From Girl to Pony by N.Y.C.

From John Willie's Bizarre

I was returning from a short business trip to England; the boat was crowded, the passenger list unusually dull, with the exception of Bill Parsons and his wife, Evelyn.

I remember Bill and Eve very clearly and for a number of reasons. For one thing, they were most amusing travelling companions, and for another, their manner towards each other was very odd. They were devoted, yes: probably the most devoted couple I've ever met. But there was something else.

Eve was one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen: rather on the tall side, blonde with a lovely face and an absolutely perfect figure. Bill was simply nondescript: medium height, well enough built, not ugly, but certainly not good looking. In every way he was "just another man."

By herself Eve was as opinionated as any other beauty, but when Bill was around she deferred to his wishes in everything, never questioning his judgment and obeying his slightest whim.

Bill was just the other way. When matters didn't have any bearing on Eve, or when she wasn't around, he was pleasantly free-and-easy-going. But where Eve was concerned, he was as crisp and definite as the master of an old-time windjammer.

I was determined to find out how this ill-assorted pair came together. It's a curious fact, but people on shipboard will tell you things they'd never dream of telling you on dry land, and I was fairly confident that if I kept my patience and posed as a good enough listener, the story would come out sooner or later. Sure enough it did. The last night out, after the usual excitement of packing was over, Bill and I got together in the back of the smoking room over a drink or two. He had told Eve that she'd better get some sleep, and, as usual, she obeyed orders. She bade me a very charming good night, and trotted off like an obedient child.

After the second drink, Bill turned to me suddenly and said: "You're wondering how Eve and I ever came to get married, aren't you?"

Rather surprised at the accuracy and unexpectedness of his accusation, I admitted I was, and hinted that I thought our fellow-passengers were too. Bill grinned.

The whole thing began (he said) a year ago last June. I had taken a house about twenty miles from London for a month or two of complete rest. I chose that particular house because it was off the main roads, which meant that it was quiet, and because of the huge secluded garden. After months of living in the middle of New York City, a little greenery is welcome. My house and the one next to it were the only ones for half a mile or more all around, and even they were separated, except for a few yards near the road, where a rather broken-down wire fence and a thinnish hedge served as a dividing line.

I'd only been there a couple of days when I began seeing Eve — Evelyn March, as she was then, of course — and while I say I saw her, it certainly wasn't any more than that. Eve definitely didn't have any ideas about making friends with the young man next door.

So, such glimpses as I got were when she went out for a run in the car, or occasionally when she played with her dog in the garden.

Naturally, I began making plans as to how I could start acquaintance, but for two or three weeks I got nowhere. Then one afternoon I was sitting under a tree reading a book. It was a very unusual and interesting book, dealing with the use of Human Ponies in different parts of the world. I was deep in a chapter on the Turkish use of Russian girls to pull their carriages in the Middle Ages, when I heard Eve's voice. She was romping with her dog near the hedge between the two gardens, and calling back to her aunt, who must have been sitting somewhere near the house. Apparently I'd "tuned in" on the middle of a conversation, so to speak, because I heard Eve say: "Who, him? I wouldn't marry him if he was the last man in the whole world! . . . Why ? Because he fawns on me, that's why! Life with him'd be like being married to a spaniel! I won't marry any man who isn't man enough to show me who's master. . . . Jack's just like all the others. He wants to put me on a pedestal and worship me like — like a little goddess, or something. I want a master or nothing."

There was some more after that, but I couldn't pick it up as she moved out of range of hearing. But it was enough. Eve wanted a master, did she! Anything to oblige, I thought. If it's a master she wants, she'll get one. The book I'd been reading on Human Ponies started a very interesting train of thought, so I put it down to do some very heavy planning.

The next day I drove up to London, went to two or three shops, bought several things, ordered some others to be made, and then came back. Most of the stuff I needed I was able to make myself, having always been handy with tools, which was useful as I didn't know where I could have gone to get them made.

