp. It was very large and there was a dizzying array of equipment there including several St. Andrew’s Crosses, a bondage table, and...scaffolding with winches! The atmosphere was intoxicating but I didn’t get a chance to take it all in before Andrea the head stable hand for Aphrodite’s Meadow came in looking for me.

My absence had been noticed.

Andrea wasted no time hooking my reins onto my bit. “Let’s go for a walk,” she said in her melodious voice. That sounded fine to me at the time, but it wasn’t long before I began to wonder if this was a punishment for wandering off! Honestly, I don’t know where she got all that energy, but I got walked, trotted, and galloped all over that camp site. Up hill and down dale we went finally arriving in the very heart of Kids’ Camp.

Kids’ Camp was the heart of littles territory and there were quite a few of them assembled there riding a merry-go-round. Before I knew what was happening, I was surrounded. I didn’t panic, but I was a little nervous. There’s no telling how things will go with these guys, and being ready for anything is a good idea. As with real children, events can turn on a dime at Kids’ Camp.

Andrea left me amongst the littles while she went to fill my water bottle. I stood at attention listening as they peppered Andrea with questions like, “Can we pull on his tail?” Andrea answered in the negative over and over until she finally gave instruction that I was to be well treated. Then the petting started and I relaxed. Andrea came back with water and gave me a nice long drink before we set out for the pavilion once again.

A brutal but mercifully short climb up the hill brought us back to the main road that would take us back to the pavilion. While walking along this road, we were approached by a camp taxi. The taxis were golf carts that campers could take in order to get from one place to another. Some of the distances you had to walk in camp could be a challenge and the hills were incredible, so the taxis were a welcome attraction. Taxis were driven by volunteer campers doing chores to lower the cost of camp. I had paid extra to buy out of chores this time around because I wanted to get the immersion experience my first year. In the future, I’ll pay less and do chores. I had plenty of down time as it turned out, and any opportunity to lower cost is always a good thing.

We didn’t stop as the taxi pulled along side, but the driver took the time to talk with Andrea just the same. “That is one hot pony you have there,” she said, “Hot, hot, hot!” I had the distinct impression she wasn’t talking about the weather here.

I love camp!

We arrived back at the pavilion where Mistress had finished with Stormy and Knight Mare – quite a while ago. “I said go get him, not get lost in the woods with him,” Mistress told Andrea. “Honestly, I’m going to smack you.” ‘Smack’ is a favorite word with Mistress. As long as she uses it, it’s unlikely that she’s seriously annoyed. Besides, Andrea enjoys a good smacking as much as I do, so it wasn’t a very potent threat, dear reader.

Mistress and I worked for about an hour on the jazz routine. There was only so much we could do at that point because we didn’t have any music, but we warmed up, stretched out and made a few strategic decisions. The dance would be based on a tease. I would approach a jump several times but not actually jump over it until the very end. There was a logical reason for this. I would be dancing in hooves on an asphalt surface. Basically, I had one shot to get it right. Taking an actual jump in hooves was risky to do once. Doing it more than that was asking for trouble.

Trouble, it seems, has a way of finding you when it wants to. We got things spaced out and decided where the jump would be located. Mistress showed me where the judging table would be located. That would be important because I would need to flirt with both the judges and the audience. Since the judges would be located across the arena from the audience, the choreography would need to address both sides of the pavilion.

Tight muscles intervened once I started cantering in the hooves, so we decided to keep the amount of cantering I would need to do to a minimum. Then we broke it off for that day and I spent the rest of my time warming and stretching leg muscles to make sure I didn’t injure anything before the show.

Mistress devoted all of Saturday Morning to my dance number. Right after breakfast, we headed for the pavilion. There were a lot of ponies and handlers working when we got there, so we relocated our rehearsal session to a basketball court just down the hill a bit. I had taken the time to map out the music so that we knew how many counts of eight each phrase of the music contained. With that knowledge and Mistress’ choreographic skills, we got a routine pinned down and working in about three hours. It would be a mixture of pure dance, pure flirt, and pure gait work with just one pass over the jump and a good deal of humor thrown in. Oh yes, and I would do some Flamenco- inspired clogging somewhere in the middle of it all. We headed back to pony camp and I spent the rest of the day and night running through the routine in my head to make sure I got it down.

Sunday blossomed with Mistress blaring Home on the Range again and calling on all ponies to rise and shine! It was the day of the big Pony Show and we needed to get cleaned up, fed, tacked up and ready to go!

