Jesus, I hate these “ballet boots,” or tip-toe boots, or whatever you call them. They are hell to wear, and yet they are my everyday footwear. When laced up tight, they hold my feet pointing straight down so that if it weren’t for the little ledge in the inner sole just behind the ball of my foot that provides something to rest my weight on, I would be indeed standing on the tips of my toes. And the boots’ stiletto heels, six or seven inches in height, hold our heels so high that we would be standing on our toes if it weren’t for the ledge.
The heels are so high, though, that the distance between where they touch the ground and where the tips of our boots touch is only about three inches. This means that our balance is always in jeopardy and our ankles are under continual stress. But we ponygirls wear them nearly all of the time and must accept the discomfort they cause. And since we are hobbled most of the time by six-inch ankle-chains, the boots make life even more difficult.
Of course, the boots are not the only thing that we must endure. No ponygirl’s arms are allowed to be free, so only on rare occasions are our arms not restrained behind us in tight-laced arm-sheathes that squeeze our forearms together from elbows down to wrists, wrenching our shoulders back harshly. And the “prayer-glove” that secures our hands palm-to-palm below our wrists make it impossible to do anything with our fingers. A ring at the tip of this glove, further, makes it easy for a guard to fix a short chain from it down to our ankle-chain or to use it as a kind of leash.
We usually wear posture-collars as well, which make us hold our heads high and prevent any bending or turning. We are thus forced to focus on what lies some feet in front of us, and the side-blinders that are attached to our bridles narrow our vision even more. The bridles also hold our bits firmly in place, keeping us silent despite our misery. No wonder, then, that we are totally dependent on our reins or leashes to direct our clumsy steps.
But this is not all we must endure. A thick leather corselet is part of our daily costume, drawn in until we are truly hour-class waisted, and its quarter-cups force us to thrust our well-shaped breasts out before us in brazen display. The corselet serves also to anchor a crotch-strap between our legs, often pulled so tight by our sadistic guards that its pressure provides a continuing, tantalizing mixture of arousal and pain.
When you add the various rings that have been secured through the most tender parts of our bodies, you can see why we are totally under the control of our guards and our owners. A nose-ring is bad enough, but if we must also wear rings anchored deep in our breasts and more of them fixed through our love-lips, you can see that there is simply no way to disobey the commands that are given us. A leash secured to any (or all!) of these rings brings swift, eager response to any command, no matter how difficult or shameful it may be. And of course, the whip awaits any failure to obey.
Restrained in this way throughout the day, we pull sulkies or carriages or carts as long as there is reason for us to do so. To increase our torment further, we are usually fixed astride the vehicle’s drawbar rather than have two drawbars attached to the sides of our corselets or, sometimes, the two drawbars will be chained to our wrists. In this case, however, our arms must be freed from their sheathes, and the guards rarely like to go through the trouble. With a strap pulled up tightly from the drawbar to both the front and the back of our corselets, the drawbar can rub and chafe us between our legs until the combination of pain and arousal sends us into a crazed heaven of excitement. But there is always the whip to bring us back to agonizing reality.
Still, it is the boots that bother me most. They obviously add to our brutal enslavement, and certainly to our attractiveness as well, but I continue to hate them. Forcing a healthy young woman to walk in them while pulling a vehicle, especially when so closely hobbled, seems to me an exercise in sheer cruelty. There is no need for our owners to insist on such bondage, but they do. Perhaps the sight of a lovely girl in such humiliating restraint gives them some sort of pleasure that I cannot understand. All I know is that we ponygirls are bondaged in this way and cannot escape it. If only I did not have to wear the boots!
END