One of the things I brought back was a special bag of dog biscuits, because the first part of my plan was to make friends with Eve's dog, Cocktail, an intelligent and amiable animal of confused ancestry.

Everything went smoothly. Whenever Eve wasn't around, I made a habit of inviting the dog over to play; then after a while I would wander carelessly into the old stable at the back of my house and give away a little light refreshment. In no time, Cocktail caught on to the fact that a trip to the stables meant biscuits, so once he and I were headed in that direction, no power on earth could turn him aside.

I think it was on the third day that Eve decided to have another game with Cocktail. It was a gorgeous day and at about three in the afternoon she appeared in the garden. She always dressed to display her figure to advantage and that afternoon she had on her usual play-outfit, which consisted of a crisp white linen shirt, cut to fit closely and display her very shapely bust; a pair of very short-legged shorts to match, which fitted like a coat of paint; opera-length silk stockings of a sun-burn tint; a pair of round-toed, low-cut, lace-up brown shoes with four-and-a-half inch heels; and a narrow brown leather belt pulled tight about her slender waist.

I watched from the seclusion of the trees. She ran about with amazing ease, considering the height of her heels, and I waited till I saw that Cocktail was beginning to tire of chasing the ball that Eve was throwing for him. Then I called him, very softly. His mistress didn't hear; but he did. Immediately his thoughts turned to biscuits. Without the least hesitation, he wriggled under the fence, through a hole in the hedge and came running over to me. Eve, of course, came over to see what was going on. When she saw her dog jumping about and making a great fuss over a stranger, she called to him. He paid no attention. She called again and whistled. Still no answer; Cocktail was thinking of biscuits, and biscuits alone. Finally, she summoned her most charming smile and called: "I say! Would you mind letting me have my dog back?"

The whole success of my plan depended on my getting her to follow me, so I looked her up and down rather contemptuously and then without a word, I turned and started slowly for the stables. Cocktail, seeing that I was headed in the right direction, started barking happily as well as jumping up and down. Of course, I couldn't spoil things by looking around, but I heard Eve give a gasp of angry amazement. She called Cocktail again once or twice, without effect. Then I heard the sound I had been waiting for. Eve was thrusting her way through the hedge over the remains of the fence.

As I heard her footsteps on the gravel behind me, I walked a little faster, for I didn't want her to catch up till we were inside the stable. She tried once more to attract my attention, but I took no notice. And so we made our way, Cocktail frisking along beside me and Eve half running and half walking along behind, trying to catch up.

She was right behind me as I stepped into the stable. I walked through it into the harness room, where, as soon as she was inside, I turned quickly and locked the door. At that moment I think her eyes were actually throwing sparks, she was so angry; but she tried to keep her voice calm as she asked: ''What is this? Some sort of game ?"

I still wasn't saying anything. I opened a drawer, got a handful of the biscuits, tossed them out of the open window, and picking the dog up, lowered him after them. Then I closed the window and locked it.

There were two short leather straps hanging ready on a hook, so taking them in my hand, I walked back towards Eve. By now she was so angry that she doubled her hand into a fist and took a long swing at me, as hard as she could. Luckily it wasn't a very scientific blow and I had no trouble stepping back out of range. The force behind the blow turned her half around, and before she could recover her balance, I spun her around the rest of the way so that she was facing away from me. Before she knew what was happening, I brought her wrists together behind her and strapped them there. Then I turned her back to face me again.

She was so surprised that a man should dare to lay a hand on her, that for the moment she just stared. Then her anger getting the upper hand again, she began to tug at her bound wrists. She launched a kick at my shin, but as that was obviously the next move, I succeeded in side-stepping it, and in a second had the other strap buckled about her two slim ankles. Then I asked pleasantly: "You remember what you said a few days ago?"

"I don't care what I said a few days ago! Unfasten these straps and open that door at once!" Oh, was she mad! She struggled like hell to get free.

