So, I got to try out T.’s pony bit and bridle the other night. He thought I could try it and see if I liked it before trying it at a party.
Uh….I’d say, HELL yeah, I liked it. Even the simple act of him putting the bridle on me started to bring about a mental shift for me, more so even than the mental shift that occurs when I get tied up or flogged. He patted me and rubbed my shoulder the way you would with, well, a real horse, and I put my head down and nudged him with it, the way horses do. He told me I was a pretty pony, and clipped a chain to the bridle and led me over to the door to tether me out of the way. Being a stubborn pony, I decided I didn’t want to be led that way, and refused to budge, until T. tugged a little more sharply on the chain. Even then I did that annoyed pony headshake thing they do, which made T. laugh. I stomped a foot warningly at him (and also at his cats when they came near, which made T. tell the cats “Better stay out of the barn, guys!”), but he persisted and led me over to the door and left me tethered there for a while. He came back a little later with a book of John Willie’s bondage magazine Bizarre, and told me to look through it, and when I saw illustrations of other ponies, to let him know by stomping. Which I dutifully did.
The hard rubber bit bag made my jaw sore after a while, though — maybe an hour? So the next time T. came through, I asked if I could take the bit and bridle off. It’s funny — I didn’t even *think* of taking it off without asking permission first. It’s not hard at all to slip right into those roles.
I really liked my initial foray into pony play. I’m hoping there will continue to be more.
In no particular order:
* Got my ass beat well and thoroughly.
* The aforementioned ass-beating was administered by, at one point, 3 people at the same time (I’m really not a masochist; my ass just happens to be large enough and well-padded enough for people to practice on).
* T. has a pony bit and bridle he offered to put on me. (To say I went sproing! is putting it mildly.) I told him yes, but at a later date, because he brought up the whole subject of the bit and bridle at 1 a.m., and I was asleep on my feet.
I had an interesting conversation with T. on the question of whether or not I’m a switch. It was his birthday, and I told him I’d give him his birthday spanks. He declined gracefully and said “I thought you were all sub.”
I said “Yeah, I’ve been thinking I’m probably a hell of a lot switchier than I originally thought I was.” And T. said “Well, I think that….” and he trailed off. I demanded to know what he was going to say. He told me that he didn’t want to influence my decision one way or another, so he should keep the comment to himself. I gave him a Bitch, Please look over the top of my glasses, and said that I was able to decide all on my own, no matter what his opinion was, so just tell me. And he started laughing and said, “Yeah, uh — that pretty much says it all.” Confused, I eloquently said “Huh?” And he said “That look you gave me, over your glasses — that says it all about whether or not you’re a switch.” I responded with a smirk, and he said “And that! That look, too!”
I *don’t* need his opinion to make up my mind on that matter, like I said. I’d say that yeah, I’m pretty damn sure I’m more switch than sub. And now I just need to find an ass to beat.
This is an evolution for me that I honestly wasn’t expecting. But I’m more than willing to explore it.
The Switch Is Not A Myth 