I watched form where I stood, reined to the door handle of the oven as Sir Clayton led my daughter, Strawberry up to her room. He would “tuck” her in still in full tack with the reins at the headboard and a strap from her hobbles to the foot of her bed. I was only slightly concerned for what was being done to her.

I trusted Sir Clayton and had known him for years before I was stolen by Sir Jonathon Cobb from the Queen’s stable 16 years ago. Of course he was the Queen’s head of security and had searched for Strawberry and I for years now. But I also knew he wore two hats because he was also the Queen’s Master of Mares and in charge of the overall staffing and operations.

He had been granted that position; Master of the Queen’s Mare after Strawberry’s father, Sir Jonathon Cobb, the former Master of the Queen’s Mares stole us. I never would have thought that after breeding and give a happy daughter to raise in the stables as a new mare, that he would so enamored over us that he would steal us. But he did. And now poor Strawberry would have to pay for his mistake in the shock she was in for when confronted with what should have been her life.

I know what kind of shock it had been for me, to take me away from my job as a Queen’s mare. To find myself somewhere like this suburb where I had to act like an ordinary housewife. Made all the much harder by the fact that Sir Jonathon had never married me, either here or back home at Saint Barts.

I could hear Sir Clayton in my daughter’s room and then his steps as he went down the hall to the master bedroom that I had slept in with Sir Jonathon. It wasn’t a stall in a stable, so I never really thought of it as “my” room. It was there Sir Jonathon mounted me in proper mare fashion, from behind while I either bent over or knelt on the bed. Then he fall asleep and since I had no where else to sleep I’d lay down next to him. For 16 years we played out the fiction of being a married couple.

Sir Clayton came down the stairs and he had my own harness, bridle and bit and my tail. The tail was a egg shaped ivory insert that would be inserted in my anus and with a short stem would allow real horse hair to hand down, forming a simulation of a mare’s tail. The tail would brush the backs of my calves whenever I walked or moved around.

“Nugget,” Sir Clayton said, “these were just where you said they’d be. Let’s get you changed before the presentation.”

It didn’t take long. We weren’t acting out a scene for Strawberry to see. I was just a mare being put into her own tack instead of the stiffer stuff Sir Clayton had brought for the show we had put on.

The rein was untied and the bridle and bit removed and then the wrist cuffs and harness unlocked. As if I would need to be locked into a harness and be “forced” to be bridled and bitted. But it did seem to impress my daughter I doubted that she had really begun to submit, much as I hoped she would. It all would easier if she did. Sir Clayton left the hobbles on my ankles as he re-tacked me in my own gear.

My harness, through years of use and care was much softer, like butter soft suede by now. He waist belt was a foot wide and fasten with three buckles behind my back. The shoulder straps went from the waist belt and crossed between my breasts and buckled firmly just below the opposite shoulder blades. I rotated my shoulders getting readjusted to my harness. It felt so good to have someone putting me into again. My whole body was alive and aware. Even though Sir Clayton was a master at tacking a mare and did in a totally workman like fashion, no intention displayed, like some who would take advantage to feel a mare up, I still was reacting with an inner sexual intensity I hadn’t felt in years.

When you’re a mare it is part of the pleasure of being a mare as you put into tack. I’ve never, by the way, thought of myself as a “human” mare or that other term that had just emerged back then in 1962, ponygirl. On Saint Barts we were always just called mares. The island had now actual equines and we filled the void nicely.

“Oh does it feel so far, Nugget?” Sir Clayton asked.

“Exquisite,” I answered. “I can feel myself getting ready to go home.”

“Well, you will go home sooner than you probably think you will.” But he didn’t explain anything further as he held up the egg for my tail. “Bend over Nugget,” he ordered but I was bending forward at my waist before he finished the command. He was treating me like a mare and I was responding the way I should. He commanded and I obeyed. I felt him slide the egg between my pubic lips and knew he was using vaginal lubrication for prep to my anal insert. As much as possible natural lubrication was always used.

I was nearly to a climax, in spite of myself when he pulled the egg out a repositioned it at my rectum. The smaller end pressed against my anus and was firmly pushing forward. I pushed back and made myself open up. I felt such a thrill as my tighter anal ring let the egg pass up inside me. I could feel Sir Clayton as he check to make sure it was all the way in.

“There are new tails for the mares now,” he told me as I moved myself slight to get as much motion from the insert as I could.

“Better design then the egg, sir?” I asked.