Anxiety set in pretty quickly, but by that point, I had decided that the real point of all this was to have fun. Besides, Mistress had told me that if I fell, I should make it spectacular, pick myself up and then do it to the other side. That way, people would think I meant to do it.

Right.

When we got to the pavilion, I was immediately struck by one detail. The judging table was located on the same side of the pavilion as the audience instead of the opposite side as we had thought. I felt a tide of panic rising as I feverishly started figuring out how to reverse my entire routine. Mistress has a cooler head, though and told me not to worry about it as it was her problem to solve. And solve it she did. She simply put the jump in the diagonally opposite corner and told me to come in from the other side. That way, nothing changed except which wall I faced at certain times. Cinch!

There were a total of twenty-four acts in the pony show and some of the talent was spectacular. There were many cart routines and quite a few ponies on short reins. My dance was one of the few routines in which the pony was completely independent of his or her handler. I couldn't help being nervous when my turn came. It was comforting to have Mistress out there performing with me. She made the first entrance and directed me through the dance with a crop. Some remarked on how well we related, but honestly, dear reader, I don't remember actually looking at her because I was so deep in concentration. Also, this was the first time I had done the dance up to speed in the hooves. Up to this point, I had rehearsed in moccasins. One false move and they would be making moccasins out of me! I remembered what Mistress told me way back in November about wanting her ponies fearless and in no time all I wanted to do was show off my stuff. Before I knew it, I was kneeling before the judges with Mistress mounted on my back and pushing my head down in a bow of deference. It was over and I could go back to the paddock for some much needed water.

The advance class routines started with Mistress, Stormy and Knight Mare. Stormy started out pulling a cart blindfolded. He took Grand Champion at the Floating World last summer pulling a cart in this manner. It’s quite a skill. Mistress flew the colors – both the US flag and the Leather flag – as would happen in a rodeo. Then she left Stormy pulling his cart (no longer blindfolded) while she went and got Knight Mare. When Knight Mare’s cart met up with Stormy’s, Mistress carefully straddled both carts and drove Stormy and Knight Mare in a tight formation around a couple of curves. I help my breath as I suddenly came to understand why her costume included body armor and a helmet with a leopard skin cover on it. The presentation ended with a bunch of littles running out onto the show ring and parading off with the carts.

One act that I found especially funny and fun to watch was Dead Pony. She was all Goth and was carried out onto the floor by two men in black trench coats who then brought her to life. She did a rather zombie-like rendition of a pony gait and then broke into a soft shoe dance. Her fun was brought to an end when her handlers sent her back to the beyond until the next time. Altogether a riot to watch.

And it didn’t end there. There were ponies on hoof, cart ponies and Buck carried his Mistress Nikki in a saddle through a set of tight cones while blindfolded. Jojo and Buttercup did a wonderful dance together to a song about girls and horses. Watching them dance was great fun. As massive as he appears when tacked up, the Clydesdale named Buttercup is one of the gentlest beings I have ever met. Their number actually made a few people cry.

Eventually, all twenty-four acts had made their way across the stage, but before the judges could begin their deliberations, all the ponies had to line up and whinny for them. One by one, each pony gave up a whinny to see who would be judged to have the best one. We all gave it our best. When they came to Dead Pony, however, the “whinny” was a deep hacking cough that made everyone – even the assembled ponies – laugh hysterically.

She won that round.

Then the judges began their judging. It didn’t take a long time. Lunch was pressing in, after all. Ribbons were awarded to the novice class first and yours truly took the very first one – for gymkhana. What did I say about aiming? I took another later on for “Most likely to take to the stage.” Considering that I have a degree in theater and perform on a regular basis, I’d say that was a pretty sure bet.

Buttercup received a ribbon for Tack and Appointments, and the two of them got a ribbon for most adorable performance. Both were well deserved.

Fuzzy got the ribbon for Sexiest Ponyboy.

NorthernBelle got the ribbon for Sexiest Ponygirl.

Ponyboy Monorail received Reserve Champion for his performance.

And the crowning achievement for Aphrodite’s Meadow was the Grand Champion ribbon given to Stormy and Knight mare for their hard work.

All in all, a great day for Aphrodite’s Meadow and friends.

I could sit on my modest laurels and be happy with that. But Mistress has plans. She has very big plans. They include a Grand Champion ribbon at some point in the not-too-distant future.

Ride ‘em like you stole ‘em, ma’am!

