It was still morning as we got back to the stables, but the heat had increased considerably during the training, and Laura was once more spent. It's not like that disappointed me: Sure, she was a young woman with a runners' physique - but she was not superhuman. Walking and trotting in those heavy hoove boots had to be hard. Even more so since her arms were constantly tied to her back. And there were also the collar and the bitgag, which surely made it harder for her to find a comfortable position as she was being commanded to work out in the heat.

But that would all be temporary. Not the restraints I mean... those would stay. But as I brought Copper back into the stables I received an automated message. The professional equipment I had ordered was waiting for me at the post office.

So no, not her bondage would be temporary. Laura Kruger would spend the rest of her life restrained and helpless. But her awkwardness in the harness and the restraints would only persist for some time. She would get much better. I had seen it before.

The idea to train a ponygirl had not come out of nowhere. I had seen ponies before. I have always been kinky, and my money allowed me to visit clubs, events and gatherings that few people even know about.

At the time, I only vaguely imagined to own a pony myself. But even so, I quickly developed an eye for the 'real' ones.

What divides the part-time ponygirls from the real ponyslaves? Actually, that's easy to explain.

The part-time ponies joked with their masters, even if it was hard to understand them through the bitgags. The 'real' ponies were attentive and submissive, and their gags much more sophisticated and secure.

The part-time ponygirls did not wear real bondage, but some symbolic straps or cuffs. The real ponygirls were restrained heavily, in armbinders or strict boxties, in some cases even in a reverse prayer that folded their arms on their backs like a piece of art.

The part-time ponygirls were often playful and excited. They told people what their costume was about and where their master had bought it. The real ponygirls did not talk at all. Because they could not talk, because they were not allowed to talk. Because they were deep in that mysterious zone that can swallow a sub, if you get a chance to train her rigidly enough.

And, most importantly: The part-time ponies moved insecure and awkward in their equipment. The real ponygirls moved women who had been trained for hundreds of hours, and who were now completely immersed in that life.

Only one time in my life (that I know of) have I seen a permanent ponyslave.

That happened years ago, after I had concluded a very succesful transaction with a close business partner. We celebrated at his house. We were both drunk and heavily on cocaine and it was quite late at night when he opened a door and led me into the windowless annex at the back of the house. And there she was: An asian woman, tall and athletic and muscular. She had been locked in darkness, in a stall. I studied the harness with the straps digging into her flesh, and the pouch made from leather that held her arms in a boxtie behind her. I remember how I approached her, completely speechless. I touched the gag that she was wearing, running my fingers over it, and she grunted and stared at me. She was as bewildered as I was. Her nostrils flared and she moaned, until my host hit her bare ass with the cane. Then she seemed to remember what she was supposed to do, and after a sharp, painfilled cry she whinnied like a horse.

She looked like she had had much time to learn how this worked: She was covered in whip marks old and fresh.

"She's an ex-girlfriend", my business partner explained, laughing his ass off. "She knew too much about my shady dealings. I had to make her disappear."

I took it as a joke, but mostly because really, I did not care who she was. He showed me how she moved, he made her trot and then run through the small training parcour he had built for her. He called her Gracious. It took my breath away how completely authentic she behaved. She was a creature trained and broken in to just respond, obey, perform. He allowed me to hood her and lock her back in before we went back upstairs to get more scotch.

I only remembered that ponyslave months later, half asleep on a flight to Singapore. I never mentioned to my friend that I remembered his little, surreal secret. The business that I used to do has its own rules. There is just too much booze and cocaine and ketamine going around, and everybody does something bad at some point. People misbehave with a stripper, throw a table out of a hotel window, crash a car, knock up an intern or spill one too many secret whilethey are under the influence. You don't talk about that shit after the night is over. It's sort of a 'What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas"-arrangement, and it is for the best of everyone involved.

But that particular business friend is also the one who later told me about these sophisticated craftsmen. And here the circle closes: I was eager now to get to the post office and fetch Lauras new equipment. The things that I had created were not bad. But what I had ordered from that small, specialized company would be so much better!

"You'll stay here for a while, and cool off", I told Laura. Another lump of sugar went into her mouth, then I leashed her to a ring in the ground. She had enough leeway to get to the trough and drink, and I also put alarge bowl down which I filled with cooked rice and vegetables. I took the u-shaped bit out of her mouth and kept her gagged with the rest of the setup, as before. Then, to render her extra helpless, I flipped the blinders in front of her eyes.

