Chapter 2: My First Summer at the Smith Ranch

Now that the boring pre-history is over I can get to the real beginning of the story. I added the pre-history to shed some light on my relationship with Danica and why we are no longer friends. When this story really began I was 14 years old and would soon start both my first year in high school and my first part-time job. Well, it will be part-time when school starts. My dad helped me get the job at the beginning of the summer between the 8^th and 9^th grades.

Week 1, Day 1, Wednesday

My dad and I went out to Thomas Smith’s ranch. Mr. Smith had both real horses and ponygirls. For the real horses, he stabled, trained, and rode them. For the ponygirls, he trained them for competition. This is where he made most of his money. People from around the world paid to have their ponies trained by him. Much more so than the money he made stabling real horses. I was to be merely a stable hand, a female gofer that raked and shoveled horse poo. I wasn’t strong enough to lift the bags of horse feed so I was only allowed to use the garden hose to make sure they had plenty of water.

I was shown how to brush the horse’s belly and legs as that was easier for me to do. I could reach up to a horse’s back but not all of it. It was fun to be able to brush a horse even if I had to have help reaching the higher spots.

I had only been fourteen for a couple of months when I started a week after school was out. I was a small girl back then, only 5’ 0” with a slender figure. In the four years since the beginning of this story, I grew taller, four inches, and my breasts went from flat to 28B. Red hair and emerald green eyes. I was still pretty much a stick figure. My waist had barely any curve and my hips hadn’t even begun to get wider, even with the leg muscle I had developed over the last four years. I wasn’t really a shy girl but I did take time to open up to people I didn’t know.

My job was to muck out the stalls and spread out fresh straw. I wore short cut-off shorts, a bra, panties, and a T-shirt on the first day. By the time I was ready to go home, my t-shirt was glued to my body and was see-through. You could see my bra and skin color through the shirt. It was old and thin and I didn’t care if it got dirty but I never thought about it becoming transparent.

It was so hot that I planned to wear a short skirt with a bikini the next day. The top of the bikini I chose barely covered my 28B breasts but I never fell out of it. I even got permission from my parents to cut my hair into a pixie cut. It was down to my waist until that first weekend.

At the end of my shift on the first day, Mr. Smith asked me to follow him. He led me to the ponygirl barn and showed me the shower that was used to wash the ponies. Besides my sweaty clothes and stinky armpits, I noticed that my tennis shoes (trainers in the UK) were caked in mud and horse poo. It would take time to clean them so I could wear them again. Looks like I will need to get some cowboy (cowgirl?) boots with my first paycheck.

“Lisa, since you are the only female working in the stables I am allowing you to use the ponygirl’s shower before you go home. It would not be appropriate for you to use the same shower as the men. My daughter said you can use this t-shirt dress to wear home each day,” he said.

I took the dress and he left. It was old, the image and writing on the front was faded and barely readable, but in good condition. I held it up to my body without letting it touch me to see how it would fit. It appeared to be okay in the shoulders and was not quite to mid-thigh. It would have to do unless I wanted to go home naked or put my sweaty clothes back on (yuck!). There were six shower stalls to accommodate the twelve ponies that lived in this barn. Two of the ponies were owned by Mr. Smith while the others were boarded ponies and were owned by other people. Along one wall as you enter the barn, on the left was the tack room; it looked to be about 10-12 feet long. Then six stalls ran along the rest of the left wall and ended at the other end of the barn. In the middle were the six shower stalls. They were open on both sides and separated by walls that were about a foot taller than me. On the right wall was a room covered in white metal with a horizontal pull lever to open the heavy-looking door. It was smaller than the tack room which allowed for a seventh stall.

