I don't like submitting to anyone, even my trainer.
I try to avoid it whenever possible, and for the most part it doesn't really come up in play. Sure, she leads me around by my reins, and puts me through my paces, correcting me when necessary, rewarding me where appropriate.
Obviously, I enjoy this; I enjoy the bondage, the helplessness, the animalization. I enjoy the mild humiliation of being treated (and being forced to behave) like an animal.
But that's the point: I do enjoy these things. The trouble comes when she asks me to do something that I don't enjoy (the example I'm thinking of here is not wanting a plume put on, but there are other things as well).
Now having worked with bio-horses for years, I know you don't really fight with them; you want them to listen to you, and while you do have to correct them at times, you don't get into a tug of war, and you don't get worked up. It is counter-productive to training, it erodes trust, and frankly, they are much bigger and much stronger than you. They will win.
A human pony is a different story. I might be stronger than my trainer, but, unlike my bio-equine friends, I don't have 1000 lbs of muscle on her. When I'm harnessed, hands bound, tottering in hoof boots with a bit and horse-sized tongue depressor in my mouth, what strength advantage I might have had evaporates. In a tug of war with a human ponyboy, the trainer will win.
Still, I do put up a fight because submission does not come naturally to me. The worst part is, she likes it when I fight her. She doesn't antagonize me purposefully (at least not for the sake of antagonizing me), but on those occasions when she finds real resistance (as opposed to the playful resistance, or the "I want to be punished" (aka "bad pony" time) resistance), she get's this evil little smile.
Of course, that irritates me further. And my irritation just amuses her further. Apparently my resistance reminds her of exactly the way in which a horse would resist, the shaking head, the hooves clopping as I try to back away. The irony of the fact that my resistance to being made an animal makes me all the more equine is not lost on me.
I jerk my head up to yank the reins out of her hand, but it rarely works, and I am merely rewarded with a jerk from her end of reins, which always works: my head is pulled forward, my body forced to follow, leaving my legs struggling to maintain balance in the boots. Not to mention the lovely sensation of the bit port digging into my soft palate, and let's not forget the curb portion of the bit being shoved down my throat. Oh yeah, and if she has the remote to the shock collar handy, that's a whole other thing.
So where was I? Right: a jerk on the reins. After that, the crop comes down, then another jerk of the reins, then the crop, then the reins again...well you get the idea.
Really I have no chance; I'm not actually a horse, so I can't win this fight. This thought frustrates me incredibly...I mean really frustrates me. I don't want to give in. It's no longer about not wanting that plume on (or not wanting to make equine sounds, or whatever)...now it's about not wanting to lose. Now I really am an animal. Now I really don't have control.
So my choice comes down to submitting to what she wants, or tapping out (safe signal). But in a way, this isn't really a choice because by tapping out, I'm submitting, just in a different way. I'm telling her that she did indeed win: I can't put up anymore resistance, and I can't take her punishment.
Besides, unlike a broken leg, broken pride is not an emergency, so of course, I don't tap out.
Even if I were trying to calm down, she doesn't give me the chance as she yanks the reins again before tying them to a ring in the stall. There's no slack of course - I'm forced to bend over slightly (the ring is a foot or so below eye level) with my face touching the wall. Hobbles go on forcibly over the hoof boots; elbows are tied together.
Only then does she take her time and carefully affix the plume. When she tells me I'm a "good boy" now, it sounds humiliating, degrading...what you would say to an animal.
She pats my neck then steps back to admire her handiwork. I, of course, don't step back since I cannot move.
She unties my reins from the ring then asks me if I like my plume.
I don't, but I nod my head anyway.
An especially hard jerk of the reins pulls me forward, and the hobble chain clinks taut as I nearly lose my balance.
She asks again, and this time I have to think for a second before making an exaggerated bob of the head (as I said I apparently act more equine when I am trying not to).
Satisfied, she leads me outside for a walk. A slow and uncomfortable walk since she did not bother to untie my elbows or remove the hobbles, but it's not like I could say anything, and as frustrated and upset as I was, I didn't really want to get into it again.
She walked me for a good hour like that: me fuming and pouting, her carrying the crop and keeping only a light contact on the reins. She's a smart woman; she got what she wanted earlier but was not rubbing it in.
We walked until the additional bondage did its work and replaced the anger with arousal.