The Shape of Her - Cover

The Shape of Her

by Megansdad

Copyright© 2026 by Megansdad

BDSM Story: When fantasy becomes reality for one woman two lives change. An evil woman returns to once again make a man's life miserable.

Tags: PonyGirl   Nudism  

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the riverbank, shimmering on the surface of the water like scattered diamonds. Birds chirped lazily in the distance, and the distant snowcaps glowed against the blue sky. Their picnic lay scattered on the blanket behind them—crumbs of bread, an empty wine bottle, a pair of sandals.

“Come on in,” she called over her shoulder, her laughter echoing off the water.

He sat on the blanket, watching her. “It looks cold.”

“It’s not,” she grinned, lifting her dress high, the fabric bunching just beneath her hips as she stepped carefully into the river. “Okay, maybe a little.”

She waded further out, the water swirling around her thighs. Her dress floated gently around her, light as gauze. She leaned down, watching tiny fish scatter from her shadow, and kicked playfully at the current.

Then—something brushed her calf. She gasped and stumbled. “Ah!”

In one flailing motion, she lost her footing. Her arms pinwheeled, and she fell backward with a splash, a sharp cry breaking the serene quiet. The river caught her dress like a live thing, snatching it upward, over her shoulders and off in one sweeping motion before she could react.

By the time she resurfaced, sputtering pushing her soaked hair from her face, she was in just her black bikini-cut panties, her breasts rising and falling with each breath, nipple pebbled from the cold.

“Shit!” she gasped, turning in the current, looking for the dress that was already downstream and out of sight, floating debris moving with the rapid current.

He was already up, running toward the bank. “Are you okay?”

She laughed, shaky but real, as she stood up fully, water streaming down her curves, her cheeks flushed with shock and the cold. “Yeah ... just surprised me. Something touched my leg.”

“And stole your dress.”

“Pervert river,” she muttered, half-laughing, wrapping her arms around her chest with mock modesty.

She waded slowly toward the riverbank, water dripping from her body, the black fabric of her panties clinging tightly to her hips. Her arms crossed over her chest now—not just from the cold, but from the awareness creeping in.

“Shit,” she muttered again, quieter this time, glancing downriver where her dress had vanished. “We’ve got a problem.”

He reached out to help her up the slope. “You okay?”

She took his hand but didn’t meet his eyes right away. “Yeah, but...” She looked toward the road, barely visible through the trees. “I can’t walk through the city like this. You know the law.”

His brow furrowed. “Right. Public nudity. Only slaves or ... ponygirls.” He glanced back at the picnic blanket, then down at her. “I don’t suppose you’re planning to sign a declaration of property ownership in the next ten minutes.”

“Not unless it comes with a really flattering collar,” she said dryly, then sighed. “God. I’m topless in a public area. If someone sees me...”

“They’ll assume you’re owned,” he finished for her, “and report me if I’m not holding a license.”

She bit her lip, thinking. “Do you have a jacket or anything?”

He shook his head. “Just the hoodie I left in the car, which is back at the apartment—a fifteen-minute walk through town.”

She groaned. “So either I sprint back in my sandals and panties and hpe no one sees me, or...” her eyes met his, “you get creative.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Creative how?”

She glanced at the picnic basket, then at the pile of leather straps they’d used earlier. She enjoyed playing at being a ponygirl, and they were always looking for private places to play with a mild risk of getting caught. Her expression shifted, thoughtful, amused, and a little daring. “Well ... we could pretend. Just until we get back to the apartment. It would escalate our play. The first time you took me out in public.”

His lips curled into a slow grin. “You’d let me collar you outside of our play and take you out in public?”

“I’d let you fake collar me,” she corrected, but the blush on her cheeks gave her away.

“You know that means walking beside me like a good little possession. No hiding. No covering up.”

She swallowed, then stood straighter, arms slowly lowered from her chest. Her nipple still hard from the cold water drying in the slight breeze, her hair dark and slick down her back. “I know what it means,” she said softly. “If it gets us home without a fine ... or worse ... I’ll do it.”

He leaned in, voice low. “Collar,” he said.

She sank smoothly to her knees, water trickling down her body. Her right hand reached back, collecting her wet hair and lifting it away from her neck. She held still, breathing quietly, eyes downcast in submission.

The leather collar wrapped snugly around her throat, the familiar weight of it grounding her. The metallic sound of the metal buckle falling silent as he fastened the collar in place. A shiver ran down her spine as she reveled once again in the feeling of complete submission to the man she loved.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

“Thank you, Master,” she whispered, voice steady, but laced with something deeper—excitement masked as obedience.

“Stand,” he commanded.

She rose gracefully, standing tall before him in nothing but the soaked black panties and the collar now snug at her throat. He reached for the harness, lifting the supple leather straps, still damp from their earlier play. She lifted her arms without being told, letting him slip the shoulder straps into place, then buckled the straps supporting her breasts with ease. The familiar constriction of her waist followed.

The straps creaked as he snugged them tighter. “You know what comes next,” he said, stepping behind her. She nodded, lips parting, but said nothing.