The shower stalls were about 36 ft², which I guessed because they looked to be about 6’x6’. There wasn’t a regular showerhead, just a handheld one with a long hose. Above the stall was a 4”x4” treated beam with a pulley attached to the bottom of it dead center of the stall. I followed the cable with my eyes and saw the winch with its controller mounted on the half wall near the left opening. The cable that hung from the beam had a hook on the end of it. It was just out of reach when I reached up to touch it. I looked around one more time before removing my sweaty, smelly clothes, tossing them by the wall just outside of the shower (not that it mattered if they got any wetter than they already were), and turned on the water to begin my shower using what I thought was the same soap used on the ponies. Mr. Smith evidently took great care of his ponies, The shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were name-brand, smelled of lavender, and turned out to be the same brands that I used at home ... What a coincidence, lavender was my favorite scent, that’s when I noticed my name written on the bottles with a sharpie. I guess this had been planned. After I wet my hair, I hung up the shower head and soaped up my hair. After I started washing my hair and my eyes were covered in shampoo I gave a quick scream as I felt two sets of hands touching my naked body. I was near panic not being able to see who was touching me.

Next, I felt something being wrapped around my wrists and fastened together. I was in full panic mode and began to thrash and fight against my molesters. I felt something being attached to the restraints on my wrists and then my hands were pulled up above my head. I had been restrained and attached to the winch hook I saw earlier. I was lifted until my feet no longer touched the ground. My kicking legs were held while more restraints were wrapped around my ankles. A short chain was attached between my ankles and attached to the hook I saw earlier in the floor and the winch was pulled tighter until I couldn’t move much at all.

After several minutes of washing my waist-length hair, someone used the handheld showerhead and rinsed out the shampoo, then applied some of the conditioner. I was finally able to open my eyes and saw that I was being washed by two of the ponies. When I started begging to be released one of the girls shoved a bit in my mouth and strapped it behind my head. I still tried to struggle and was swatted on my butt cheeks with a flogger causing me to scream and receive another five lashes.

I decided it was best to stop fighting and let them finish my shower. ’What gave them the right to treat a free woman like this?’ I thought angrily. When my hair and body were rinsed off, I was lowered to the ground and my restraints were removed. When I tried to leave the stall I was held in place and my arms were raised level with my shoulders so the girls could apply a pink cream all over my body from my toes to my neck. One of the girls twisted my long hair until it rolled into a bun then put a shower cap over my head, covering my hair. I didn’t even fight during this process. What would be the point?

I jerked my head around and looked over my right shoulder in shock and embarrassment when I heard Mr. Smith’s voice. Danica was with him. At least she was female and my age. I screamed. “I forgot to tell you, Lisa, that no one is allowed to bathe themselves in this shower. I sent my two ponies, Swift Wind and Blue Ganet, in with instructions on how to bathe you. I’m sure you noticed the shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and loofah. Your mother told us what you use at home, so I provided them for your use. The cost will be deducted from your first paycheck. The ponies and grooms are not allowed to use them, that’s why your name was written on them. It will be this way as long as you shower here, which will be every day you work. I will not send you back to your father smelling like a horse barn.

“Oh, and the pink cream is a hair growth inhibitor. The chemicals in it burn off the hairs already there then it gets into the pores where the hair roots are. It will then burn the blood vessels and the nerve endings to prevent a new follicle from growing back. After a year or so you will never grow hair below your neck ever again. I’m sure you noticed that they are applying it to your pubic and anal areas.

“Anal hair collects feces and pubic and vaginal hair collects sweat and vaginal juices, this is unsanitary and puts off foul odors. This is unacceptable for both ponies and young ladies as well,” he told me.

After ten minutes the girls rinsed the cream off of my body, then used their hands to sluice off the excess water from my body. A fine mist was then sprayed all over my still-damp body, including my face. It was rubbed into my skin then I was helped to put the t-shirt dress on but was left barefoot. I noticed my dirty clothes; the T-shirt, bra, panties, shorts, shoes, and socks were all missing.

Mr. Smith apparently stuck around to watch. He was standing just outside of the stall next to the winch controls. “The mist sprayed on you is 30 percent lanolin, which is a moisturizer to keep the skin from drying out after washing away the oils and sweat. It also has an SPF-30 to protect the skin from sunburn. I want you to wear a bikini from now until the weather gets too cold. I want you to use an SPF-50 for the summer. I will have a bottle of the spray made up and put your name on it. The ponies use the oil with the SPF-30 since they are naked and outside most of the day. I’m sure you’ve noticed the dark tan and white lines the harness leaves behind.

