Lady Eleanor's Collection 4: Intruder

Story 4 - Intruder

“Mistress, can you see her?”  Kat pointed with a chrome nail to the young woman on the screen.  “She got over the wall by the copse and is heading to the stable block.”

“Interesting.”  Lady Eleanor said.

“We can follow her easily on the security cameras.”

“Good.  Lock the door to the area of the stables where Aspen is but open the door a little to the ones where Arabella is.  Open the storeroom door there too.  We’ll see if we can tempt our intruder in.”

“Yes, Mistress.”  Kat quickly punched the buttons on the control panel and at the stable the machinery moved into action.

****

Tracey came up to the low brick building where she had seen the woman ride back in, she guessed they were the stables.  The building looked new, with solid doors, and shatterproof windows high up.  Tracey wanted to check if the woman was still inside so she could have a go at the house.  If not, there might be stuff here worth taking.  Tracey tried the main door to the stable, but it would not budge.  The side door proved equally firmly locked.  She cursed, but then quickly skirted around the building to the other side.  This side of the building looked a mirror image of the first, but with a difference, here the side door was ajar.  Quickly Tracey went over to it and peered inside.

These stables looked strange, not filled with the wood and straw she expected, but shiny and white.  In the stalls she could see, the floor was strewn with what looked like corn-coloured strips of silk.  She guessed that this was the latest design.  It suggested there would be something worth stealing inside, easily, without the problems that breaking into the house would present her.  She held her breath and listened, but there judged there was no sound of the woman she had seen.  She pushed the door open just enough to slip inside.

By the door stood what looked like a small trap, a two-wheeled horse drawn carriage she had seen occasionally at fêtes in the area.  The stalls held nothing of interest, bar the fact that they looked like the ones in no stables Tracey had seen.  At the end, however, she noticed something like a storeroom and walked briskly towards it.  As she did, something in the last stall abruptly snared her attention.  It looked like some kind of strange creature.  Its skin was black and shiny, except for the mane emerging from the top of its head and stretching down the back.  It was two-legged but its feet were hoofed like a horse’s.  The ears that rose from its head and the black rubber tail emerging from its backside were like a horse’s too.  Then the creature turned and Tracey saw it was a woman dressed in clinging rubber, her firm breasts strained against it.  Instantly Tracey was shocked but also curious.  The woman’s upper arms were bound to her sides, so she could only move her forearms and hands.  As she came closer, now Tracey saw that the hooves were in fact peculiar boots slid over the catsuit the woman wore.

Tracey did not know what to do.  “What’s happened to you?”  She asked the woman in a hushed voice.

Then she noticed the woman wore a bridle with a rubber-coated bit running between her teeth and preventing her from speaking.  The bridle itself was tied by rubber rope to the stall.  Tracey hurried forward and tried to untie the rope.  “These people in these stately homes, they’re all perverts.”  She said to herself.

The rubber-covered woman stamped her hoofed feet and twisted her head, making a neighing sound as she did.  Tracey had no hope of untying the rope now as the woman shook and shied away from her.  Tracey gave up trying and as she did the woman calmed and walked up to Tracey stroking her gloss covered body along hers.  Tracey shuddered at the sensation of the slippery rubber running over her jeans.  In an instant she wondered what it would be like to wear such clothes against her flesh.  Clearly this woman was enjoying it.  Tracey shook her head: she had to remind herself of why she was here.  As yet she had barely seen anything worth stealing.  She looked around and focused back on the open door at the end of the stables.

Tracey walked up to it, wondering if the woman she had seen riding was in here.  The door was ajar and again she carefully looked inside before stepping through.  The light was on but the room was empty.  It was indeed a storeroom, more typical of a stable.  It was hung with bridles and reins and a couple of whips were clipped to the wall.  Tracey tried unsuccessfully to unclip one, thinking they might be worth something, but her attention was quickly distracted by a small room at the end.  She walked in cautiously, but it too was empty.  The room was circular and small, more like a cupboard.  It was tiled white all over, with small spotlights shining in a ring around the edge of the ceiling.

In the corner was a narrow opening that proved to be a fitted wardrobe.  Inside it hung long black rubber clothes.  Immediately Tracey recognised the strange hoof like boots that the woman in the stall wore.  This must be a changing room for the dressing up the owner of the house did.  Tracey had heard it was some lady.  She wondered if that was the woman she had seen riding the real horse or if it had been one of her guests.