“No more inserts,” he said and I felt a little sadness at the thought of losing this part of my tacking up ritual. It is a ritual and for me almost a religious rite. My religion is being a mare and being between the shafts of a wagon or cart. It has been all I wanted since childhood, growing up in the stables of Sir James with my mother. A King’s man, he was till alive back then, saw me on a visit when I was just harnessed for the first time in a wagon hitch and bought me for the King Samuel’s barn stable. I was just a draft mare at that point pulling a wagon in harness with seven other mares.

Later, after her father died, Queen Pamela notice me and my harness mate, Cherry and shifted us to her mares stable where we began to pulling couches for the Queen and royal family and their guest. Cherry and I were stall mates of course. Later we would petition the Stable Mistress, Lady Karen, to allow us to be mated as mares. It’s like being married but it’s not that either. When mares mate and only the Queen herself can dissolve our union it’s a bond that is not like traditional marriage at all, since its vows between to mares. We knelt before the Queen that day and promised to remain together in the same stall, wherever that might be, for the rest of our lives. We promised to help each other through all the problems that being a mare might mean.

I procession is then made as the Queen herself leads the newly mated mares back to their stall and they are left there alone together. It was a magic moment as we removed each others tack. But the bridle and bit stayed on until the last. Our first kiss as mated mares has to be with our bits in our mouths. We drew our heads together and I stuck out my tongue so the ball stud in my tongue touched Cherry’s. We tongue touched each other. All mare have heir tongues pierced and a stud the ends in a small ball is inserted. The ball works with our bits to reduce our speech while bridled. Forming words becomes very hard and marespeak becomes our chosen way to talk with each other.

My girth or cinch strap was being pulled up between my legs and positioned so the ring would let my tail drop through. “Why no inserts, sir?” I asked. I enjoyed the pull deeply between my pubic lips, after they had been parted to let my labia rings and tags stick out to each side. Every mare has two rings, on in each outer labia and two tags. One tag is to show the date of official maredom, that first time you are recognized as a mare. The other disc or tag shows your current owner.

“The Queen has discovered that actual tail can be created. It’s a technique used for bald men called hair plugs. Small pugs of hair from a head can be transplanted and grown at other place on the skin. In the case of some of her mares the plugs are clustered at the base of the spine between the Y of the buttocks cheeks and becomes enough hair to become a real tail. I’m sure you’ll be inline for one soon.”

“Soon?” I asked hopefully.

“Vary soon, Nugget. Let’s get the bridle, bit and reins on.” I eagerly opened my mouth so he could push the bit back firmly between my teeth and I bit down to hold it in place while the bridle straps were fastened. Sir Clayton had a wonderfully firm hand when he buckled straps to my body. I was getting more excited and more aroused by the minute. I was becoming normal again. My normal! My true self, the human mare Nugget was being reborn. It was my rightful place in the world, in my world.

The reins were snapped to the bit on each side of my mouth and he tested that wonderful control the reins gave over me. My head was moved around and up and down and side to side. My heart sang. I was bitted again and under control of a master. How absolutely, totally fulfilled I felt at the moment. Of course the gender of the person that held the reins didn’t matter. I would have felt equally thrilled at a mistress’ control too.

A mare is a very sexual, exciting and sexy state of being, but actual sex and sexual activities, while nice is secondary to the thrill of being controlled. Only in harness, bridled and bitted can the mare, the women that is a human mare, achieve the submission she craves. I’ll admit that I crave that total submission. I’m a masochist enough to not only except it but any punishments or hardships that go with it. The exhaustion that comes from a day of pulling very heavy loads in a wagon. The pride you feel when pulling a carriage and they way you want to be seen by the passengers behind you.

The last item was my shoes.

Not the fantasy high heels and clip-clop boots. These were real shoes for mares. Soft glove leather uppers that came up to a support strap at the ankle and a ribbed section, for traction, on the ball of the foot of the rubber sole. The sole came back to form a one inch wedge under my heels, that gave my foot had just a slight arch that would speed up letting me get to the balls of my feet in order to run. It also gave enough support when walking to keep my arches from aching.

I was done finally. Harnessed, bridled, bitted, reined and shod. Sir Clayton held my reins firmly and I stood under his control as he used the kitchen wall phone to make a call. “She’s ready,” he said tersely and hung up. “Come along, girl,” he said as I was forced to; gladly of course, walk with him to the front door.

Lady Karen opened the front door and stood to the side to hold it open as Queen Pamela came in. Sir Clayton bowed and I dropped to my knees with my forehead pressed to the carpet at her feet. “Queen Pamela, I give you your mare, Nugget,” Sir Clayton said in the proper presentation ritual. I was being returned to my owner. My heart skipped and beat and I drew in my breath.

