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He behaved for no one. He wanted to lay back his ears and pluck the intercom from the wall, smash it under his hooves.
Then he heard her coming back and need lashed him harder. He tried to see more of her in the mirror, but he could only see a piece of her. It confused him. Pink latex, black rubber.
She was moving. Her heels made a delicate clip, clop sound, a measured, echoing rhythm he understood when she moved into his field of vision and stood before him. She was moving like a horse, one foot up, then the other, a subtle prance that made her breasts quiver.
She was wearing a pale pink latex mini dress, sleeveless but with a high neck. It clung to her breasts like a second skin, showing off large, firm nipples that made him have to swallow several times to keep drool from esc
aping around the bit. The skirt creased high up on her thighs. Her stilettos were designed to look like hooves in the front, ladies' heels in the back, showcasing her long, toned dark legs all the way to the upper thigh. Her body was everything he'd want to fuck, even as it looked too good for him, inaccessible. No mortal man was worthy of fucking a goddess.
Snapping himself away from that crazy thought, he lifted his attention to her face. She wore a horse mask, too, as detailed as the stallion's head she'd put upon him. Only hers had a long elegant nose and feminine lines, including a long, silky forelock that fell along the jaw of the mask, emphasizing the column of her neck beneath. The dark eyes he'd been describing to himself were even more unsettling, the shape of the eye holes emphasizing how much her liquid brown irises and large pupils were like a mare's, vibrant with life and intensity.
She was an erotic meshing of horse and human. He'd said he didn't get this. She'd just forced him past that line and shown him that he could get this. All he had to do was let it happen...or have a Mistress who gave him no other choice but to do so.
He'd gone rigid. He had no ability to talk, to get loose, to even utter a freaking safe word, if he used one. He could handle pain and fucking. He didn't like this unfamiliar territory. She was testing the boundaries of what he normally was with a Mistress. She'd made him into a horse. A stallion that chewed on the bit, stamped his hooves, pulled against the reins, snorted his anger and lust. If she let him go, he'd be on her in a heartbeat, just like an animal, taking whatever he wanted. She was a physically capable woman, but she was still a woman. He was stronger. He could take her by force, make her submit.
He suspected she knew all that, and yet she showed no fear. It made him hotter, harder. It made him want her more.
"You asked me what I thought when I watched you fight." Her voice was a muted purr from the confines of the mask. She moved behind him, that feminine clip clop gait. She was placing an object on the dais next to him. She must be leaning against the platform, because he felt her body as she did something, slight rhythmic movements. In the mirror, he could see a piece of her smooth brown shoulder, the tilt of the mare's head.
"I was horrified. Worried about what would happen to you. Worried you would be seriously hurt. Yet I was also aroused by your strength and raw ferocity, the beauty of how you fight. That primal part of woman that responds to certain kinds of strength and violence from a male? I wanted to bind all that power beneath me, feel it plunging. I wanted to take you to your hands and knees and make you my mount. So that's what I'm doing."
He chewed on the bit and made a strangled noise that sounded a little too much like the angry snort of a steed for comfort, especially when he did it again, warning her. She gave him that soft laugh and struck his flank with the crop once more.
She stepped up on the dais behind him. This time, he caught enough of a glimpse to understand what she'd been doing. She'd been oiling up a black rubber phallus, one she'd strapped over her hips and waist. This was what he'd anticipated, but he resisted, yanking against the ropes. She ignored him.
"I'm glad I made sure your head has to stay up. I want you looking at yourself while I fuck you."
Taking the phallus in her hand, she pressed it through the ring that had kept his ass accessible to her. At the first touch of it against his opening, he clenched up and fought her in earnest, but she'd left him no way to refuse her. His cock was pulsing, leaking pre-come he could feel dampening the tip. The sudden explosion of physical response as she began to enter him was so unexpected, he was afraid he might spew. He'd been so much in his head he'd ignored how his body had been readying itself, reaching for this, wanting it. Which lessened his control with her even further.