She mewled and sobbed, but there was not really anything she could so. I stroked her head, patted her useless arms and tried to sound comforting again: "You can eat and drink, and you can sleep. In the afternoon we'll train you some more. But then you'll wear a much better harness."

"Ough...ghuaargh??"

She did not sound like she was filled with anticipation about a "better" harness. I left her in her box. She just knelt there, staring blindly in the general direction of the door, as I closed and locked it.

I lived in a rural area and it toook me a 25-minute-drive across country roads in order to get to the town. At the post office they were quite considerate, which was nice: The young woman who worked there - I think her name is Georgina - brought a push cart and helpled me to drag the crates to my transporter.

"Wow", she huffed as we hurled the crates into the loading space, "you ordered a lot of stuff. Is it for your horses?"

I smiled and told her that yes, it was. Maybe she expected an invitation to my farm, but she did not get one. She was sweet and all, but people knew I like to lead a reclusive life, and I really intended to keep it that way.

It was just noon as I returned to the stables. Inside her stall Laura was resting on her side, in the most comfortable position she could possibly get into. She had eaten a lot: The bowl was a good as empty, and some rice was still sticking to her mouth, chin and even the tip of her nose. Her belly looked like a small ball now, and I made a mental note to give her less food next time. She obviously could not decide for herself how much was too much.

"See Copperhead, I'm already back. And you had enough time to feed. Was it good?"

"Wh... whee..."

"Good girl. Kneel for me. I have some new equipment for you, and I promise it's going to make things easier for both of us."

Her eyes fluttered, and with despair she looked at the open crate that I had brought to the entrance of her stall. After a brief moment of hesitation she obeyed and picked hrself up, into a kneeling position. I checked her bondage and found that everything was in place. The straps were as tight as they had been before the training. She must have tried everything to get out of the contraption, but it had been to absolutely no avail. This filled me with quite some pride.

I touched and rubbed her arms: The circulation was still intact. Copper moaned under her breath as I touched her forearms.

"They are a bit sore, aren't they? But I can assure you they are fine. They look healthy. Move them a bit."

"Whee..." She tried to nod once more, realized she wasn't allowed to do that and swallowed, nervously. She moved her arms, very feebly. There was not much strength left in them.

I took the items from the box, one by one. Laura was still on her knees, and since her leash was clipped to the ring attached to the ground, she did not have much freedom of movement. But I could see that she was following each of my movements with her eyes, as muchas the blinders allowed.

As I unpacked the crate, the smell of fresh, expensive leather filled the stall . Every item was seperatey wrapped in oiled paper. I unfolded the harness first: It was an intricately designed set of straps and bands, made from  caramel-coulored nubuck leather. The colour would perfectly compliment Coppers hair and skin coulour, and her freckles. The fastenings and rivets were made from bronze and steal and shimmered a little in the light of the stable lamp. Each strap had an inner padding - made from a mixture of cotton and synthetic material - that was antibacterial and designed to minimize chafing.

While I admired and then configurated the harness, I could hear a faint gasping noise. I looked at Laura: She was frozen, her nostrils flaring, her beautiful grey eyes widening mor and more. A hopeless, deep groan escaped her throat. I could not help but snort with laughter.

"I said things are going to be easier from now on, and that was not a lie. This will be more comfortable for you to wear, and it will make it  easier for me to keep you how I want you." I approached her with the harness and knelt behind her. I unfastened the old harness buckle by buckle, but I kept her arm-bondage in place.

Where I peeled the harness off her sticky body, I wiped sweat and grime off her skin with some of the straw. The straps had left deep marks, but the pony had not taken serious damage. Still, I had to admit the new harness had not arrived one day too soon. I used a little lotion on spots that looked especially sore, then I placed the new harness around Coppers slim body.

It had cost a fortune, but it was worth every penny: The design allowed for utmost flexibility. The harness could be applied and removed completely or partially, and there were different options to configurate and lock it. The thoughtful design also meant that I would never have to untie Coppers arms to get her into the harness.

Straps went around her shoulders and upper arms, a belt around her belly, two more belts around her thighs. Once all this was in place and connected to each other, I removed her collar. Coppers neck was grimy and dirty as well, and I cleaned it, gave it a little kiss and then placed her new collar around it. She shivered and sobbed as I fastened it.