"It's no use squirming like that, you'll only fall over and hurt yourself," I smiled. "You can't get away, so you may as well answer my question."

"All right then, I don't remember what I said. I don't care, either!" she flared

"Then I'll remind you," I answered. "You said you wanted a man who could master you. Well, here he is."

"You — you shrimp!" Eve almost screamed. "If I didn't have these straps around my wrists, I'd show you who was master!"

"Not straps," I pointed out, "just one strap. Well, we shall see what we shall see."

I went over to a peg in the wall near the door and lifted down a wide leather strap with several others attached to it, and, bringing it back, I fastened the wide strap around her waist, pulling it good and tight.

"What're you doing?" Eve asked.

"Ever hear of a human pony?" I asked.

Suddenly she realized what I was up to. "No! No!" she screamed. "I won't! You don't dare! Undo these straps and let me go at once, or I'll scream the place down!"

"Go right ahead and scream if you feel like it," I said. "But I warn you that no one can hear you, and you'd much better save your breath for later."

There were two straps attached to the upper side of the belt at the back. I brought these up and over her shoulders, crossed them on her chest and fastened them, about six inches apart to buckles on the front of the belt. Eve was struggling wildly, but it didn't do any good. A third strap went from the lower edge of the waist belt at the back, under her body and up to fasten to the center of the belt in front.

There were two special leather cuffs, one for each of her wrists, in the drawer of the table. I got them out and put them in place, fastening one wrist temporarily to the waist belt while I forced the other up behind her back so that it rested between her shoulder blades, holding it there by a short strap which went from the cuff to a buckle on the strap over her shoulder. Then I fixed the other wrist in the same way.

At this point I stepped back to see how my handiwork looked. Of course, I had copied the harness from that book. I'm bound to say that considering I had had to make everything by guess work, it fitted amazingly well.

Eve looked very appealing as she stood there, writhing futilely to free herself. Her eyes fairly snapped as she glared at me. "Listen, Mister," she said threateningly, "I don't know what your name is, but you're going to suffer for this!"

"Perhaps," I agreed, as I got the bridle out of the drawer, "and on the other hand, perhaps not."

I had no trouble in strapping the bridle around her head because she apparently realized that further resistance was useless. In addition to the brow band, from which two long thin straps for the bit rings dangled down each side of her face, there was, of course, a chin strap, which also passed over the top of her head.

The bit, which I had made myself out of a quarter-inch rod of stainless steel, was covered with a piece of rubber tubing where it actually went in her mouth. The idea of this was to prevent any injury while still allowing it to be effective. In the center the bar was bent into a "V" to go deep into the mouth, and sticking up and down from the point of the "V" was a longish metal stud.

Naturally, when she saw the bit, Eve refused to open her mouth. So I simply placed my left hand over it, pinching her nostrils closed between my thumb and the side of my first finger. I held it there till I judged she must be running pretty short of oxygen, then I let go. Automatically, she opened her mouth to gasp in a lung full of fresh air and as soon as she did, I popped the bit in with my right hand and fastened it in place by passing the dangling straps from the head band through the bit rings and pulling them back to fasten at the back of her neck. A short thin strap went from one ring to the other under the chin. This I pulled quite tightly to hold the bit in the bottom of her mouth, with the stud pressing on her tongue.

"How do you feel now, Pony?" I asked. She tried to say something in reply, but found that she could only mouth wordlessly, the bit preventing any intelligible speech and incidentally causing her to dribble. Pausing only to attach the driving reins, I unfastened the strap about her ankles and unlocked the door. As I expected, she drew her foot back, preparatory to launching another kick. But as she did so, I gave the reins a sharp jerk. With a gasp of pain, she hurriedly lowered her foot.

Without another word I started out of the harness room and headed for the coach house, my bitted and bridled pony following, snorting in a most unladylike manner, but outwardly docile and obedient. Leading her inside, I backed her between the shafts of a special very light four-wheeled carriage I had had built of light steel tubing by a firm of bicycle makers, using bicycle wheels on ball bearings so it would run easily. The shafts attached to metal clips on the sides of her waist belt. Then I opened one of the big doors and led my pony and carriage into the stable yard.