"You know, when a mare is being bred, and there's concern that she might resist the stud to the point she'll do him damage, they sometimes temporarily hobble her, or strap one leg. It's to ensure she's receptive, get things moving in the right direction."
She dropped forward, her hand between his shoulder blades, and teased the valley of his spine with the tip of her tongue, sending a starburst of sensation through all his nerve endings. It converged on his cock, making him groan as the straps bit cruelly into the thick shaft.
"I can feel how much you want me, Marius, when I strap down all your shit, inside and out." Her other hand slid beneath his belly, traced the side of his steel cock. "Feel how big you are. My beautiful stud."
She straightened and kept working the dildo into him. He'd been fucked up the ass before, but not recently, so he was tighter than usual. Staring at the small part of her he could see in the mirror, he imagined the rest. The arch of her back, the jut of her nipples. The quiver of her breasts and crease of latex over her undulating hips. The way she was probably moistening her lips beneath the mask. Her cunt would be gushing, blissfully wet.
While he had to envision all that, he saw the hard quiver of his own muscles as she fully penetrated him and sunk deep. His mind might not be sure how to react, but his cock wasn't having the same problem. Despite the pain the strap was causing him, it was pulsing like a countdown on a bomb timer. Lust fueled by the unspecific rage churned inside him.
When he yanked against the ropes, she grasped the straps between harness and mask, increasing their tautness. He made a rebellious noise of anger and need.
"The stallion doesn't like being mounted by the mare, does he? But oh, the mare loves it, all that rage of the alpha who won't submit, but he's going to. What a tight, hot little ass you have, my sweet, sweet boy."
Fuck, he was going to come just from her talking. He snarled against the bit. He struggled, hoping to force something to twist or slip so she'd have to stop and loosen it before his circulation was cut off, but she was too damn good at this. She was starting to thrust in a diabolical rhythm. He could feel his climax rising, commanded wholly by her. He made a noise of furious frustration as the reaction boiled up from his balls. He kicked his back feet against restraints that wouldn't yield to his temper.
"You've no control or influence at all here," she said in that same steady purr, one laced with enough desire he could tell how turned on she was. But it gave him no power. He had no way to turn it to his advantage, since she had him bound, gagged, and had pulled him to the brink of climax without any element of persuasion. She was making him do her will.
"You'll come when I want you to come," she said, echoing his thoughts in that same even, relentless tone. "You're my breeding stud, my property, my responsibility. I know what's best for you in a way you don't. You live by your fighting instincts, but they take you into a place where you do yourself and others harm. I won't allow that anymore."
She was punctuating her breathless monologue with rhythmic, slow strokes that were cutting every line he had on his own reaction. "When you have a Mistress that's broken you, ridden you, and who fucks your ass when you need it, you're protected from everything, including yourself. There are no choices. You're my mount and that's it. You serve me. I own you, Marius. Come now."
He strangled on a roar, fighting the orgasm that rose and crashed down upon him. Even knowing his resistance played right into her hands, he couldn't make himself let it go, play the game, because she'd knocked him too far out of his normal headspace.
"Now," she repeated sharply, and he groaned, hips jerking as she reached beneath him and wrapped deft fingers over the crisscross of girth and strap to grasp his cock and balls. Semen instantly spurted wet heat over her fingers, against his chest and upper arms, his abdomen. He dug in to the platform on the hooves and almost buckled to his elbows.
His hips worked just as he'd shamefully imagined it earlier, a male animal humping air as she fucked him with harder thrusts, her other hand seizing his mane and twisting. In the mirror he saw two horses. The stallion's badass countenance turned dangerous from the angry flame in his eyes, the way he was fighting his restraints. Whereas the mare's head moved in a steady feminine dip of motion, her dark eyes luminous upon him, pleased with his respon
se, alive with her own lust. Knowing he was making her so hot, without having had a thing to do with it himself, with no control...it was fucked up.