The collar came with a small battery, and with a wristband for its owner that allowed for remote control. I could, for example, administer painful electric shocks to my ponyslave. But I did not tell her, since she already appeared too distressed.

"You look beautiful", I told her as the collar was connected to the harness. To reward her for her compliance, I pushed a lump of sugar into her mouth. She shuddered and sobbed, and sucked on the sweet little treat while it dissolved quickly.

Now I took the armbinder . It was of the same color and quality as the harness and had been designed for maximum restraint. But also here, the designers had taken great care to allow for flexibility: It could be used as a monoglove, and there were several straps and buckles that would make it possible to open it partially, check on the ponies arms and seal it again, quick and easy. Never would the whole thing have to come off if I did not want that.

The design was flawless and elegant in its simplicity: With only a few adjustments  I could use the item as well to wrap her arms in a tight boxtie, and the additional rings and fastenings would let me lash it tightly to the back of her harness as well. There was also the option to use it as a sheath to force her arms into a reverse prayer position. I would definitely try that out in the future.

For now I decided to wrap her arms in the monoglove. She had looked great in the past days with her arms restrained so tightly, and I wanted to keep the strain up. It was also good training for her, to get used to it longterm. Laura moaned and gasped as I removed the old straps from her arms. She then produced a sound of utter dismay as her flesh complained about the treatment it had received, all nerve endings most likely screaming at her with shrill distress signals.

It was a good thing that I had only partially untied her. She flapped her useless arms a little, her fingers curled and flexed as I released them from the leather puches. But there was not much more she could do, since her elbows were still tied. I rubberd her hands and pinched them and found them sweaty and stiff, but in a good state overall. Quickly I wrapped the armbinder around them and re-tied Lauras wrists, then worked my way upwards. She was never really free: One restraint simply replaced the other, bit by bit.

Her frustration about this was limitless: The slim muscles under the pale skin of her arms tensed, strained a bit aganst the bonds, relaxed, tensed again. She felt incredble at that moment: Like a small but quite stubborn animal that was not to be underestimated.

I did not give her any slack, of course. I pulled each strap and lace just as tight as felt responsible to me. Finally I could remove the elbow strap, replace it with the armbinder, work the whole thing up to a point just below her armpits and seal it. I connected it to the harness, and within less than a minute it was done: Her arms were tightly packed away behind her back, useless and helplessly sealed inside the padded leather.

For the first time since I had taken her, I heard her curse beneath her breath. It was a bleeting, grumpy sound, confounded by the gag so that it was completely unintelligible. It was quite rude, it sounded exhausted. It was the equivalent of a human Look at what crap I have to endure.

I patted her head and kissed her cheek. She flashed an angry look at me. So there really were two sides of Laura: She shy, careful good girl and the angry, dangerous creature that had tortured my animals. I liked both of them.

Her new hoove boots were better as well: Very sturdy, very soft on the inside, the perfect support for her slim ankles. Of course she would hate wearing them. But they would allow her to be a better ponyslave, and that was what counted to me.

"Come on, let's get you into the new head harness." I put the wristband on and actvated it. Immediately it linked to the collar via bluetooth. It started a system check and informed me that it was ready, all modes were at my disposal. Now I loosened the self-made head harness and took it off her. My pony stretched her jaw, licked her lips, snorted. Her mouth free for the first time in days, she immediately tried to talk.

I did not like that. Not one bit. Nor did I like it how human she looked again, now that her face was no longer enframed by bit and blinders. I touched the wristband and activated 'silent mode'. As Copper tried to speak, she suddenly jerked her head to the side. It was was the reaction to the light zap she had just received.

"Gh..aagh...!"

"Do not try that", I told her. "No talking. Your collar analyzses the movements and tension of the muscles in your throat. It is on silencing duty. It wioll prevent you from forming even one coherent word.

Her face was a shocked grimace. She frowned. Of course she tried it again, and got zapped again.

"H..aack..!"

This punishment was already a little more painful than the last one. The pain would increase if she did not stop. Only after having registered no vilation for at least 30 minutes, the AI in the collar would return to its basic settings.

She was so shocked - literally and figuratively - that there was no fight left in her. Here she was: Not gagged, finally able to speak and express her thougts and emotions. But still, she was damned to be silent!  Behind those beautiful grey eyes, the thoughts were racing, and part of me pitied poor Laura Kruger. Surely she had been taught all her life that, since she was a human being, her opinions and feelings deserved to be respected. Her viewpoint mattered. She mattered. Even after days in my care she had not understood how complete the control that I desired over her was. But now, she was beginning to understand.

