We'd taken the train to Paris that morning and headed directly to the shop. It was small. You got to it through the cobbled courtyard of a shabby building near the Place de la Bastille. Of course there was no dressing room, and anybody could have walked in on us while I tried on the fetishes, sturdy leather and cold metal buckled tight against my naked skin. The proprietor (Jonathan had told me he was a saddle maker-with sidelines) was old, small and wizened, courtly and loquacious with Jonathan, and terse and direct with me, communicating in short commands-kneel, turn, bend, open.They were fitting me with full pony equipment-harness, boots, and bridle. And tails, of course-several different ones, actually, more than I'd really need as a pony. Jonathan hastened to repeat that, after all, I'd won the big pony race in New York, and that he'd certainly be racing and showing me some more. Which surprised me, because he'd never shown any interest in that sort of thing before. Still, he was buying all this custom-made gear.
What do You think about Safe Word: An Erotic S/M Novel?