“My daughter took your clothes inside, they will be washed and returned tomorrow. Don’t worry about footwear, you will wear a pair of Danica’s old shoes until I can order you some boots to wear. Her shoes are easy to clean and will help train your feet for your new work boots,” he informed me before turning and leaving the barn.

I noticed what looked like a long T-shirt was draped over one of the stall walls above a pair of patten leather strappy sandals with 5-inch heels. Barefoot and naked, I saw that he watched as the ponies helped me put the T-shirt dress, and heels on. Naked under the dress I headed to the main house where I was to meet my father to ride home. As a child (early teen) I could do and get away with a lot of things but youth has its disadvantages ... I can’t drive, yet. However, being young and with small breasts and a slender figure no one gave my lack of proper attire a second thought. I was right about the dress. It fit perfectly in the shoulders, showing my small breasts but was loose enough not to accentuate them too much, and was long enough to preserve some modicum of modesty (it was an inch or two above mid-thigh so it didn’t rise up my legs too much when I sat). ’I wouldn’t want the nudity police to arrest me for showing too much thigh,” I thought sarcastically.

Dad never said anything about how I was dressed or that I was wearing something different than what I wore to work, although, you couldn’t miss that I had showered recently. I wondered if Mr. Smith talked to Dad while waiting for me. As part of the ’full-service’ shower, one of the ponies used a detangling comb to comb out my hair. It was still wet and had already soaked my back. I pulled it around in front of me to keep the car seat as dry as I could with my back wet, which only resulted in getting my front wet. Now my shirt was transparent and my breasts were on display. Fortunately, even though I was covering them with my hair, Dad refused to look at me. I think he realized what had happened. He got out of the car first and went in. After that day, he made Mom pick me up from work each day. I kept some hair around the front to cover my breasts before getting out of the car and locking the doors from the driver’s side. Mom greeted me when I entered and asked me to help with dinner and tell her about my day. I didn’t even get a chance to change clothes. I had to eat dinner wearing a wet t-shirt that still showed my breasts. Since I was helping prepare dinner Mom pulled my hair behind my head and twisted it into a bun. Now I couldn’t cover any part of my body. Both the front and the back of my t-shirt were soaked from my shoulders to my waist. Not dripping wet, but wet enough to be transparent and show my breasts and nipples. Dad still wouldn’t look at me. I was confused, my parents are very prudish concerning nudity, why is she forcing me to prepare dinner like this rather than making me go to my room and change clothes?

Week 1, Day 2, Thursday

By the time I got to work the next day at 8 a.m., the ponies were already outside training. So I removed the T-shirt dress and draped it over the same wall it was yesterday and got right to work cleaning their stalls and making sure they had fresh hay to sleep on. The bikini I wore to work today was a white one. It had a liner in the bottoms but not the top. I removed that the day Mom bought it for me. I was hoping that showing the shape of my nipples would get some boy’s attention. I was at that age when I was noticing boys and thinking about dates.

Mom gave me a raised eyebrow about wearing high-heeled shoes to work so I explained that my shoes were still at Mr. Smith’s ranch. I got horse poo and mud on them so Mr. Smith had his daughter wash them for me. He asked me to wear a pair of Danica’s shoes until he got me a pair of boots to work in. She was okay with it then.

When Mom dropped me off I walked around the main house to the horse barn and was met by Mr. Smith and a man I hadn’t met before. “Lisa, this man is Jonathon Marshall, he is one of the pony trainers. I wanted to introduce you since you will be working in the pony barns from now on. Since you will be wearing a pair of Danica’s shoes I didn’t want to risk you getting stepped on by any of the horses. The risk of losing toes or a foot is too great.

“The ponies wear hoof boots but are more conscious of where they step. They will make sure not to step on your feet. The shoes you are wearing until you get your boots are a pair of fetish shoes she wore last year for Halloween so they are still in like new condition. She said you could have them. The locks are attached by that small chain so they won’t get lost. I think Danica still has the key somewhere, she never gave it to me. ‘Now he tells me. I wish I had known that before I locked them on.’ I thought fighting to not roll my eyes.