His fingers slipped into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her hips slowly, letting the soaked fabric cling and peel away from her skin. She stepped out of them when they hit the ground, now fully nude to the breeze once again, her arousal spiking at the thought of being in public like this for the first time.

Her breathing quickened as he returned, holding the bridle. She opened her mouth without instruction, and he slid the bit between her lips, adjusting it to sit comfortably across her tongue. The leather straps came next—tightening around her head, locking her into her role. When the final buckle was fastened, she closed her eyes and exhaled through her mouth, sinking deeper into the headspace.

Then came the hoof boots. She lifted each foot, the feeling of the boots grounding her as he buckled them tightly, locking her posture into something taller, prouder, more graceful. They made her legs look longer, more powerful, and completely helpless on uneven ground.

When he was done, he performed one final step—he took each wrist and fastened them to the restraints attached to the back of the waist belt, securing her arms behind her. He stepped back to admire her. “Perfect,” he said, his voice warm with praise and possession.

She looked at him, eyes calm, cheeks flushed with arousal and the tiniest hint of fear. They were still close enough to the river to be safe ... but the road, and her first public exposer, wasn’t far.

He clipped the leash to her collar. With a final glance around the secluded clearing, he packed the last of the picnic blanket and supplies into the basket, slinging it over one shoulder.

Then, with the leash in hand, he turned toward the trees. “Walk on,” he said, giving the leash a gentle tug.

She stepped after him, her stride slow but deliberately two steps behind him. The bridle keeping her quiet, the harness forcing her posture tall. Shoulders back, breasts thrust out in front of her. Her arousal, heightened slightly by a mix of fear and embarrassment, leaked down her legs. They moved together through the trees, following the well-walked path, the creak of leather and the pounding of her hooves on the packed dirt marking every step.

She knew they were approaching the road and with it the very real risk that someone might see her, and that made her pulse race harder than anything else.

They had only been on the sidewalk a few minutes when they turned a corner leading toward town when they literally ran into his sister. They stopped walking, her hooves skidding on the sidewalk as she came to an abrupt stop, heart slamming in her chest. Her eyes went wide above the bit.

He looked directly in his sister’s eyes. “Shit...”

Tall sharp-featured, and always too clever for her own good, she looked first at him ... then at the leather-clad, bit-gagged, nude woman at the end of his leash. Her eyes widened for a heartbeat before the smirk spread.

“Well, well,” she said. “Afternoon hike, or are you moonlighting as a trainer now?”

He stepped protectively between them. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what it looks like.” Her eyes gleamed. “Isn’t this your girlfriend? Didn’t she once tell me she’d never be caught dead doing this kind of thing?”

His girlfriend whimpered behind the bit, her face bright red, heart pounding. “Let us pass,” he said. “We’re just heading home.”

“Oh, no, no,” she said stepping closer. “This is too good. You know, walking around unregistered like this? That’s a hefty fine. Unless...” She turned to the restrained woman, eyes narrowing. “Unless you’d like to come with me. Just for a bit. Let me give you a proper tour of the life you’re pretending to live.”

His girlfriend shook her head desperately, trying to say no through the gag. “I’ll take care of her,” his sister said sweetly, tugging the leash from his hand before he could react. “I’ll bring her back soon. Promise.”

He hesitated, uncertain. “Don’t push this too far.”

She winked. “You know me.”

“Yes, I do. That’s what worries me,” he murmured under his breath as he watched his bully of a sister lead the woman he loved—his beautiful, trembling ponygirl—away. Will she ever stop taking away the things I love?

He stood motionless on the sidewalk, heart pounding with something more than anger. Helplessness. She looked over her shoulder as she was pulled away.

His sister—that woman—walked confidently beside her, leash in hand, as though she were parading a prize pet and not her brother’s girlfriend. With each step, the ponygirl’s dread deepened

They turned onto a main street. Foot traffic picked up. A few heads turned. One man did a double take, then elbowed his friend. Another pointed.

“There we go,” the sister said, barely containing her amusement. “Downtown. You always said you’d never let anyone see you like this. Guess you’re full of surprises.”

She tried to shake her head, to protest, but the bridle held her in place, and the bit muffled everything.

“Oh, don’t struggle,” the sister said sweety. “You’ll just jiggle more.”

A pair of teenage girls passed by, gasping and laughing. A businesswoman stopped and snapped a picture. The ponygirl’s face burned, and still they walked.


The park came next—wide open spaces, weekend loungers, and families. Joggers slowed to stare. Someone clapped. A street musician even started to play a jaunty tune as they passed.

“I’ve got to admit,” the sister said, casually looping the leash around her wrist as she snapped a few photos on her phone, “you really so wear the role well. Maybe you’ve missed your true calling.”

Tears welled in the ponygirl’s eyes, but she blinked them back, trying to focus on her footing. The hoof boots made every step precarious, and the humiliating sway of her exposed breasts—now flushed with heat and humiliation—made it worse.

Then came the friends.

A table near a café. Three of them—two girls she’d known for years and a guy who used to flirt with her when her boyfriend wasn’t around. Their laughter stopped cold as they saw her.

The guy’s jaw dropped. One of the girls covered her mouth. The other simply smirked. “Oh ... wow.”

 
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