It was a cool autumn Saturday morning in rural western Pennsylvania. Vern rose early, yawned, stretched, and gazed out his bedroom window onto his 100-acre farm several miles from the town of Kittanning. It wasn't much of a farm, though; most if his land was woods and he had only one animal: a pony.
In a mood to go for a ride, he showered and put on his boots, jeans, and western shirt. Before going out to the barn, he warmed a pot of coffee and toasted a muffin. Perhaps he'd bring his trusty old fishing pole and try to catch Ol' Flounder. That danged fish always got away. He'd sure make a right fine dinner one of these days.
Being a brisk 55 degrees outside, Vern pulled on a light jacket and sauntered out to the barn. A gas heater hung from the ceiling above the stall, keeping it at about 68 degrees.
"Morning, girl," he said as he grabbed a shovel and entered her stall.
"M-m-m-morning, V-V-V-Vern," Mindy answered as her breath exited her mouth in puffs of steam. Mindy stepped aside as Vern shoveled the urine soaked straw that covered the floor of her stall, and scooped up her manure, and dumped it into a steel drum outside. Her feet clicked on the floor from the horseshoes strapped to her feet with leather straps riveted onto her feet.
"C-c-c-c-could you p-p-p-please give m-m-me m-m-more heat, V-V-Vern! P-p-please!"
"Now Mindy," Vern sighed. "You know gas is expensive." Taking a brush, he stepped behind her and examined her arms that were shackled behind her back with her elbows locked together above her butt and her wrists locked together just below the back of her neck. He began brushing her long blonde mane, brushing out the bugs that had started to make a nest in it the night before.
She sneezed and tried to flick the snot from her nose by flicking her head rapidly from side to side.
He then looked her over. Her legs and thighs had the bulk and bulging muscles of a professional body builder, but the rest of her body was slender, almost anemic. He sprayed bug spray over her nude body, and throughout her mane, and on her patch of muff hair. Lastly, he wiped some mud off his brand that he had burned onto her thigh with an electric branding iron shortly after he purchased her a few years ago.
Then Vern took down the custom made saddle that he had purchased from a BDSM site that made saddles for pony girls. Setting the brackets over her shoulders, he rested the saddle against her back as she stood there shivering. He then slung the cinch strap around her chest and pulled it as tight as he could, until Mindy whimpered in pain.
Then he slid her bridle over her head and slid her bit into her mouth, buckling it in place. Then he attached his tackle box and fishing rod to the straps that hung from her saddle.
At that, he opened the stall door and led her out to his small corral. He stepped up behind her and mounted the saddle, resting his belly against her shoulders and pressing his thighs into her kidneys. He gave her a whack with his riding crop and they were off.
Mindy walked slowly to the end of the corral where Vern leaned down and opened the gate. He urged his mount through and into the trail that led into the woods.
"C'mon," Vern urged her as he kicked her into a gentle run. It was about a half-hour ride from the homestead to the pond at the other end of his property. Upon arriving near the water's edge, he tied Mindy to a tree limb and headed down to the water's edge and set up.
Baiting his hook and casting into the pond, he stood and waited. He knew from experience that Ol' Flounder was out and about this time of day. The sneaky fish had never taken the bait, but Vern knew he was there. Seeing Ol' Flounder splash in defiance was a sight to behold. He was a big un'!
After about an hour in the morning dawn, Vern was about ready to give up and head back home for some microwave grub when he saw the dastardly fish jump up just a few feet from his float, sending ripples through the water.
Then... yes! The float disappeared under the water and nearly yanked his pole from his grasp. Not to take any chances, Vern had filled his reel with 50 Pound Test. The fish fought, but so did Vern. Even 50 Pound Test would break if snapped suddenly, so he let the fish fight, and then reeled him in slowly. He let the fish fight a little more, then reeled him in a little more. About a half-hour later, Ol' Flounder was flapping and gasping for breath on a tree stump set back from the water's edge. Vern dropped the fish into a small plastic garbage bag along with some pond water. Mmmm-mmmm! Vern'll be eating good tonight!
With gear in hand, he attached it all to Mindy's saddle, along with his prize, and headed home.
About halfway back, Mindy stopped and squatted slightly. "Ya' okay, girl?" Vern asked.
Mindy could only grunt with the bit in her mouth, but a moment later, he heard her pass wind and drop some turds onto the ground between her legs. Vern sat there in the saddle, patiently waiting for Mindy to finish her business, then kicked her to motion when she straightened up again.
Back at the barn, he removed her bridle and saddle and hung them back up. Her back was all sweaty where the saddle had been pressing against it, and she had a small blister above one of her butt cheeks where his tackle box must have been rubbing. Taking a hose, he hosed her down with cold water, drawing a shriek from her. "Yaaaaa!" she gasped and began panting heavy.
Placing her back into her stall, he filled her water bucket, and scooped a can of dog food into an iron bowl bolted to the wall.
Then, he headed back into the warmth of the house to start a fire on the gas grill and prepare his fish fry feast.
With his catch in a frying pan on the counter, Vern rooted through his kitchen and Vern discovered that he was out of tartar sauce. He also thought of a few other things that he'd need. A trip into town was in order.
.... There is more of this story ...