If this pony aspires to join my collection, he must first learn to identify my scent. In my hand, I hold a wand, observing the apprehension in his eyes, the dread of being struck. Yet, I do not intend to use it as a weapon, but rather as a device to keep my undergarments ever present before his eyes. I execute this plan, removing my panties and placing them on my wand. Like a donkey chasing a carrot, he dutifully scours the room. I cannot determine if the allure of my scent or the sensation of my bare skin upon his back excites him more. This pony has proven himself worthy…he bore my weight, stood on two legs, and now recognizes my scent. He is now a part of my collection.