Curiously Tracey walked the few steps to the rubber clothes.  They looked about her size, a little smaller than the woman she had seen in the stall.  She ran her fingers over the gloss.  It was shiny and slippery inside and out, unlike the rubber of wellington boots worn on a farm.  Then the lights suddenly changed to a pinky-purple, and there was a sound just on the edge of her hearing.  Tracey turned around quickly, but the doorway she had stepped through had gone, all the walls were now just smooth tiling.  The door must have closed while she was feeling the rubber.  Tracey did not panic, in fact in the pastel light she felt relaxed, almost soothed; there was no need to struggle, to try to get out, she just had to move to the centre of the small room and wait.

Tracey felt herself getting dopey.  Patches of pale pink and dark purple light appeared to be rotating around her.  Ahead of her a spiralling circular pattern of light shone on the curved wall.  Tracey could not look away from it.  She gazed at it, and as she did she felt her will fading, she could not struggle, she could only obey.  She barely noticed as a hood lowered from the ceiling resting on her shoulders, covering her head.  As it settled in place the colours and the noise intensified.  She felt her memories fading, she could not remember why she was there, even who she was, her mind seemed to be emptying until she felt she was in limbo.  Then, reassuringly, a voice began to whisper to her: what and who she was.  The words repeated, gently, softly changing her.

“I am Lady Eleanor, I am your mistress.  You are Chantelle, you obey my every command.  I am your mistress, you are Chantelle, my pet, my ponygirl.  See your sleek, glossy body Chantelle.”  The words repeated, sinking deep into her consciousness, shaping her personality to her new identity, her new form.

The lights cleared and an image appeared, as if the hood had been removed and ahead of her she saw the rubber-covered woman Tracey had seen in the stalls.  Her slim body was covered in glossy rubber, like a new shiny skin.  Her arms were constrained close to her sides.  Her slender legs ran into boots that ended in hooves.  She liked their shape, how her smooth calves, her thighs were thrust out.  Her breasts stood firm, teased, pleased by the rubber which clung to them and held them erect.  Her blonde hair rose through the hood to become her proud mane.  She saw the rubber-coated bridle that grasped her head, the bit running through her teeth, ready for her mistress’s reins to guide.  She skittered and shook her head.  Then she realised it was not the ponygirl she had seen in the stalls, this was a reflection, this was a reflection of Chantelle, of Chantelle the ponygirl, a reflection of herself.  A bolt of arousal shot through her.  Chantelle panted, and shuddered with pleasure as she realised her true identity.  Chantelle neighed just like the ponygirl she was.

All went black but soon her vision cleared.  She glanced up to see a rigid, glossy black hood rising back through the ceiling.  Chantelle looked down at herself and was confused.  She wore horrible itchy clothes, where was the glossy rubber she loved?  She tore off the jacket and shirt; the bra which seemed so unsuitable.  She ripped at the laces of the muddy shoes, so unlike her lovely hoofed boots.  In moments she was tugging down the jeans and panties that felt so uncomfortable.  She turned to the closet she knew was behind her.  Chantelle snatched out the rubber ponygirl suit and hurried to slide her legs into it, the oiled, glossy interior easing up her shapely legs, cupping her bum as she slid her arms into the sleeves.

The door slid open behind her, but Chantelle did not panic.  She smiled as her mistress stepped in.  Lady Eleanor wore her leather riding clothes.  From the polished black boots, past the clinging beige jodhpurs, to the tight rubber shirt under her fitted leather riding jacket, she looked perfect.  Chantelle stood passively as her mistress gently guided her body into the rest of her ponygirl suit.  With her arms in place, bound close to her body, Lady Eleanor tugged Chantelle’s hair through the hood and fitted her face in its proper place.  She checked that the black rubber butt-plug tail was nicely fitted too.  Then she zipped up the back of the suit, sealing Chantelle into the rubber she loved so much.  Lady Eleanor stroked the rubber pony ears on the top of Chantelle’s hood.  Gently she lifted up one leg and slipped on the hoofed boot and so as Chantelle could keep her balance, she followed with the other one as quickly as possible.  Chantelle stood proudly shuffling her newly hoofed feet.  Then slowly her mistress began fixing her bridle around her head.  She ran the rubber-covered bit through her mouth and Chantelle was ready for her new life.

Chantelle let herself be led over to an empty stall where her mistress tied up her reins.  Chantelle nuzzled her mistress and shook with pleasure as in return Lady Eleanor stroked her rubber clad body.

“Excellent, Chantelle.  As I special reward I’ll let Troy play with you.”