“The shoes are waterproof so you can shower in them and wear them in the rain. I want you to wear them until you get your work boots. They will help strengthen your ankles and tighten up your calf muscles. Make sure you take shorter steps and walk slower. I would hate for you to injure an ankle so soon after starting here.

“I heard there was almost a rebellion when the others found out about your shower yesterday. To prevent problems the ponies chose to get the chance by winning competitions in the afternoons rather than by lottery. Only those being punished will not be allowed to compete for your shower,” he informed me. I blushed in embarrassment when I was reminded of yesterday’s shower. By the time Mr. Smith was done talking we had arrived at Pony Barn ‘A’. There are three barns for the ponygirls. Barn ‘A’ is for locally owned ponies while barns ‘B’ and ‘C’ are for those not local but still from within the country and those from other countries, respectively.

“Lisa,” said Mr. Marshall, “I don’t have a problem with you talking with the ponies but I have one rule for you ... you can work in just your bikini but never, and I mean never, remove it and try to work naked. If you do, you could be mistaken for one of the ponies by someone who doesn’t know you. I will come up with something that will make you stand out better so you’re not mistaken as a pony. If you were to be branded, you would lose your freedom and there is nothing your family can do to change that ... it’s the law, so keep your clothes on for your own safety. The only exception is the shower, by the time you shower it will be late enough for you to be safe enough to be naked in the barn. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I responded swallowing my fear and vowing to remember the warning. I am planning to go to college and join Dad’s accounting firm. Being a ponygirl is not even remotely on my radar.

Mr. Marshall showed me where the tools were located in the tack room. I noticed they had the same names such as curry comb and curry brush but were designed for human hair, and a room the horse barn didn’t have, the white one I saw earlier. It was where the feed was kept. It was a vegetable matter that was extruded into hay-shaped pieces and had to be refrigerated. I was shown how to clean the shallow troughs, there was a stainless steel utility sink outside of the rear of the barn. It was part of my responsibility to clean it near the end of my shift each day. I would refill them in the food locker and place them on a cart to take them to each stall. Since I had small hands I was to put two handfuls in the trough for breakfast and lunch and three for dinner. Unlike real horses, ponies were fed three times a day. The shallow water troughs actually had removable liners. They are to be removed and cleaned every time they are refilled to make certain they didn’t have debris or mold in them. If mold does start to grow they are to be destroyed and a new one used. I used a watering can to fill them so the water didn’t taste like it came from a garden hose.

I am responsible for barn ‘A’. After breakfast, which I eat at home, I clean the troughs and note how much hay was wasted by the pony, if any, then I wash and dry the troughs and turn them upside down on the cart I use to carry the full troughs. Then all I have to do is replace the full ones in their holders and refill the water trough. Between meals I take care of the rest of my duties; Sweeping, raking, spraying things, scrubbing things, etc. I am just a regular housekeeper for ponies. I guess that’s part of why I don’t mind the daily pampering before I go home.

I have a garden hose with a high-pressure nozzle to clean the stalls. I am also responsible for cleaning the showers. Because they are a wet zone, they are tiled. The walls are covered with a grey, glossy ceramic tile and the floors are tiled with a dark grey, slate with a textured sandpaper-like surface. Even wet it was not slippery. I used a sponge and rubber squeegee on the walls but had to use a scrub brush on the floors, then used the showerhead to rinse the floors. Mr. Marshall told me that once a month I would be required to use a toothbrush and bleach-water to clean the grout in the showers. He also recommended I do that task naked and barefoot. Since the showers were the only place I could safely be naked. The bleach is hazardous to my clothes and would damage the new boots as well.

The brush I use to clean the shower floors is also used to clean the stall floors once a week. At least I can stay dressed when I do that. The ponies have a grate in one corner of their stalls to use for their bathroom needs. I am to spray the grate to keep it clean and clean out the hole. It leads outside where it is easier for me to clean the whole trough. Keeping the barn clean and feeding the ponies became my daily routine. It took too long to clean all of that every day so I created a schedule for the stalls and showers, spreading them out over the weeks. Making sure each stall was cleaned once every seven days and the shower stalls were cleaned once every 30 days. Mr. Marshall showed the schedule to Mr. Smith, who was very pleased with my creativity and approved the work schedule. The grooms took care of the pony’s bodies and tack. I was looking forward to my daily shower as my shift was ending.

