Trisha – Finding My Way Chapter 6: Folsom Street Fair

by Pat Kole

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© Copyright 2008 - Pat Kole - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF/f; bond; enema; armbinder; corset; ponygirl; public; display; toys; cons; X

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Disclaimer: Thanks to Feline and JD, without whose help the story would not have come out as smoothly as you see it.
All websites referenced in the story are imaginary URLs based on real websites.

Chapter 6: Folsom Street Fair

I had recovered from my injury, and life was going pretty well for a change. The Folsom Street Fair was coming up. Dave offered me a private gig – I would be dressed as he pleased as we went through the fair. He assured me this gig was absolutely no public nudity. Despite having a modest bank account, I knew I needed the money. Dave paid well for what I did, and Linda would kill him if he touched me. I agreed to do it.

When the morning came, he got me up at 0500. The “O” must stand for “Oh my god it’s early!” After a light breakfast, he handed me an enema bladder and tube with a smile. We went to the bathroom, and he watched me fill it up. Linda stopped by, got bored, and puttered around nearby. I slid the nozzle up my butt, feeling it snake past my sphincter. When it was far enough in, I eased the clamp off the hose, feeling the water pouring in. The water kept flowing. I clenched my butt closed around the hose to stop leakage. I moved as well as I could to ease the cramping that I can’t seem to avoid. Dave encouraged me. “Hold it in.”

The enema bag seemed to take forever to empty. I looked at Dave. “Not yet.” he soothed. That was easy to say from *his* side of this enema. My abdomen started cramping, trying in vain to squeeze the water out, or anywhere it could.

Dave finally said. “OK. Let it go.”

I raced to plant my butt on the toilet, and felt what must have been Niagara Falls coming out of my butt. Dave watched and snickered.

As I wiped up, Dave got the leotard I wore while dancing in the rain. I could see that he enlarged the twin cones of the bullet bra for my enhanced bust. He also added the tail from the Halloween debacle to the butt-plug.

Under the un-blinking eye of the camera, I lubed up the two rubber penises in the crotch of the suit, before slowly, gently sliding them in until the crotch of the suit finally touched my skin.

I flipped the front of the leotard up, and noticed that Dave had made another addition to the leotard – jingle bells dangled from the outside of the nipples. I looped the ring from the inside of the bullet bra through my nipple piercing. As I slowly rolled the thick rubber bra right-side out, I could feel the tug on my nipple, pulling it taut in conjunction with the squeeze and suction of the cone shape forcing my breast to conform to it.

Linda brought the flapping back of the leotard together, and laced up the corset lacing until the sides were snug against me, nipping in my waistline. Even though I had experienced it before, I hadn’t gotten used to just how rigid the one front upright and two rear uprights were. There was no room for bending in the torso; no slouching was allowed.

Tall black boots were brought out for me to wear. These boots were shaped like a high heeled boot, but didn’t have a heel at all. The sole was supported by an elongated metal horse hoof, curving back from my toes on either side of my foot. This contacted the ground, but the rigid bottom of the boot rose up from it like it would on a high heeled boot, keeping my weight on the balls of my feet.

I slipped my foot into the first boot, and started to lace it up against my ankle. I knew that snug lacing was important if I wanted to avoid slipping and breaking my leg again.

After the boots were securely on, Linda brought out the head harness. I saw a pile of leather straps, buckles, and pink plumage. I’m glad *she* knew how to put it on.

A black rubber bit went between my teeth, connected to a large ring on each end. It was pretty comfortable to bite down on. A leather strap around the back of my head held it in place. Another strap was buckled ring to ring beneath my chin, holding my lower jaw to the bit. A Y-shaped strap went from the bridge of my nose. Two ends connected to the cheek rings, and the third went between my eyes, over the top of my head, connecting to the strap behind my neck. This is the strap that had the large pink plume, now sticking boldly out of the top of my head like some Las Vegas showgirl. Two more straps went from the cheek rings, over my temples to the plume, framing my face. These had some large flaps covering above my ears. I had no idea what these flaps were, but I figured I would by day’s end.

At Dave’s instruction, I put my arms behind my back, each hand grasping the elbow of the opposing arm. Linda slid a large rectangular leather pocket over my arms, holding them in place.

The top corners of it the pocket were buckled to the leotard strap coming up over my shoulder from the bullet bra. The lower corners had a strap that crossed by belly, buckling in front. I sighed, desperate for more feminine contact, but it was not to be had for now.

I lightly tugged on my arms, but they weren’t moving. It was as if I never had arms. I felt like that famous Venus De Milo statue that had the arms broken off.

Dave said “OK. Now I need to teach you to walk.”

As the instruction started, if it wasn’t for the rubber bit, I would have disputed his abuse of the term “walk”. It was more like a “prance”. Every step I had to lift my knees quite high, keep my head upright, and make sure the bells dangling from my nipples jingled. Unless he directed otherwise, I was to choose the speed that caused the tail coming from my butt to swing back and forth across the back of my thighs. This was going to be a tough gig!

Dave went upstairs to get dressed. Linda sat me down and started to french braid my hair. Despite my trepidation and excitement about what I was about to do, I calmed down as I felt her hands weave my hair, even adding the extra touch of a black ribbon into my blond tresses to match my outfit. The braid not only concealed the back of the top strap of the head harness, but it secured it more to my head. I realized it also gave me a mane, but with Linda’s hands, this felt right.