After first tying the reins to a post, I went back into the coach house to get a light whip — which I wanted mostly for effect — and another strap, but before going out again I stood in the shadow of the door, where Eve couldn't see me, and looked at my unusual turnout.

What a picture it was, too! The bright, shiny new carriage and the lovely little pony between the shafts. Her pretty little feet, poised on their proud heels, her shapely legs, gleaming dully in their silken sheaths, her body, set off by thwhite shirt and shorts. The polished brown harness showed up sharply against the white and glinted in the sun as she writhed and twisted in a last frantic but quite vain effort to free herself from the straps which held her so smartly helpless, fretting at the bit and bridle which turned her from a girl to a pony.

After admiring the picture for a while, I went out, fastened the extra strap in place from the top of her head-harness to the back of her waist-belt. I pulled it up tight enough so that she held her head tilted back, proud chin high, and bosom thrust arrogantly forward.

Then I got into the carriage, took up the slack in the reins and said "Gee'up." But Eve stood stock still.

I flicked her gently with the whip, and said "gee-up!" again. Still no effect, so I got out of the vehicle and tightened up her harness. I pulled the waist belt in as far as I could, the shoulder straps each up a hole, the strap under her body two holes. I forced her hands still higher between her shoulder blades; then I tightened up the bit straps, forcing the bit still further into her mouth. Eve tried to say something that sounded as though she were promising to obey, but, of course, the bit prevented anything save a vague chattering sound. I told her very sharply that ponies couldn't talk and those that tried got their bit straps pulled still tighter. As a final touch I pulled the check rein up several holes, dragging her head still further back, arching her neck and forcing her chest out like a pouter pigeon's.

Then I got back into the driving seat, clicked my tongue, and my pony started off at a smart walk.

Thanks to its light construction the carriage went very easily, and I let her keep walking for some time, till she got used to pulling it, and until she learned how to obey the bit.

To give her a little rest, we stopped for a while, and I got out and schooled her in how to stand, with her feet together and knees smartly braced back. The rest of her body I didn't have to bother about, since her harness held her rigidly in the proper attitude.

When we started off again, I made her break into a trot, by means of a light flick of the whip. And a very pretty gait it was too. The height of her heels and the way her harness held her prevented her taking very long steps. Pretty as it was, I had a feeling that something was wrong, and then realized that the old time slave ponies had to trot with "High Action," that is, each knee had to be raised so that the toe of the raised foot was level with the knee of the other leg.

So to teach her properly, I drove to the edge of the lawn at the back of the house, stopped, and took my pony out of the shafts. Leading her onto the lawn, I unfastened the driving rein from one bit ring, so that it was a single rein of double length. Then I stood and made her trot around me in a circle. Every time she failed to raise a silken knee high enough, she got a warning flick of the whip.

In a very short time she was doing a very beautiful "High Action" trot, as dainty and springy as the steps of a ballet dancer. Then, back in the shafts again 1 drove her into the wood at the end of the garden, insisting on high action. Whenever she slackened her pace, I found a twitch on the bit, or flick of the whip would do wonders at making her mend her speed, but as she was now obviously tired, though she had little enough chance of showing it since her harness held her so rigid, I only drove as far as a little summer house in the middle of the wood.

Here I unhitched her from the cart again and slackened off her bearing rein and bit straps several holes, so that she could get a little rest, but left the other straps tight, so that she wouldn't forget that she was a pony.

There was a little natural spring in the wood nearby, so I led her over and gave her a drink from a folding cup that I carried. She took it thirstily. After I had had a drink myself, I led her back to the summer house, where I sat on a bench for a smoke. Meanwhile, I had taken off the pony's driving rein, since I knew that harnessed as she was, and poised on such high heels, even if she did try to run away, I'd have no difficulty in catching her. So now she had an opportunity to wander as she pleased. Once or twice she walked away further than I liked, but when I whistled to her she hurried back at once.

