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She pulled a stool over and took a seat, hooking a boot heel over one of the slats as she crossed her arms and leaned back against a pole. He stopped in the act of unbuttoning his shirt. "You like to watch, Mistress? Want me to make it a strip tease?"
She shook her head. "Take off your clothes the way you do it when you're alone, Marius. Are you capable of not performing?"
Tossing her a cheeky grin, he started to swivel his hips, like a male stripper. Sighing, she rose and put the stool aside, turning toward her supply cabinet.
"Okay. Jesus. Fine, I'll do it the way you want. Boring."
"I don't have patience for second chances or attitude, Marius. Let me know when you're on the platform the way I ordered you to do it, or head back to your car."
She perused her liniment choices and thought the one with eucalyptus would be excellent. She ignored his grumbling, because she'd made enough of an impact he kept it low so she couldn't hear the words. She would have liked very much to watch him undress, shrug out of the shirt, wriggle the jeans off his hips, hook the underwear beneath and drop it to the floor, showing off the whole man. But the first part was often like this, both of them having to be denied until he got with the program.
She hadn't considered her previous pet projects easy--pun intended--but he was already more of a challenge than any of those had been. She wasn't going to anticipate it going in a right direction any time soon. Hearing him kick the clothes to the corner with definite attitude, she was certain of it.
"I always figured the Mistresses who are into this never got their birthday pony from Daddy," he said. "I'm on the platform. Buck naked, by the way. On hands and knees."
She hummed a note of acknowledgement, but selected and arranged her supplies to her satisfaction before she at last turned.
Oh, Lord, what a fine creation You have made. It was something her mother said when she saw a particularly good-looking specimen of manhood.
Marius was in an acceptable hands and knees posture on the raised platform. Head up, eyes forward, back straight, knees spread to shoulder width, palms braced flat, weight distributed evenly. The position showcased the layers of muscle over his ribcage. Hip bones and ribs were more prominent in this position, making her wonder if he fueled his muscles with protein shakes rather than actual food. His buttocks were taut and begging to be marked, his thigh muscles flexing as he shifted. Siren's marks were still there among the fight bruises, but fading. She wished they were gone. She wanted a blank canvas, no evidence of another Mistress's hand upon him.
The hair on his neck was groomed to a small point. He'd gotten a haircut. It had been longer, spikier, at the fight.
Picking up a handful of short straps, she ran them over his knees, calves and ankles, fixing them to the rings embedded in the platform to restrain his legs. Cuffs around his wrists were likewise snapped to rings. The cuffs were a temporary measure, but would limit his ability to quickly resist what she had in mind next.
He was watching her closely out of his peripheral vision. She'd take care of that, but first she'd put the piece on him that was most difficult for her to add without betraying her emotions. A collar wasn't part of the usual tack she used for pony play, but something told her she should use it on Marius, as another essential way to alter his headspace.
Maggie wasn't entirely wrong about Regina looking for a particular kind of sub. Or being picky. Regina merely refused to settle for less than what she wanted. A lot of women did it and made it work for them. They figured out how to chisel pieces of themselves away to fit with a lover who likewise chiseled at himself to make that fit happen. It could be a lovely way to show love growing and adapting.
The problem was--no. She wasn't going to call it a problem. It wasn't a problem to be a woman who was enough for herself. She liked every bit of who she was, and had never met the man who made her want to adapt any of that to his nooks and crannies. If she found one who did, she'd expect a similar sacrifice from him, a meeting in the middle. If she didn't, she could live every fascinating, glorious moment of this life without a lover at her side. But that resolve didn't mean she didn't want to find that man.
As a Mistress, she wanted to collar a sub and call him her own forever. It was one of the deepest wishes she had, and one she'd never said aloud to anyone. When she put a collar on such a man, she'd finally let her fingers tremble, her heart leap. She'd trust him enough to let him see her eyes and mouth go soft with need.
Every time she buckled a collar on a sub, it reminded her of that soul-deep wish. With Marius, she wanted to keep her fingers under the strap, hold and tug him to her lips. Indulge in his sweet mouth, feel his hunger grow with hers.
To keep that compulsion at bay while she strapped the collar around Marius's thick, corded neck, she ran through her domestic to-do list. The Mercedes needed to be serviced. She should add detergent and dark cherries to the weekly online grocery order. Her fingertips might be lingering on the faint rasp of a few hours' growth of beard, but that was permissible.
It was done. She withdrew her touch. Aware of his gaze on her face, she tugged his hair, an absent affection, though what she really wanted to do was take a handful and yank his head back. She'd pull on his scalp, letting him feel the sharp edge of her nails.
Shifting behind him, she ran a hand down his back, slow, learning the shape of him, all the way over the rise of his ass.
"You could keep going," he said. "I'd prefer to feel your hand on my cock rather than any of this horse stuff."
"Hmm." She brought the additional tack to the platform. First the shoulder harness, which she enjoyed securing over that broad terrain. Then the saddle. She cinched the chest strap but left the one that went across the abdomen dangling, for now. And resisted the compulsion to reach beneath him and caress his cock, aroused and stiff. His erection had grown from the moment she started to restrain him, but a significant extra jump had happened when she'd put the collar on him. It probably explained the mouthing off. He didn't want her to notice that.
Tough, baby. I notice everything.
She picked up another piece of tack with a clink of metal, the straps falling together as she lifted it. She asked him to open up the same way she would a horse. Not with words.
Inserting her thumb in the corner of his mouth, she pushed the bit against his teeth. Before he could resist, she'd forced the piece back to the furthest set of molars it could reach and tightened the head straps to keep it there. When he tried to pull away from her, she merely jerked his head down, forcing him to an elbow while she finished the adjustments. The bit had a port, a flat piece to keep his tongue from getting over the bit. It also enhanced the bit's ability to prohibit speech.
"Now, where was I?" she mused. "Before my horse decided he was Mr. Ed and could talk?"
What she was doing wasn't going to work. Marius wasn't into this pony bullshit. He wasn't going to "become a horse" just because she slapped tack on him like one. He for sure wasn't going to l
et go of the million-and-one calculations his brain was doing to stay on top of the situation.
She connected the rings of the bit to cross ties hooked to his left and right on the wall in front of him. Now he couldn't turn his head. She returned to the supply cabinet, because he could hear the faint squeak of the doors as she opened them and slid something off a shelf.