Again I was stripped and my bikini disappeared. My long hair was cleaned first and put in a shower cap. The two girls took turns alternating between washing my body (I only had one loofah) and seeing how many times I could orgasm. By the time they rinsed off the pink cream, I was just coming back to my senses. I hadn’t been able to remove the shoes since they were locked on, so all they had to do was help me into the dress.

Mom asked about my day so I shared it with her. I noticed yesterday’s clothes, including my shoes and socks, were in the back seat. I grabbed them and took them to my room when we got home. Mom told me that Mr. Smith asked if I could meet him in town tomorrow morning. Mom showed me the address. I told her, “Sure, it’s not like I have a choice if I want to keep my job.”

Week 1, Day 3, Friday

It was quickly becoming normal for me to go to work wearing the dress over my bikini, taking it off when I got to work, and hanging it up in the shower stall. We arrived at the address Danica handed me yesterday. It turned out to be a shop that specialized in tack and other supplies for ponygirls. I was so scared trying to imagine what he had planned for me. I didn’t want to be a ponygirl. “Go on in, Lisa,” Mom said, placing her hand on the small of my back and gently pushing me toward the door. “Thomas is waiting for you.”

“But, Mom, I don’t want to be a ponygirl. I want to go to college,” I whined.

“You can’t be certain that’s what he is trying to do. He just asked you to meet him here,” she said, trying to comfort me.

We went in and I saw Mr. Smith talking to a middle-aged man I thought might be the shop owner. I was right. “Lisa, Jessica, it’s good to see you two. Thank you for meeting me here, Lisa. You can consider yourself on the clock. Since you are not allowed to wear your own shoes at work I am having you fitted for your own pair of hoof boots. They will protect your toes better than cowboy boots and are easy to clean and the shoes are replaceable.”

Pointing to the other man he said, “This is Darren Harrison, the owner of this shop. He will do the fitting. I’ll sit out here with your mother and visit with her while we wait for you.” He turned toward the bench Mom was sitting on and I was led to the back room.

I was told to sit on a bench so he could remove my heels. I guess Mr. Smith gave him the key. A traditional scale, like the ones you find in a regular shoe store, was used to measure my feet. After he noted the measurements I was asked to step into a tub with clear acrylic ramps in the bottom. I felt like I was wearing high heels again just not as high. I found out why a moment later. The ramps were replaceable. The tops were contoured to fit the curves of the soles of my feet. He tried several until he found a pair that was the right size from heel to toe and perfectly fit the curve of my arch. He attached restraints to my wrists and locked them together and I was raised off the floor like when I am bathed at work.

“I want you to point your toes down just as they were in the tub. He held different plastic sheets about an eighth inch thick up to the side of my leg. Once he found one with the right contour for my ankle bone he grabbed one that had two cutouts for between my legs and another for the other side. The sheets were slid into clips on the bottom and sides of the tub. Then he poured some plaster into the tub until it covered the acrylic ramps. He washed my feet and legs with a sweet-smelling wipe then coated my feet and legs with a foul-smelling oil. A release agent he called it. When the tub was raised and my feet touched the ramps they were slid forward into the plastic forms. I felt the forms as they slid into place and fit perfectly in the arch of my foot. The edges of the acrylic were curved up slightly to help prevent my foot from spreading when pressure was applied.

More plaster was poured into the tub until it reached my knees. I was given an 8 oz bottle of water with a straw to drink. I took a good draw from it and moved my head back. He set it on a table. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I suspended you from the beam. It was because when you put weight on your feet they spread out some. I need your feet at the right angle but without pressure on them. The edges of the acrylic platforms will help some but without the walls of the boots, your foot would still spread out past the edges ruining the mold. It will take 30 minutes for the plaster to dry enough to remove it from your legs and feet. As thick as it is it will take days for it to cure but for this, I only need the walls to dry enough to pour in the dense rubber to make a mold of your feet.