Soon she stopped walking away at all, but hung about near where I was sitting. Then very hesitantly she sat on the end of the bench I was using. Reined up as she was, sitting wasn't very easy, in fact she could, only manage a bolt-upright, wooden soldier position, with her knees held tightly together.

When she sat down, I made no sign at all, but went quietly on smoking, as I wanted to see what she would do.

Before long, she began edging along the bench towards me.

She did it very slowly, and stopped if I made any move. Finally, she was right next to me, looking very appealing and defenseless in her tight harness. Her head was still held back by the bearing rein so that the subdued light in the wood fell on her upturned mouth, its corners pulled back by the bit between her teeth, her lips parted by the steel and rubber that robbed her of the power of speech.

As I still did nothing, she leaned against me gently, so after a moment, I put my arm lightly around her arched shoulders. With a sigh she relaxed or tried to relax, her harness preventing anything much in that direction. I looked into her eyes and found the anger quite gone out of them, and in its place was a strange light that I didn't understand at that moment.

"Well," I asked, "do you like being a human pony?" I wanted to see if she would fly into a temper again. Greatly to my surprise, she nodded. It wasn't much of a nod, as the bearing rein held her head all but rigid.

''Would you like me to unharness you?" I went on.

Again she surprised me. She shook her head. "You mean that you're prepared to remain a pony, wearing a harness and bridle, with a bit in your mouth till I get ready to release you?" She nodded and tried to say something which her bit choked into a murmur.

"In other words, then," I went on, "you've found someone who can master you?"

This time she didn't nod. She turned slowly as much as her straps would allow, and offered me her bitted lips. Need I say that I availed myself of her offer?

It was quite some while, by the way, before I decided it was time to put the carriage away and release my pretty pony.

But finally I reattached her driving reins and fastened her once more between the shafts. Getting up into the driver's seat, I clicked my tongue. To my surprise, my pony refused to move. I flicked her with the whip. Still no move. Then I realized what she wanted.

Getting down off the seat, I went over her harness again. Since she had had it on for some time and it had adjusted itself to her figure, and vice versa, I was able to get the belt in another hole, the shoulder and under straps each up a hole. Of course, I had slackened the bit straps and bearing rein when I had taken her from the carriage and now I pulled these up as tight as they had been before, then gave the bearing rein two extra holes, so that her chin was almost in a straight line with her neck, and pulled the bit up another hole on each strap.

Then I got back in the seat, gave the reins a flick and off we went. My pony broke into a high action trot of her own accord and kept it up all the way back to the coach house, her lovely silk-clad legs rising and falling in mettlesome rhythm like the fore-legs of a thoroughbred trotting pony.

She was gasping for breath by the time we reached the stable yard the tight belt around her waist forcing her to breathe from the chest only; her beautiful bosom, thrust out by the tight check rein, straining at its white linen covering, as she gulped for air through her wide-open bitted mouth.

I got out of the carriage, and walked my tired pony into the coach house; here I put the carriage up and then led her, still fully harnessed, into the harness room. In a second I had the check rein off and was taking the bit out of her mouth when she gripped it with her teeth and made me understand that she wanted it in her mouth a moment longer. So I fastened the straps again, but only tight enough to hold it in place.

The she nudged me into a chair, and when I was seated, immediately sat on my lap and presented her bitted lips for a couple of final kisses before she ceased to be a pony.

Well, Bill told me a lot more than that, about subsequent adventures with this girl who desired nothing more than to be his pony, to let him strap her into a tight harness, with a bridle on her head and a bit in her mouth, and then obey his slightest wish, but I think this story is long enough.

N.Y.C.

Reprinted from John Willie's Bizarre magazine — number 11 (1952), pp. 24-30 and number 12 (1953), pp. 13-17. The magazines are now in public domain.

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