I made a short whinny, a long whinny and a neigh as I knelt there. It was marespeak for “Your Majesty!”

I could feel the reins move as they were passed to the queen. “The Queen’s Mare my arise,” Queen Pamela said. Before I could actually get up she was gently pulling up with the reins on the bit in my mouth. I wanted to whinny in joy. Even though I was certain that I would be punished for my absence. My fault or not I was certain some punishment would come.

But she had called me THE queen’s mare. The queen always has two mares that are designated the Queen’s mare. Cherry and I had been her tandem team to pull her carriage when she needed to have someone else with her. If the queen rode alone in a smaller carriage or cart one of would be the mare and the turns were rotated carefully by the Stable Mistress, Lady Karen. If the queen wanted her daughter to go with her, often we would each harnessed to one passenger cart and the Queen and Princess would rive us together side by side. If the Queen needed a bigger carriage then we were the lead, front mares for four, six or eight mare teams.

But the fact that she had called me THE queen’s mare surprised me completely. I expected that by now the Queen would have had to new Queen’s mare to replace me. Her hand on my reins continued to pull me up until I found myself looking at her face. This was something else I had not expected. As a mare I usually stand with my eyes does and careful not to look up at the Queen or any other noble of free person. It’s just not done.

But Queen Pamela looked deeply into my eyes as we stood there. “Nugget,” was all she said and the she kissed my cheek. I couldn’t have more surprised. “We have missed you for all these years and now you’re back on rein where you should be.

I whinnied and stepped with my right foot, twice. “Yes, oh yes,” is what I was saying in marespeak. The queen nodded. “You are surprised that you are still The Queen’s mare?” she asked. I whinnied yes again. “When you were stolen from me I vowed not to have another mare replace you. You are The Queen’s Mare and Cherry waits your return. You stall mate has mourned you for years and was delighted when we told her. She said to tell you that a half filled stall is a lonely place. She has not mated to another mare while were gone.”

My God! I could hardly believe what I had just heard. I was still mated to Cherry and still the Queen’s Mare. My head spun. Still gazing into the queen’s eye I softly neighed and stepped with my left foot lightly. It was a question. Queen Pamela and Lady Karen are fluent in marespeak. They have been for years. “Who teams with Cherry?” she repeated in English. “A penitent mare, Smokedancer.”

There are four types of penitent mares. A woman convicted felon who has reduced to being a mare. A visitor to the island that wants to try and be mare until she goes home (getting more and more common). A mare forced by her owner to do some sort of penance for a sin that owner feels she committed. And last a free woman who feels guilt within herself for something she has done and wants to atone for her guilt. The last one can be arranged as a temporary term or life term depending on how deeply the person feels when she elects to become a penitent mare. I’ve know free women that began with a term of service and have remained mares, switching over to full service complete with titles and deed and ownership. Sometimes they even ended being auctioned off.

Most auctions are daylight auctions outside were the new mare can be viewed best in bright sunlight. As the queen’s mares Cherry and I have been to many of these, since often the queen would know the new mare. The Queen’s carriage would be fist in line as we watched the auction. Once the queen even asked me if she thought she should bid on former friend of her’s that was now a mare. She did and sometimes the queen has used that mare, Sunburst for a cart ride.

“When news of you theft reached everyone,” Lady Karen said, “Sir Jonathan’s wife, Lady Linda took on his guilt and has been the mare Smokedancer for the last 16 years.”

My head reeled around and I felt suddenly feint at hearing this. The queen caught me and Sir Clayton and Lady Karen each took an arm. I was half carried back into the kitchen and sat back down in the chair were I had been eating my lonely dinner. My reins were removed and Sir Clayton fastened them to the back of my harness at the shoulder straps to hold me in the seat. The queen held my hands and rubbed them and Lady Karen got a glass of water. It was dribbled into my mouth around the bit. I regained my focus and lifted my head.

“Remove Nugget’s bridle and bit,” the Queen said as she continues to hold my hands. Lady Karen unbuckled my bridle and I, reluctantly allowed the bit to leave my mouth. I didn’t want to have the bridle and bit removed. I was afraid that if I was taken out of tack my chance to go home would go away and somehow I would have to go on being Brenda Cobb a pretend housewife. I didn’t want to face that.

“Now tell, Nugget, what’s was wrong about the news of Smokedancer. Many women have been penitent mares.”