“I could just dip your feet in liquid rubber several times to get the desired thickness and then into the acrylic mold but that leaves the chance of movement ruining the boot. Not only that but the rubber is hot and would burn the skin and be too difficult to separate from your skin which means that you would never be able to remove the boots without damaging both your legs and the boots. I am looking into some new technology that will allow me to dip the legs into a rubber that is liquid at room temperature and cured with an ultraviolet light. Then I could set the rubber-covered foot into a mold for the acrylic but that is still a year away.

“After we are done here I will strap the pieces back together and fill the holes with a hard rubber to make a positive mold of your feet and legs. Then I will use that to make a custom pair of boots for you to work in. The boots will be made of a thick rubber that will contour to the shape of your leg. They will be embedded into the acrylic hoof so they will be waterproof and easy to clean. I will have them ready for a fitting in a week. Thomas will let you know when to come back here,” he explained. “This process will have to be done every six to twelve months until you are fully grown.”

’Hoof boots?’ I thought, shocked. ’No!’ I kept my mouth shut for now. I didn’t want to be wrong and humiliate myself. After 30 minutes, Mr. Harrison unstrapped the tub and used a tool to separate the chunks of plaster. He gently separated them from my feet and lowered me back to the floor. My shoulders hurt, a lot, as he removed the restraints. I sat in a chair while I watched him reassemble the plaster and tub then pour the leg holes with a pink rubber that was smoking from the heat. After using wet wipes to clean the plaster and oil from my legs I strapped my heels back on and locked them.

“It will take an hour in the cooler before they can be removed then I can get started on your new work boots. You can go back up front to meet your mother.”

I walked out, and when I got there Mom was gone. “Your mother left to run some errands before heading home. Since you were coming to my place to work, there was no reason for her to stick around. You will ride with me. I hope you will like your new boots. They will protect your feet better than being barefoot. It’s not safe on a ranch, there is no telling what you will step on or in.

“Your mother told me about your fears. Rest assured, I am not trying to turn you into a pony unless that is something you’d want. I adjusted your uniform because of the heat and it is the bare minimum I can allow you to wear and keep you from being mistaken for a ponygirl. I got you the pony boots to see how you felt about them and how you adapted to wearing and working in them. If you take to them then they will become part of your work uniform.”

“I want to go to college. I don’t want to be a pony, sir,”

“Understood. I didn’t think so. The boots you are getting are similar to the ones the ponies wear. Pony boots have thin rubber walls to allow for less resistance when the ankle flexes. Yours are three times thicker, which will help support your ankles and since you won’t be running much the resistance is unimportant. The hooves are the same and will be shod just the same as the ponies. Also, your boots will have a white rubber embedded on the outside of each boot forming the word ‘EMPLOYEE’. This will help make sure no one mistakes you for a pony while you are working, especially if you are found naked outside of the shower stall.

“The ponies will clean them inside and out for you each day and they will be kept in the tack room. That way you will never forget them at home. The ponies have petitioned me for the sole privilege of taking turns grooming you each day. I have granted their request as long as it doesn’t interfere with their training or your work.

When it gets too cold to wear the fetish heels I want you to get a pair of boots with a heel. I will have Danica go to the same site she ordered the shoes from and order a pair of boots with the same heel. During the cold season, you will wear the fetish boots and leave them in the tack room when you change into your hoof boots. I have instructed your parents to not allow you to wear any other kind of shoes except for the high heels provided by Danica. The heel raises your foot to the same angle as the hoof boots. You will wear them until you get your boots. They are old shoes and made of patten leather. They are easy to clean no matter what you get on them,” Mr. Smith told me.

When I finally arrived at the barn this morning there was a hook and hanger just inside the stall I normally use. I removed the dress, put it on the hanger, and then back on the hook. It was only 8 a.m. and it was already getting hot. I could feel a trickle of sweat running down my back under my hair. I have an appointment at Mom’s salon tomorrow at 9. Can’t wait to get it cut short.