Next up: Part 3 - a Tale of Two Scenes

Camp Crucible Part 1 - Of Races and Littles

I can't remember when I first heard of Camp Crucible, but from the start of my journey I heard mention of it repeatedly and was told many times that camp was the place to go for pony play experience. So it was that I signed up for camp this year and traveled to the state of Pennsylvania with Mistress to attend my very first Camp Crucible.

Camp takes place over Memorial Day weekend each year and is at least five days long. Many (including Mistress and myself) also choose to stay one extra day at the start of camp, arriving the day before the session officially starts. If you're going to travel all the way from Maine to Pennsylvania, you might as well stay as long as you can. Besides, I had heard from Stormy that the camp puts on an invitational pony race on Thursday evening and I wanted to see how I measured up. After eight months at the gym, I was looking to see if anything had actually changed from my earlier years.

I was never very athletic and I hated gym class because that fact got pointed out to my embarrassment and humiliation every time I had to put on that damned uniform. But now, I was hoping that the work I had put in since Buck first measured me for my tack would pay off just a little. I didn't care about winning, I just wanted to endure through the contest. If I could cross the finish line anything but dead last, that would be the cherry on the sundae.

We arrived at camp in the mid-afternoon hours. Mistress is not subtle about something like this. We had traveled for six and one half hours to get there from her home in the Boston area, and if there is one thing Mistress knows, it's how to make an entrance. We stopped just outside the gates to the facility so that she could "hoist the colors" as she put it. Getting out of the van, she grabbed a small Jolly Roger flag and put it up on the radio antenna. Then, with Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops blasting Home on the Range at top volume, we drove into the camp site.

Okay, so the metaphors are a little mixed. It helps if you hold them lightly. Work with me. The logo for Camp Crucible is a Jolly Roger and piracy tends to be a recurring theme from year to year. At the same time, it's probably one of the finest pony camps in the country. Things are bound to get a little confabulated.

I retreated into sub space at about the moment we arrived. As I have said before, I tend to clam up in new situations. Remaining silent would not be in the cards for very long, though. This was Camp Crucible where things that never happen in real life are commonplace. You'll come to understand what I mean by the time I'm finished telling these stories. Silence and deference would be respected, but how outgoing you are and how much fun you have tend to be directly proportional here.

We stopped first at registration where we signed some legal paperwork - releases for both picture modeling and liability purposes - and got our name tags. Getting the right tag was important because there were two ponies in camp named Rusty this year (what were the chances?). They gave me his tag first, but I pointed out that it was not the correct one. Mine should have read "Ponyboy Rusty" with the tag line "Aphrodite's Meadow Stable". Once they found my correct tag, Mistress and I were on our way into pony camp.

Pony camp was a world within a world. It consisted of a series of cabins laid out in a circle around a central play area that included what most people would call a tether ball. In pony head space, however, it became a Jolly Ball. Hours of entertainment for a bored pony! There were bales of straw piled in one area and several stalls had been set up as well. An octagonal cabana completed the scene. Several discussions and classes would take place there over the weekend.

So there were plenty of sunny and shady places as well as places with roofs in case it chose to rain (which it didn't). A recipe for fun indeed.

Upon arriving in pony camp I got my first taste of discipline as well. Piper pony was there and greeted us with a hearty whinny. Nobody whinnies like Piper - nobody. I'm told that bio horses tend to answer her when they hear her. So there's no mistaking a whinny out of her. I was astonished to hear it for the first time in person and could only sit there in the van and marvel.

Mistress has a rule, however, and I failed to follow it. Quite simply, she expects her ponies to answer up if they hear a whinny. Failure to do so earns the errant pony a whack, and a whack I got! I quickly came out of my stupor and whinnied back to Piper who came over to the van and gave me a nuzzle. I had never met Piper in person although I had heard a lot about her, and this instant friendliness and warmth was a very welcome change from the way people usually relate.

This was going to be a good experience.

But settling in came first. Aphrodite's Meadow had been assigned to Cabin #4 and we made our way there. A lot needed to be done to make the space livable. Beds and shelves were moved about to make room, screens, rafters, mattresses and floors needed to be swept and luggage needed to be unpacked. When all was in order, Mistress tacked me up for the pony race.

