Mistress Takes Her Pony Slave to KFS North

The north’s biggest annual fetish event KFS North took place on Saturday, 12 July this year and Mistress Selena was in attendance with her trusty pony slave. It was a balmy summer night – definitely a night where as far as clothing was concerned, less was best. KFS was the new name of the annual fetish party formerly known as Skin Two North and the place was pumping with attendees dressed in their very best kinky clobber.

Pony Slave had never attended a fetish event before so this was his opportunity to dive on on the deep end. He was nervous as hell but in the end he was my brave little soldier and I couldn’t be more pleased with his progress in his slave training. I was thrilled to be the Dominant to pop his public play cherry. So what did he think of the whole experience?

Pony Slave’s experience of KFS North

Well, here you were. You found a corner of the changing room and stalled for a moment to save time. Around you people, mainly other men ,got changed quietly. The majority wore latex outfits; on one side the other person in the room you knew, a friend of your Mistress, changed into an army uniform. On the other side, a pretty girl, the sole female was already dressed, in a fetish-type but not overly-revealing outfit.

KFS North

KFS North

Nobody else had their arse out! Your own outfit suddenly seemed sparse in the extreme. You stalled for a moment longer, then took the plunge and began undressing. Top off, then trousers. A moment of self-consciousness, interrupted by a compliment from a latex-clad stranger getting changed across from you.
“Nice thong mate, been looking for one like that for ages. Where’d you get it?”

You told him and he nodded approvingly. For a brief moment you felt like Alan Partridge, preparing to dance for the head of television. With a little help you put your pony head harness on. Here you were; on an industrial estate in Leeds, wearing the total sum of shoes and socks, a leather thong and a pony head harness, preparing to spend the evening in the company of (tens? hundreds?) of strangers.

It was time to go down, to go out there. Christ in a bucket. You breathed in and wished you’d exercised more. Or exercised at all. You noticed for the first time that your light brown trainers didn’t really go with the black leather thong. This bothered you more than seemed proportionate, but it was a welcome distraction from the prospect of walking around with your arse out.

You were walking towards the door, towards the noise. A brief look around at the top of the stairs revealed no-one else with their arse out. Plenty of latex and rubber, but no-one else in just a thong and a pony harness.

Then you saw her; Mistress! At the bottom of the stairs waiting for you, a safe harbor to swim towards. She looked stunning. And she was smiling, not just an ordinary smile, she looked positively proud! Of you, her pony! You had made Mistress proud!!

Laughing Pony

Image courtesy of Tina Phillips / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Suddenly none of it mattered anymore; your arse hanging out, the trainers that didn’t go, the fear that a bollock could slip out at any moment. Mistress was smiley and warm ,adjusting your head harness, close to you, proud of you.
You had the sudden and powerful feeling it was going to be ok, it was going to be better than ok.

You followed Mistress into the larger room. There was still nobody else wearing just a thong and a pony harness, most people were in smart latex or rubber outfits, but it was ok. People looked, but not in an unkind way. Anyone you made eye contact with smiled. It was going to be ok!

Mistress made another adjustment to your harness, looked you up and down, then you sat down at a table. She was smiling and happy and it felt wonderful.
You were sat in a draught on one of the warmest nights of the year and suddenly the lack of clothes became a positive. And Mistress was still smiling!
The next couple of hours passed in a blur; figures went by in a variety of outfits, although still no-one wearing as little as you. But it didn’t matter anymore, it was fine, you felt safe.

People came and spoke to Mistress; a lot of the time you couldn’t hear what they said (the music was too loud) or they couldn’t hear what you said (you always had been softly-spoken), but it didn’t matter. You were just happy to be there, happier still to be there with Mistress.

“Is he yours?” you managed to hear people ask Mistress on several occasions, and your heart swelled as she answered “Yes, this is my pony slave”. She smiled as she answered and looked proud. You had made Mistress proud!!

Pony play harness

Pony play harness

In the middle of the evening Mistress led you by the reins to the play area. It was quieter than at other points as there was a performance on in the other room, but still… Now you weren’t just being, you were participating, on display, as she secured you to a wooden cross.

Mistress began to beat you and you felt the familiar rush of pleasure as the pain began to build, the familiar yearn for more as the paddles pounded and the floggers lashed you. Yet it wasn’t quite the same as before; you could feel yourself holding back, unable to let go as in private.

You didn’t know where to look for one thing, what was the proper etiquette? Whenever you noticed the crowd around the play area, they either smiled or weren’t looking at you, but still… Was it ok to make a noise? Then you got self-conscious, what if your “aahhh!” or even the “waaaa!” that you’d emitted last time you played sounded silly, ridiculous even to these people?

So you held in the first couple, then the longer you went without making a noise, the bigger a deal it became. Mistress was trying to get into it, but you kept checking yourself. It was beginning to feel as though you could have gone on forever without making a noise, when Mistress stopped the play.

Back at the table she would tell you that she had realized something was up, that you had gone into something called subspace and it could have been dangerous. It felt like you could have taken a lot more, but you realized she was right; the marks on your bum the next day would testify to just how much you had taken.

"St Andrews Cross 2010" di Toglenn - Opera propria. Con licenza Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 tramite Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:St_Andrews_Cross_2010.jpg#mediaviewer/File:St_Andrews_Cross_2010.jpg

“St Andrews Cross 2010″ di Toglenn – Opera propria.

You were impressed that Mistress had realized this instinctively, without even having to ask. You were grateful too, that she’d acted in your best interests, even when you hadn’t realized it was necessary.

As the evening progressed you heard lots of noises from the play area, and sometimes none at all, just the crack of a whip or thud of a paddle. The noises ranged from medium-sized yelps to giant screams that filled the room, and it was then you got it;there was no proper etiquette. Whatever noise you wanted to make was ok, there was no need to hold anything back. You could let it all out here and it would be ok.

You spent the rest of the night at KFS North sitting at the table, glad to be spending time with Mistress, happy as ever to be at her side. It would be a lie to say it was perfect. There were times when it got too warm and most of the time the music was too loud. You nodded along to a lot of conversations and could have done with subtitles.

But here was the thing; none of that mattered. It had taken over thirty years, but for the first time you were somewhere where it was ok to be completely you, ok to be your kind of different. See, you’d realized at a young age you were different. But as you got older you realized that your kind of different didn’t fall into the usual categories of different: you weren’t pale enough or thin enough to be a convincing goth, you didn’t care for death metal and you couldn’t grow your hair long ‘cos you had the wrong shape of head. You hadn’t been good at science or maths and you’d never really got science fiction. To the naked eye you weren’t different at all. And when you tried to explain your kind of different to people, you knew they didn’t really get it. Some tried, and some pretended to, but you knew that deep down your kind of different wasn’t something they got. You knew you were a different kind of different.

As you sat there at KFS North, in a dark room on an industrial estate on the outskirts of Leeds, wearing a leather thong and pony head harness, you realized the reason why it was going to be ok here was because, finally, you’d made it to somewhere where people did get your kind of different. And you didn’t need to explain it, or worry about them getting it, because they were that kind of different too.

And you had made Mistress proud!!
(and your bollocks hadn’t popped out!)

Pony Pride Flag

Pony Pride Flag

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