Added: Aristides Dizon - Date: 04.10.2021 16:06 - Views: 42575 - Clicks: 5436
We were falling in love, and I wanted to try everything. I fell for it just as hard as I fell for him. For a couple of years, we explored in the privacy of our bedroom, taking turns restraining each other and mixing pain and pleasure. And then, another lover of mine D and I were in an open relationship brought us into a whole community of BDSM aficionados.
With D, it was all about intensifying sex and bonding together; with the community, it became one of the main ways that I grew and developed as a person. Through strap-ons and crossdressing, floggers and knives, I explored the depths of my gender and the limits of my body. People were being spanked, hot wax was being poured on bare skin, a man was walking around with heavy weights hung from his balls. Anything was possible. Everything about her was tall and full, from her riding boots to her cascading brown hair.
She trained real horses, she explained. This was an extension of her interest in equines. I was intrigued. I wanted to know what it would feel like to have this soft-spoken woman in control of me. Her bridle was heavy. Blinders narrowed my field of vision. She made a clicking noise with her tongue to prompt me to move. This was the part I was most comfortable with—the exhibition.
Elsewhere, I might be pony fetish freak; here, I was accepted and admired. Elsewhere, I might be a freak; here, I knew, I was accepted and admired. I enjoyed pleasing her, but at the same time, I wondered if I really wanted to be treated like an actual animal. Yes, the experience turned me on, but it also made me uncomfortable. I stayed away from pony play for years after that. And so, inevitably, I was tempted to try it again. At a recent kink-themed conference, I attended day-long workshops on things like power dynamics and creative uses for strap-ons.
But there were also two presenters who were nationally-renowned pony play experts—one a gruff cowboy, the other a petite and lively woman. The cowboy, who trained both real horses known as bio horses and role-playing ponies, was almost a caricature, with spurs on his boots and a deep Southern drawl. He was a stereotypical Dom, too: loud and gleefully sadistic. She was much harder to define. She acted as both a pony and a trainer when role-playing.
She was a submissive, but nothing about her was meek. She held her small fit frame with perfect posture and exuded a strong aura of confidence and grace. They agreed to teach me how to be a pony. I wondered, Could it be empowering this time? Less dehumanizing? But also: What kind of pony might I want to be? Some ponies simply enjoy dressing up and the elaborate fetish wear that can go along with it. Others enjoy being groomed. Some pull carts while others like to be ridden. Then, there are competitions involving jumping or simulated fox hunts or showmanship involving trots and gallops and Spanish walks.
There are perhaps a dozen competitions around the country that might attract anywhere from 20 to 50 people, a small but committed group of fetishists. Both Cowboy and Grace had won national competition titles. In the evening, the conference set up a makeshift dungeon—a deated play space with equipment to act out our kinks.
That night, I would be led through the dungeon as a pony. I stripped down to a bra and panties, and Cowboy fitted me in a leather body harness with an attached tail and a head piece with a mane. The head piece had a bridle with small metal rings that clipped to a set of reigns and a metal mouthpiece called a bit. I admit that I felt sexy as this pony-human hybrid. I matched Cowboy, complete with his western hat and boots. With the bit between my teeth, communication was difficult. Cowboy placed a leather hood over my eyes, and I could only see the ground just in front of me.
To him, pony play was all about the power dynamic: the pony relinquishing control and offering him—the trainer—complete trust. He pony fetish me commands by pressing on pony fetish back, telling me to switch between a high-kneed walk and a trot. By pulling on the reigns, I knew when to stop or turn, and I could understand what he wanted even when we ventured into the dungeon where EDM was pumping at high volume.
All around me, I knew people were being bound and beaten. But I was brave enough to be led blind through a crowd and strong enough to submit to the unknown. As soon as we got back from the dungeon, we ran into Grace, and I switched to her bridle and bit to test out being a beast with her. Grace told me I could only communicate with her as a pony. She neighed, and I neighed back. If something was wrong, she told me to stamp my foot.
I tried it out. I liked this physical language. I wonder if I look pretty. Are you pleased with my performance? Stamping my foot, a negative one. Not speaking is a way of letting go, a way of further submitting. Are other people simply better at transforming into someone or something else? Maybe something in me is afraid to let go and be someone or something else. Maybe I simply like being me. But then, I met K. He showed up wearing a black latex suit, boots shaped like horse hooves, and a leather horse mask. For K, being a pony is transformative.
His insecurities disappear. Loud and funny. He asked me about what kind of hepace I was looking for. In BDSM, your mind can go—intentionally or otherwise—anywhere. During a kinky scene, you can feel so many things: pony fetish on, ecstatic, hyper aware, strong, angry, amused, supercharged, or blissfully zoned out. I admitted my fear of disappearing, of ceasing to be me. So he changed the subject and asked if I was hungry. We left to get tacos. Then we got drinks at a gay bar where he could still wear his tail.
With his permission, I picked it up and played with the end. It made him blush and stare at me with a grin. Kind of like ponies. I was worried what it would mean to be sexualized as an animal. Was it akin to bestiality? Did consent disappear? And yet, that night, when K and I slept together, Pony fetish gave myself permission to dig into the primal pony fetish of myself. I imagined two strong horses and their instincts to breed. Two animals attracted to each other, simply going at it.
I imagined two animals attracted to each other, simply going at it. I bit his lip and he groaned. He fucked me from behind. We nuzzled and touched forehe, and the animal parts of us and the human parts of us blended together.
He was a stallion, and I was a mare, and I wondered what I had been so worried about. Sex—good sex—activates us on so many levels. It can be sweet, intimate, and raw all at the same time. The next day, we went to see a movie. I asked him what that would look like, and he shrugged and grinned. So instead of an answer, I nuzzled his neck, and he whinnied back. United States. Type keyword s to search. Today's Top Stories. Getty Images. Related Story. This content is created and maintained by a third party, and imported onto this to help users provide their addresses.
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