Dave came downstairs, dressed in a button down shirt, with a leather vest, leather pants, and boots. As he guided me out, Linda shot him a stern look. “Behave.” With no other covering, Dave and I went out to his van. I sat down in the passenger’s seat, grunting as the butt-plug was abruptly thrust further in. Dave buckled me in, adding some state-sponsored bondage in the name of safety.

We finally got to a parking spot near Folsom Street. My thoughts of this pony being his arm candy for the day were dashed when he pulled out a small two-wheeled cart, clearly built for one rider. Two poles stuck out from the cart, connected to a belt that Dave fastened around my waist. He hooked reins to my cheek rings, sat in the buggy, and happily called out “Giddy up!”

From time to time, he pulled on the reins, swiveling my head. I got the gist, and went where he pointed me like a pony should. As I trotted him toward the fair, most of the people were men in leather, looking like they were walking to a Harley Davidson rally. I was happy I wasn’t the only one in fetish attire. One of the most notable cases was one guy was dressed with an inflatable rubber ball hood covering his head, blocking out all light, speech and everything else. He was being led on a leash by another guy dressed in pink leather. One glance at them really set off my gay-dar. If such openly flamboyant men will be accepted here, hopefully so would a ponygirl.

I was sure turning heads with the incessantly jingling nipple bells and the “clop! clop!” of the horse hooves announcing my fetish attire in case anyone didn’t happen to notice the large pink plume blossoming from the top of my head or oversized breasts blossoming out of my chest.

Folsom Street was quite crowded as the normal merchants were open, and booths had been set up on the edges of the street selling anything leather, or anything close.

Trotting while towing someone is a lot of work, especially having to lift the horseshoes up so high with each step! At times, Dave thankfully slowed me to a slow trot when a vendor caught his eye. I noticed one vendor displaying a long, flowing leather skirt with an oak-leaf shaped bottom edging. I was getting tired, and would loved to have stopped, but I wistfully I watched the shop as Dave directed me to canter on.

Stormy Leather had a large booth that caught Dave’s eye. He thankfully pulled on the reins to steer me there, called out a “Woah!”, and dismounted. After I knelt, he tied my reigns to a sign saying “No Parking Tues-Fri 6 AM-6 PM.” I snorted a bit. I guess there’s no rule against tying a ponygirl there on Saturdays. Dave went into the booth. I waited and rested, kneeling at the base of the sign for as long as he took.

Ooglers started to mass around me. Some took pictures. A few from the peanut gallery made snide comments. I realized perhaps it wasn’t that so many more people noticed me kneeling here as opposed to when I moved the cart. The ooglers saw me just fine before, and probably took pictures and video. This was the first time I could notice *them*. If I wasn’t trussed up like a horse, I would have tried to help some of the poor men get their eyes back in their sockets as they blatantly stared in awe at me. They suffer from testosterone poisoning, but they could at least try to have subtlety!

Dave was in the booth a while. A woman caught my attention. Her purple dress was accented by a black and purple corset around her waist. Her demeanor was confident. She walked up, looking at me, not at the plume, not at my boobs sticking out, but at my face. I slowly knelt taller and started to smile as best I could around the gag as she walked around me. Such a proud woman, looking at me in that way just started turning my corseted stomach into butterflies.

Dave came out with his purchase in a bag, and the lady said, “That’s a nice ponygirl you have there. You must be quite happy together.”

Dave smiled. “Well, she’s a novice, a paid model. My wife doesn’t enjoy the publicity.”

“Oh really? Do you mind if I take her out for a short ride?” My eyes lit up, staring at Dave, trying to will “Yes!” into his brain.

Dave glanced at me and chuckled as he read the message loud and clear. “Oh sure. Her name is Titsy.”

She took hold of the reigns, and flipped the large leather tags that had been over my ears to a more forward position on each side of my eyes. That’s when I realized the mystery tags were blinders, taking away my peripheral vision, and forcing me to look straight ahead with enforced tunnel vision.

I was still quite exhausted, but this was my one chance to be towing another woman! I mentally went over everything Dave taught me in his morning session. Lift the knees high. Hold my head proudly. Jingle those bells. Swish the tail.

With a shake of the reins, we were off. She held the reins firmly, holding me upright. I couldn’t have leaned forward too far had I wanted to. We neared the area displaying the flowing skirt. I couldn’t see the nearby shops due to the blinders, so I tried to turn my head. Her firm hand on the reins prevented that, silently keeping my head straight for the task at hand – keeping her going where she wanted. I trotted on.

As exhausted as I was, every word from her was like a breath of fresh air on my sweaty body, refreshing me with more energy. Even a “Giddy up!” was like a wonderful treat. All too soon, she had turned me around, we were back at Stormy Leather and Dave.

She dismounted, thanked Dave, and looked me in the eye. “If you ever want to be my beast of burden, give me a call.” She tossed a business card into the armbinder pocket. She turned and strode away.

I wanted to accept right then and there, gushing my heart out to her, but the pony bit blocked my speech. I wanted to follow her, to be with her, but Dave’s hand on the reins held me back.

I let out a horse’s whinny, but even if she heard it, she strode away without looking back, vanishing into the crowd.

I fished around the armbinder until I could grasp the business card. I gripped it tightly, treasuring it like a get out of jail free card – years of pent up hope had physically manifested itself into this small card. I had no idea who she was, but I would be sure to call.

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