3 of us are writing about LR, so I decided just to write a vignette. It isn’t public because Paul has first-publication rights for the article… but I wanted feedback. Changes can be made as late as Friday if need be…
Before dinner each night various ponies from Pony Camp tried to make cart rides available for those who were interested in being taken to the mess hall, around camp, or just a trot along the main roads. It was raining when my turn came around, at first a sprinkle which slowly turned into a downpour as Lancelot and I traded off pulling. Water splashed off his bald head and echoed in splashes beneath my hooves, but after the heat of the day and coupled with the exertion of pulling the cart, it felt delicious.
Making our way back to the stalls, we were cheered as we passed cabins, two ponies on the road in the rain. We were the brave creatures of the wood, we were well trained, we were wet. We left the cart over by the stalls and were released from reins and other encumbering items, and took off across the field chasing after one another. Palomino stud in tight leather chaps, boots, leather thong and head harness, his blonde tail swishing between rain drops, chased by a Morgan mare in a black satin corset, nipple bells, vintage girdle, stockings, Waterhole hooves, tight leather strapping across my brow and a bit through my mouth.
The field we were in was visible from the horseshoe, a collection of cabins that shared a single porch that the pony stalls full of hay had been assembled in front of. A hugs oak tree stood in front of the horseshoe, offering shade in the heat of the day, and during rains, a bit of cover from the elements. Two open covered shelters had also been constructed for ponies to stay under during the rain, and for those being pampered at the “Pamporium” to relax under the rest of the time. As Lancelot and I played in the rain, a small crowd watched appreciatively from the porch of the horseshoe, having a cocktail and sharing pleasant conversation between rounds of flirting.
As we played, a car of new arrivals to camp pulled into the field to unload their bags into their cabin in the horseshoe. Having never been to camp before, the nudists took the opportunity to strip out of their travel clothing as quickly as possible, and the two girls of the group ran straight out into the rain. One was very short and curvy with long auburn hair, one was thin with red hair and a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon. Their arms were outstretched with palms facing the heavens, spinning in circles in the rain as the water fell into their open mouths as they giggled… until they noticed that we had approached.
The woman with the long auburn hair was perhaps 4’10”… and in our boots, Lancelot and I stood over 6’2”. We were imposing next to the curvaceous lass, and her eyes went wide as we flanked her, sniffing at her flesh and stomping into the mud on each side of her. She trembled, her shoulders locked up, and she screamed back to her friend:
“Can you get these ponies a carrot? Or a martini? HELP!”
As her redheaded friend ran off to find their partners and something to lure us away, we heard what sounded like a shotgun go off behind Lancelot. We jumped and bolted away from the girl… then looked back to where the noise had come from. Sebastian, an almond-skinned and massively mustached muscular gentleman wearing nothing but tight leather shorts and cowboy boots was coming at us with a bullwhip swinging over his head. With each crack of the whip, the tip of the leather lash exploded another falling drop of rain, making the already impressive sound of leather breaking the speed of sound turn into a frightening noise indeed.
Sebastian kept his eyes locked with us as we backed away then ran out further into the field. By this point everyone from the horseshoe of cabins was out on the porch seeing what the commotion as Sebastian, their local Rancher, kept the wild ponies away from the locals. We were being a menace, and he meant to keep us at bay. We backed up over a small creek that had formed during the rain in the field, and our hot breath evaporated in clouds of steam over our sweating forms.
As Sebastian backed away, Mistress Lillian, one of the pony handlers and trainers at the camp, came out into the field to get us. It was time for ponies to be wiped down, and I was stripped down out of my tack and brushed down. My skin was alive from the crisp rain, and felt tender beneath her brush. As I stripped down, I slowly became human again… and once human, took the curvy lass up on her offer of a drink. What perfect exploits before dinner.
Lots of other scenes happened over the course of camp, and I could write about all the other wonderful ponies (old and new), the Pony Show (and Lolita Wolf in her fabulous Minotaur outfit), having my leather Uncle indulge me in a new gift for pony play… but why don’t you just come out to Leather Retreat some time for yourself and experience pony camp first hand?