The invitational pony races were held on a ball field at the top of the campground. Each pony was to pull a cart with a driver in it for about 50 yards to the finish line. The races would be taped and shown on Saturday night in the casino where off-track betting would take place. I fancied myself a long shot because I'm not a sprinter, but I would give it all I had for Mistress. There were four ponies, all stallions, and a small contingent of campers who came to watch. I did my best to warm up and stretch out while Mistress looked the carts over and chose one.

Finally, the appointed time arrived and we all lined up at the starting gate. I was very nervous, but willing to try anything at this point. If I had said I didn't want to race, Mistress would not have compelled me to do so, so I was here by choice. With that in mind, I set my sights on the finish line. When I heard the word, "GO!" and felt the slap of my reins, I took off and ran just as fast as I could paying no attention to where the other ponies were. The blinders I was wearing helped with that, of course, but they also kept me from knowing exactly what had happened. All I know is that I got plenty of praise from Mistress when that race was over. I hadn't won, but I hadn't finished last either.

In fact, nobody knew who won the race. It would have required a photo finish to figure it out and that sort of technology was not available. Race number two would end in the same manner. For that reason, the race course was lengthened out to around 70 yards. The pony pulling the lightest cart was also handicapped by a few extra yards. Mistress hitched me to a different cart as well and spent a little time showing me how to take off like a racer. It was a bit counterintuitive, requiring me to rock backward onto my back foot, but in the end, it made all the difference. It would be four days before I knew the outcome for certain, but I had heard the rumors.

I won the third race! It was by a nose, but I did it. I guess all that gym time really did pay off. I guess I'll continue to go regularly.

Something else happened just before the races that caught my attention. A group of people arrived that seemed to be behaving like young children. I had never had any experience or exposure to this form of play and didn't understand what I was looking at for a short time. It wasn't long before I learned that these people were a group of "Littles". Littles are people whose kink consists of acting, interacting and living as young children. Some had pacifiers, some wore diapers, all of them related to the people around them as a toddler would to any adult. It was new and strange to me, but an open mind is a clear asset at a place like this, so I decided to go with it and see how things played out. Besides, although I had not seen her at play, the head stable hand for Aphrodite's Meadow is a little when she is not with us and she is certainly no slouch. So I spent some time over the weekend watching and listening to the littles.

It's not my kink and I'm still not sure I quite understand the attraction, but I'm sure there are plenty of people in and out of the scene who say the same thing about pony play. But after a short while, I came to see littles for just what they were - people having a whole lot of fun in a way that suited them. Do I have a problem with that? Nope!

Besides, I also came to understand that littles LOVE the ponies and ponies love attention. Seems like a good fit to me.

So it was that I volunteered to take part in the Pony Merit Badge program for the littles on Friday. Mistress was busy working with Stormy and Knight Mare on their entry for the pony show at the time, and the presenters needed one more pony for the class. I joined Piper and her handler Dana who taught the class. The littles all gathered in the cabana for a short lecture and were then escorted out to see the two of us. They stood about in a tight little group and listened intently as Dana showed them Piper's tack and their new straddle cart. This was a four-wheeled cart with a mock up of a horse's back and a saddle instead of a regular seat. Each part was shown in turn, but when Dana pointed out the stirrups, one of the littles chimed in with, "They have those at the doctor's office!" Clearly, some littles specialize in the sort of comments young children make that mortify their parents. Hilarious doesn't begin to describe how it can get when they start playing off of one another.

Soon it was my turn for some attention. The littles were shown how to brush my tail and several took turns. Some did a little grooming as well. Their touch was tentative and very gentle, oddly comforting in a way. And when they learned how to feed a pony, they lined up to give me apple treats. This pony loves apple treats and I got several along with some pats on the head. Overall a good experience.

That doesn't mean no dark side exists, of course. One Domme I spoke with said that you could get into a conversation with them and the next thing you knew, you'd be hanging from the rafters with no idea how you got there. At one point, a group of them came into the main lounge ('headquarters' they called it) to make smeeps in the fireplace. For those who came in late, smeeps are s'mores made with Peeps. You could interpret the activity any way you wanted. At first it looked to me like a group of kids having a good time making famous camp fire treats and eating them. But soon my perspective shifted a little bit and I saw a group of Wednesday and Pugsley Addamses skewering little yellow duckies on wooden stakes, melting them slowly over the fire, stuffing them between graham crackers and biting into them. All with smiles on their faces. It was deliciously sadistic, evil and a lot of fun to watch. And the humor wasn't lost on me.

It takes an adult with a sharp mind and a sense of humor to be a child.

Next up: Part 2 - The Pony Show