“Oh, you’re Majesty,” I said and then began to cry and buried my face in my hands.

Queen Pamela picked up a cloth napkin from the kitchen table and began to wipe my tears. “What is this terrible news?”

“You’re Highness,” I began.

“When Sir Jonathan stole me from your stable I was drugged. It was the only way I would have gone. I didn’t want to leave. Not at all! I wanted to see my daughter raised to be the Princess’ mare and take a place in harness beside me.”

“That’s what I thought all along,” the queen said. “That’s why you’re still The Queen’s Mare.”

“Yes, you’re Majesty,” I told her. “But we came here after a long boat ride and a long train ride and then driven in a car. Sir Jonathan had money and forged papers. He called me his wife yet mounted me as a mare. I didn’t know what this place was or where we were. I wanted to go home. It was all I cold think of. Every moment since I’ve gotten here I wanted to go home.

“But I simply didn’t know how. Here I was, being forced to wear clothes and pretend I was a wife and housewife. It was awful. I cried and cried and felt so lonely. It took me three year before I would answer a telephone. I didn’t know what it was. I tried to write you but didn’t know what to do with the letters. What address or how to send a letter.

“When Jane-Strawberry went to school I had to learn to do things. Call on the phone if a doctor was needed when she was sick. Write note for school when she stayed home sick. I had to wear clothes and go out shopping. I still don’t know why a woman can’t go naked if she wants too. But by then years had passed. I felt that if I called then Sir Jonathan would be arrested and take back to stand trial.”

“He would have for sure,” Sir Clayton said.

I nodded. “Only Lady Linda had been very caring and kind to me. All during my mating by Sir Jonathan she would come and watch when I was put into the mating frame, on blocks so he could mount me. He was very careful to just use my vagina and plant his seed. No touching and no contact except for his penis inside of me. It’s was all done very properly. I was bred until I became pregnant.”

“Yes, I know,” The Queen said. “I ordered your breeding. Yours and Cherry’s both. I wanted my mares to have daughters and you bother did. I was very proud of you.”

“Thank you again, your Majesty. But Lady Linda would also come around to check on how I was doing. It was as if the child I carried was more important to her then to Sir Jonathan. He was seldom on hand. When I took ill toward the end Lady Linda was there everyday, helping me get through it all. I grew to appreciate her and was very fond of her.

“When I was stolen it was so out of the blue. Sir Jonathan didn’t seem to really want or care for me. He wanted Strawberry. That was his only concern. His “Daddy’s little girl” was all that mattered. I was still a mare to him but not A MARE if you know what I mean.” Everyone nodded.

“So when I finally figured out how to try and contact you I was worried that bring Sir Jonathan back in disgrace would lose not only him his title but that Lady Linda would lose her place too. There lands would be forfeit for crimes against the crown.”

“Well, you were right about that,” the queen agreed. I nodded.

“I didn’t want anything to happen to Lady Linda just because of what Sir Jonathan had done. For her sake I didn’t even try to go home.” I broke down crying again. “I stayed here just because I thought she’d be hurt. And now she’s been a penitent mare all these years! All these years, my daughter and I could have been home where we should have been all along. All these years wasted. And now poor Strawberry will have to go through the roughest transition of anyone ever went through. She doesn’t really want to become a mare.” Again I cried.

“Nugget,” the queen said, “those years are gone and no one can replace them for you. But you’ve got to get hold of yourself, darling. We have thing to do.” She reached out and wiped more of my tears away. I found myself trying hard to choke back the tear. He queen reached out to cup my left breast and I felt some milk ooze out. “Oh, my, you’re still giving milk, Nugget?”

“Yes, you’re Majesty. I have a double pump in the left kitchen cabinet on the top shelf. I’ve had to hide it from Strawberry.”

“Well, that’s another worry you can put behind you now. Sir Clayton, get the pump down and give it to Lady Karen to use on Nugget.”

Sir Clayton was tall enough to easily reach the pump and a few moment later the cup were on my breasts and Lady Karen began to drew milk away from my engorged teats. I watched as my nipples were sucked in hard and then the milk poured down into twin nursing bottle. I signed in relief. From now on it would be done to me every day again.

“What more do we have to do, you’re Majesty?” I asked.

“Get out of here, Nugget. Are you ready to leave? Is there anything here you want?”

“Just my daughter,” I answered.

“Oh, you’ll have her,” the queen said. “There’s a limousine waiting outside, the one that brought Lady Linda and I. It’s waiting to takes us all to O’Hare airport and there my private plane is waiting to take us home. We are set to go as soon as we can. We should be home by noon tomorrow.”

