Missing from the discourse has been brother Doug. George glances his way in attempting to avoid finance Jennifer’s stern look of concern. Having thought the evening’s challenge was to win over mother O’Malley, instead her brash palpating fingers suggest approval. And in Jennifer struggling to envision the details of George’s bathing obligation there appears to more than a slight air of disapproval.
Doug seems restless, trying not to gawk, cloaking his apparent prurient reaction to bound feminine nakedness by remaining behind the three examining women. He’s aroused, George realizes, confirming his state of growing priapism by excusing himself and inquiring if any one would like a drink while he’s in the kitchen.
Mother O’Malley’s curiosity seems to further burgeon. Her fingers leave the dangling labia, rising to examine the slim vertical chain running from the navel piercing to the clitoral hood. She hooks her finger and gently tugs, her motion lifting the clitoral hood and bringing into complete view the feminine bud of joy.
“Goodness, George, it’s enormous... more like a penis.”
“It’s for show, mom. The judges seem to find attraction.”
“How did it grow so big?”
“The pills,” George not to disclose the Viagra trick which brings further swelling to a bud of size.
Mother O’Malley amuses herself, fingers jostling the slim chain in a motion she knows to bring intense arousal. George smiles inwardly, his prospective mother-in-law for sure to enjoy a stay at the farm.
“So why is she hooded, George?”
“It tends to bring calm... limits the cerebral input in situations and environments unknown to her. And of course for pony girls in training it inhibits any bolting.”
“Well, you have her hobbled... so she can’t bolt... and I’d say she’s calm and acclimated to the environment here,” mother O’Malley seeming to want to continue her examination.
George steps forth. An arm extends, the black cloth hood is instantly whisked away. Human equine Sweeney blinks, eyes adjusting to the room light. She looks about sheepishly, yet the look slowly changes to humble pride. Naked and bound, exhibited before the new family of Master George, she assumes a stance and look of self respect in her accomplishments. She has a body seemingly chiseled from stone... has won races... been exhibited and taken best in show.
Also there comes a womanly pose of quiet defiance. Jennifer O’Malley may be gaining the attention of her Master and owner, but pony girl Sweeney has won for him... sucked his penis with aplomb... and in turn won from him his care and attention... intimate attention.
“She’s bald... but beautiful, “ sister Alison gushes. “And collared,” Alison focusing on the neck for the first time.
“And with a rather formidable nose ring,” mother O’Malley adds.
“The collar in mandatory... in the pony world... sort of like the rules for keeping your dog on a leash. And leading her about by the nose is as convincing as her cunny... ah... her clitoral hood restraint.”
“She doesn’t even have eyebrows,” Alison giggles.
“It abets hygiene... makes grooming simple... soap her down... rinse... some body oil to give her a good sheen...”
George immediately regrets the detailed explanation, looking again to see fiancé Jennifer giving him the fisheye. In silence she moves to circle behind the naked form, noting the ringed thumbs hooked to the back of the neck collar then glaring at impressive hillocks of stone.
“She’s not only run.... but there must be special exercises... for these,” Jenn notes, George in a way relieved as a dainty hand rises and strokes the seemingly protruding rounded right cheek... Master petting a dog... her touch suggesting a degree of acceptance.
“Yes, much treadmill work... when not at the farm. And there are indeed... well... term it positions which stress the gluteus maximus muscles to promote prominence.”
“So she’s forced to stress herself?”
“Part of the daily conditioning, Jenn. Pony girls come to expect and enjoy a challenge.”
“Yes, enjoy. She’s becoming more and more redolent in exposing herself to us,” a nose turning up and sniffing with disdain.
Saving George from the glare of his betrothed, brother Doug returns, tray in hand.
“I’ve poured lemonade for all,” gathering everyone’s attention. “Wasn’t sure about...”
“Sweeney... her name’s Sweeney,” George realizing that with the objectification of his human steed, no one inquired as to her name... and before thought not to offer it. “I prefer she not drink when her cunny is... well the insertions are in place.”
George instantly realizes he has dug further into his own hole.
“Yes, just how does this Sweeney girl empty herself... when she has a need.... hands and fingers rendered useless,” Jenn reaching around the right hip to palm the dangling labia.
“Ah... well... yes. Good point. At the farm the sloppiness does not matter... being in the pasture and all.”
“And in your apartment?”
“Really Jenn. We need not.... ah... well... if you’re suggesting there’s untoward intimacy, it’s more like the need to change a diaper.”
“On an adult woman. And she’s able to wipe herself?”
Mother O’Malley intercedes, wisely sensing daughter Jennifer’s ire and her prospective son-in-laws’s discomfort.
“I’ve made some pie... will go nicely with the lemonade. Let’s talk in the dining room. And George, tell me more about the farm. Perhaps a visit someday...”
Son Doug and daughter Alison know the suggested respite... pie in the dining room... is more maternal directive than suggestion. As the duo move away, Master George returns the hood, needlessly assuring steed Sweeney will remain in place.
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