Chantelle wondered who or what Troy was.  She pulled her head round to look over her shoulder and saw her mistress’s guard leading in a tall, strong ponyboy.  Like Chantelle his body was covered in skin-tight gleaming rubber and his feet were shoed with hoof-like boots.  At the sight of Chantelle, his cock rose hard, filling out the rubber sheath that coated it.  The shiny black cock was bigger than any Chantelle had seen and she wondered what it would feel to have it slide deep and hard into her.  She knew that in moments she would find out.

Troy trotted up to Chantelle and somehow she knew it was just right for a ponygirl to bend over to receive this stallion’s cock.  She panted and skittered as she felt Troy’s firm thighs press hard against her and in moments her sodden pussy was feeling the first touches of him.  He did not hesitate, and, as suited to the creatures they both were, he was in Chantelle in a matter of moments, thrusting his rock hard cock forcefully into her.  The sensation of the huge flesh penetrating deep in her was only part of what brought her so quickly to orgasm, the realisation that she was a sexy rubber-clad pet of her mistress, being screwed at her command pulsed through her.  In seconds Chantelle was nothing but a panting, shaking ponygirl receiving her first stud servicing. 

“Excellent, my ponygirl, my Chantelle.”  Lady Eleanor said with clear satisfaction.

As Chantelle slumped, happy and tired, Lady Eleanor led Troy back to his own stall.  She then returned to Chantelle, untied her reins and led her unresisting body to the stall that held Arabella.

****

Chantelle had proven to be a wonderful bonus and as Lady Eleanor looked at her fondling and kissing Arabella, she knew she had been very fortunate.  There remained a lot to be done, not least training Chantelle to be the perfect trap ponygirl to trot in harmony with her pair partner Arabella.  However, it was a project Lady Eleanor knew she would enjoy and had no doubt that Chantelle would be a fit pet to show at the autumn meets.  Lady Eleanor decided there was no time like the present, it was a fine day and she might as well start the practice now.  Taking Kat with her, she headed out to the stables.

“I think she has proven herself.”  Lady Eleanor said.  “We’ll see if she is as good at her other duties.  Kat fix up Arabella and Chantelle to the trap, I think I’ll go for a ride.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Kat moved the trap so it faced towards the stable doors; its leather harnesses were already in place.  Lady Eleanor had ridden in it with her two male ponies, but this would be the first time she had two female ones pulling.  She went over to the stalls and with her two ponygirls looking at her eagerly she untied their reins.

“Arabella, Chantelle, come, ready yourselves for the trap.”

Almost in unison the two ponygirls followed as they were led from the stalls, their feet lifting high as they had been programmed to do, as they knew a good ponygirl did.  Reaching the trap they turned and stepped backward into the traces.  Kat hurried forward and began buckling the female body harness to Chantelle then binding it to the trap.  She then ran the reins from Chantelle’s bridle, and the special light rein that spilt and ran as a ‘y’ shape between her crotch where it could be used to give the ponygirl such rewards.  Quickly she fastened Arabella in the same.  Satisfied, Lady Eleanor stepped into the trap and took the six reins that Kat handed her.  For the moment she tied the crotch reins to the front of the trap and then with a sharp command combined with a wave sent through the reins she spurred her two ponygirls into life.

Kat was already opening the doors so that by the time Arabella and Chantelle reached them they could trot through without halting.  Both moved perfectly as their sleek bodies glistened in the sunshine.  Lady Eleanor knew their muscles would become honed by regular trotting and promised herself she would have them out far more often now she had a matched pair.  She was pleased that all the work she had put into the programming had again paid off, and that the correct patterns had slid so easily into Chantelle’s muscle memory.  Lady Eleanor was sure that by the end of the summer they would be an ideal pair to show.  Their movements were a delight to watch.

Lady Eleanor ran them round the outside of her house, with Kat looking on delighted by the scene.  Bringing them back to the stables, Lady Eleanor took up the crotch reins and pulled them lightly but firmly, so that now every perfect step rewarded the two ponygirls with the most delightful of pressures against their clits and lips.  The two ponygirls were excited when they reached the stable doors and Lady Eleanor had no doubt they would satisfy each other’s built-up sexual urges well into the night.  She stepped down from the trap and waited whilst Kat freed them from the traces.  She then took the pair of them on guide reins back to their stall.  Tying them in for the night, Lady Eleanor felt very happy.  She gave her Chantelle one last stroke and wondered whether she should let down her security a little to see what other prizes would fall into her grasp.  She turned and went back to the house, with the sound of the two ponygirls’ rubber coated bodies grinding against each other’s and the moans of their pleasure coming to her ears.