I did not immediately gag her again: I took an electric shaver and started to work on her hair.

The smell of musk and sweat that my poor Copper exuded did not bother me at all, I found it rather charming. She would be cleaned from time to time of course, and I did not intend to let her become outright filthy. But some sweat, the natural scent of her warm flesh that was all fine for me.

But her copper locks has accumulated so many straws and so much dirt that by now they looked more like a birds nest. It was abut time to get rid of them. Well... get rid of most of them at least.

I started shaving her head and she started mewling and gasping in dismay. Twice she tried to speak again, and never managed to bring out more than a gasp, followed by a pained splutter when she got zapped. I already loved the sophisticated gear I had bought. The producers would definitely get five of five stars from me.

I just left a short mohawk on the top of Coppers head. It looked extremely cute and a bit punky. I ruffled her mane wiped her scalp. I offered her a piece of sugar, and by now she was conditioned to take it without even thinking about it.

Did she sense, subconsciously maybe, that the sugar made her feel a bit more relaxed? I could not tell for sure. But I hoped the effects would help her to cope with her situation.

I put the new head harness on her without much of a fuss. Sure, at first she resisted the rubber-coated bitgag as I put it in. But the u-shaped mouthpiece was designed with lots of experience, and so it went in easily. I think even Copper found it surprisingly comfortable. I connected the head-harness to her collar, fastened the chinstrap and the ones running upwards across her face, locked the whole configuration in place.

"You look beautiful", I told her. She blinked, shy and meekly again. Most likely thinking that this was the most poisoned compliment she had ever gotten. But she whinnied once, and for that I gave her a pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek.

"You are a good pony, Copper. You just need more training. Come on, let's see how you move in your new tack."

We trained some more in the afternoon, and there was no more resistance at all. It was so fascinating that I had to stop myself from grinning like a lunatic all the time while Laura trotted around the pole, training her style. She was exhausted but coped well with it, the food giving her some new strength. After every third round she had completed without a mistake she earned another piece of sugar. For every mistake she earned a strike with the cane. She was covered with red marks by now, but she didn't seem to notice them much. And she didn't try to free her arms anymore, just kept trotting and training and following my orders. The new harness and the improved restaints paid off: She had lost all hope that she might free herself.

This is how the day continued until I locked her in again, ate dinner, worked a bit in my home office. I also called some friends, just to let them know I was still there, made some plans for visits and parties, the usual stuff you do to keep your life going. Yes, I have always been quite a reclusive person, but I still have some friends and I didn't want them to wonder about my changed behavior.
Later I returned to the stables.

Copper was lying on one side in her box, sleeping deeply, snoring even. Her lips trembled around the bit from time to time. I opened the door carefully, walked over and knelt down next to her. My hand touched her shoulder and I stroked her a bit, then couldn't stop myself from touching her left breast, one of my fingertips on her nipple. It hardened fast and I smiled a bit more as my hand traced down her body, stroking her belly and mons. She didn't have much pubic hair, but what she had felt as soft and warm like summer moss. My finger slid beneath it and reached her lips. I stroked these as well, as carefully as possible, in order to not wake her up. She mumbled a little in her sleep with a tiny bit of drool dripping down from her bit. I nestled my fingertip just so lightly between her pink lips until I could feel her clitoris.

I rubbed it gently, my other hand now playing with her nipples again. I took my time, enjoying the magic of this moment and I was a bit amused as well as a bit astonished when I started feeling the slightest amount of wetness beneath my finger. Laura stirred, inhaling deeper. Then she opened her eyes, looking directly at me. Her glance was clouded by sleepiness and she was visibly confused. She didn't move. She just watched me, a little enquiring and a little shy at the same time.

Just when I moved my fingertip a last time to take it away did she twitch and shudder, producing a helpless mewing sound. I got up and she still kept her eyes on me. Her face flushed. She stayed silent.

And I didn't say anything either, just smiled at her and filled her trough. I would have loved to take her now, just force her to accept me. To break her in.
But breaking in a girl like this copperhead would be more complicated and more faceted than doing it to a horse. And so I just fed her once more, gagged her properly again and left her in the stables for the night.