I was on my way home from work one afternoon. I live on a two-lane road that winds slightly in and out through somewhat hilly forest land. As I drove along I became aware that the car in front of me seemed to be driving very erratically; weaving from side to side, slowing down and speeding up. I decided to stay behind. I watched them for a while, noticed the body language of the occupants, heads moving and arms waving, and decided they were in the middle of a big fight. Soon after, the driver pulled over, opened the passenger door and shoved her out the door, then threw her bag out, as I drove slowly by, obviously taking it all in. He scowled at me as I passed, slammed the doors shut, peeled rubber and took off, leaving the girl sitting on the side of the road. I slowed to the side and stopped, put it in reverse, and slowly backed down to her. "Hi, looks like you could use a little help." She just sat on the side of the road, looking at me like any girl would look at a strange man in a car.

"He'll come back," she said seriously. "He always does."

I waited a couple of minutes. "Hey, it's okay, I won't bite. I know I'm a stranger and this isn't a good idea for you, but what the heck, you can't stay here forever," and I gave her my best smile. A couple more minutes passed, then she smiled up at me and climbed in. "Toss your bag in the back. Well, does he do this to you often?"

"Often enough," she admitted, a little ruefully.

I threw a little gravel myself, and we talked for a while. "I just live up here a little ways, sort of on a hill and close enough to the road to see some parts of it. If he does come back and you're not there, what will he do?"

"I'm not sure. Probably go to the sheriff." And she gave me a strange little smile. I turned off the road and started up a gravel driveway. My home sits on the edge of a large, flat field and is up above the road a ways. When we got there we unloaded, then sat on my front porch a while, and sure enough, pretty soon we saw his car coming back up the road, driving slow and looking around where she had been. He didn't find her, so he spun around and drove away fast.

We went into the house and I made a pot of coffee and we had a bite to eat, and talked. It was about half an hour before I saw the black car with the shield on the door coming up the driveway. "Go out in the kitchen and hide for a minute, Bonnie. My friend the sheriff is on his way up."

"I might have known," she giggled, as she headed into the next room.

A couple minutes later the knock came at the door. I answered it. "Hi, Jim. C'mon in. How y'doin' anyway? I've got fresh coffee."

"Well, pretty good." He came in for a cup of coffee, then went on, "You know just about everything that happens on this highway. I've got a young man rampaging around my office who says he's looking for a lost girl out here." We talked for a while and he said that the young man admitted they had had a fight and that he had left her out there on purpose. I asked what the girl looked like, and he said, "About 5-7, blonde, mid-20's. . . ."

"What's her name?"

"Her name is 'Bonnie'. She's out of the Mid-west, from a nice family. . ."

"Would she look something like this, maybe? Come on out, Bonnie."

"Yeah, probably something like her," the sheriff admitted. "I kinda figured you might know something about it." He shook hands with Bonnie. "Nice to meet you."

We talked about the situation for a while, and Bonnie explained her side, and we asked the sheriff, "So what if you don't find her for a few days?" Ultimately we agreed on a story, and the sheriff left to carry the bad news back to her 'lover boy'.

Bonnie watched him go, and we laughed and talked a bit more, and then she said, "So, Bryan, what do you do anyway?"

"Well, I'm in sales. I sell building supplies all around here within a radius of probably about 100 miles. But when I'm not doing that, and on weekends, I raise ponies."

"You raise ponies?!" she asked, incredulously She walked around from window to window looking out, finally stopped with one knee on the couch looking out front. "I don't see any fences, corrals, or paddocks. You've got a small shed out here, but nothing like a barn, or hay. How the heck do you raise. . . . oh, oh! Wha-what are you doing. . . .?"

As she had been talking I had come up behind her and slipped a handcuff onto one wrist. Then, before she could quite react, I pulled her arms together behind her and cuffed the other one. "Well, Sweetie, welcome to my world. Here you are, alone in a strange place with a strange man, and we have at least a few days together. Let me show you my ponies." I had her sit down in one of my kitchen chairs, reached into a nearby cabinet, and took out a rubber bit. It was a straight bit, about 3/4" thick and 4 inches long, with rings on each end and a strap. "Open," I ordered, and she obediently opened her mouth. "This is a training bit," I explained. "There are many types of bits, but this is a good starter."

"Y-y-uu-m-m-n-f-f-I-I-p-p-p-f-f-f-n-n-y-y??" she tried to say.

"Yes, I mean YOU are the pony. Now, hush!! The idea of this bit is to keep you quiet. If you can't do that, I can make it so you will!" She muttered a muffled something, but basically stayed quiet as I pulled the bit in deep between her teeth and buckled it behind her head. "Now, one more thing about pony-girls is, they have to be naked. Hope you don't mind." I stood her up and began to undress her, as her eyes grew big as saucers and she moaned something unintelligible, but she didn't actually resist. What could she do? Her body was gorgeous, with a full, hour-glass figure, full breasts and perfect legs.

Nor did she seem to be particularly self-conscious about the situation, either, standing straight and tall.

Within a half-hour I had incorporated the bit into the rest of the bridle, along with a harness that outlined her beautiful breasts and included a nice crotch strap. A wide collar, complete with a large ring on the front through which was threaded a thin strap about 30 inches long, was added to the harness. A leather cuff was attached to each end of the strap, which was drawn back over each shoulder, and wrists, freed from metal cuffs, were crossed behind her back and secured. Her big eyes watched me constantly, but except for a small moan occasionally, she didn't try to resist any of the straps and cuffs.

I let her keep her shoes on as we walked past a large mirror; stopped so she could see herself, then proceeded on out to the shed she had mentioned. Inside the shed we found a few pony carts, and her eyes grew even bigger. One, called a trotting gig, was a lightweight two wheeler with a nice padded seat and a small, canvas, fold-back top. Two poles extended out front about six feet, at the ends of which dumb-bell shaped metal swivels were attached. These matched up with sockets on her sides, part of the heavy, leather belt which was a part of the harness. I stood her between the two poles, stepped betweeen them myself, lifted them up and secured them into the sockets. I attached reins onto her bit, sat down, and shook them out. I instructed her as to left and right turns, and stop, and then a 'go' with the help of a little sting from a buggy whip I kept on the gig. She squealed and jerked, then leaned into the harness and started pulling, moving out of the shed through the big, open door, and into the sunlight. It was a beautiful late afternoon, she was a beautiful pony-girl, and after a slightly hesitant start, we had a beautiful ride. We left the shed at a nice walk and when she had become a little more accustomed to the weight and the pulling, I touched her once more with the buggy whip across her flank. She squealed again, then increased to a nice jog, which I made her maintain for quite a while, across and all around the field behind the house. When we returned to the house she was puffing and sweating, and as we un-harnessed her, she laughed delightedly. I walked her up and down the porch a few times to cool her down, and then we went inside. We sat down and Bonnie had a cold drink while I had my usual cup of coffee, and we talked about the whole experience, which, as it turned, Bonnie had not dis-liked at all. In fact, she rather enjoyed it, and I know I certainly enjoyed her.

Later she still did not seem a bit self-conscious as we sat on the sofa watching TV. I had a casual arm around her, and was idly toying with a luscious breast. "From some of your experiences, I would suppose you might know how to give a little head." She looked up at me quickly, grinned shyly, and nodded, turning a little pink. "How about 69?" She turned a bit more pink, giggled, and agreed in a barely audible voice. "Well, how about going to bed?" And within another minute, that's where we were. I was busily exploring her soft, furry honey-pot, and she was doing marvelous things to me. We completely forgot about the other boy friend, ponies, - everything but each other; we just cuddled for the rest of the night.