“But, the lawyers are coming tomorrow? What about the documents that have to be signed.”

Her Majesty laughed with that full rich contralto voice. “Nugget, dear, there are no papers that require you or Strawberry. That was a ruse to lead people away from my true plans. Our lawyers have already filed court papers and taken care of everything. You and your daughter have no legal standing here, you are legally my slaves, though we get around the U.N. and maintain our peace treaties by referring to you as human mares, and it sounds better that way. They think you’re farm workers, which isn’t too far from the truth. Since you can’t own anything here there’s nothing for you to do. We can be gone just as fast as everything is over in this house. Lady Linda is heir to anything Sir Jonathan owned but he didn’t own you.

“When your breasts are empty we take you and Strawberry and this milk you just gave us and go to the plane. Is there something here you might want?”

I hadn’t expected this sudden a departure. “Some of my clothes maybe or Strawberry’s clothes maybe but…we won’t need them, will we?”

“I didn’t think you liked being forced to wear clothes,” Lady Linda said.

“Lady Linda, I didn’t like being forced to wear them. But I’ve learned to like the feel of nylons on my legs and nylon slips and nightgowns and things like that. If I could have some I might wear them when I’m not harnessed, if the Queen permits.”

“Well,” Queen Pamela said with a chuckle in her voice. “There’s a new idea for you. Maybe the utter wealthy that use our Island as a legal playground would enjoy the sight of our mare’s in costumes. A corset and stockings perhaps? High heeled boots or shoes? I wonder. But that can be for later.”

“You’re Majesty?” I asked.

“Yes, Nugget.”

“What about Strawberry’s training? I’m really worried about her. I can’t see how to lessen the shock of all this.”

“Nor can I,” the queen said. “Nugget, we, the royal we, meaning everyone in my estate from the lowest ground’s keeper and stable hand to the highest noble in my court will be enlisted to help you daughter as much as we can. Believed me, we know what trauma she faces. But if it’s any consolation she is going to be trained right alongside another penitent mare.”

“Another penitent mare,” I said. “Do I know her?”

“Me,” said Lady Linda quietly.

“You, Lady, But why?”

“To atone for my brothers crimes, just as Smokedancer is already doing. My daughter, Lady Peggy is ready to become the Queen’s new Stable Mistress and I will be stripped of all title and one of Lady Peggy’s first duties will be to supervise the training of both me and you daughter, together. Tomorrow I will be stall mate to Strawberry.”

I didn’t know what to say. The idea that my Stable Mistress would be a mare from now on was hard to digest that soon. So many changes were going on I was having a hard time keeping up with the concepts.

“I’m losing noble women in my court to their becoming mares. I’m beginning to think there’s something about being a mare that appeals to us. Women I mean. What is the mystique that is there about mares? Do you know, Nugget?”

“A simple life, you’re Majesty. Nothing complicated. We are put in harness and pull wagons or carriage. It’s so basic and work to perform. And so total in its submission. It becomes an erotic act of submission. Similar to a noble of France going to the guillotine and Joan of Arc being burned at the stake. Women are born and bred by nature to be mothers. Mothers submit their bodies so that the next generation can be born. We give our whole bodies to that effort and our reward is even more sacrifice as the child grows up. So being a mare is a total sacrifice but it’s a freedom to. Once done there no turning back. No need to question or wonder how good you are at a job or task. A mare has to be good, whether she wants to or not.”

“Did you hear that, Lady Linda?” the queen asked. “Have you ever heard it put better?”

“No, you’re Majesty,” Lady Linda said. “it could explain to us why rich women from all over the world come to us to be temporary, contract mares. If we could tap that idea our economy could grow.”

“You might be right,” The queen agreed. “But do we want too many more people coming to our sanctuary?”

Lady Linda and Sir Clayton just shrugged.

“Well we can talk of all this back home. Lady Linda put Nugget back in bridle and bit and reins. Sir Clayton fetch Strawberry form the bedroom. We have a plane to catch.”

“Yes, your highness,” both nobles echoed.

As Lady Linda brought the bridle and bit to me I asked her, “Have you picked out a mare’s name yet?” It was the last thing I could ask as I gladly, again, opened my mouth and once enjoyed the feel of he bit and bridle.

“I have asked to be called Stormcloud. Stormcloud and Strawberry in the same stall has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

I nodded and then whinnied.

She smiled broadly at me and whinnied back.