AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"That's it. That's my beautiful boy. Beautiful stud. All done for now." She spoke in a quiet hum as he finished, as his body shuddered beneath her. "What a mess you've made, but that's all right. That's exactly what your Mistress wanted from you."
As she slid from inside him, a hard aftershock jolted his muscles. He was trembling with the force of his reaction. His physical reaction. That was what he told himself.
Yet his gut clenched when he heard the whisper of straps and clink of the buckles that told him she'd removed the strap-on and set it aside. He confirmed it when she moved in front of him again.
He didn't know if it made her merciful or even more cruel when she removed the dress. The hoof stilettos were thigh high boots, and she wore nothing under the dress, so she stood before him in the boots and head mask alone. Her breasts, big, round and tipped with nipples that reminded him of black cherries, captured his gaze. He'd sort of lied when he'd said black cherry Jell-O wasn't his favorite because of her. He'd been thinking about that flavor a lot lately.
He was hungry to suckle, never mind his cock had just been drained. Christ, she wasn't done.
No, this was good. Of course she wasn't done. She hadn't come yet. She would want him to make that happen for her, which would put him back on familiar footing. She wouldn't keep him in this ridiculous get up. As he counted on that, he didn't let himself miss out on the view.
Her trim thatch of pubic hair was ebony as her hair. The soft ropes of her locs fell down her back below her mask, an enhancement to the mane.
She tsked, her gaze coursing over him. "Before I go for my ride, I think one very important thing is missing." She left his view, though he angled his head as hard as he could to get a brief glimpse of her bare ass twitching in a saucy walk as she circled him again. Wearing those boots, Christ, she was a picture. If he ever got free of this...
The cabinet door rattled, and she was back behind him. Silky, thick hair brushed against the back of his thighs. Oh, fuck, no. She was giving him a tail, one that was put in place with the help of a rosebud butt plug. It felt twice as thick as what she'd used to fuck him. He was too lubricated to resist her, no matter how he tried.
"My stallion's still so slick for me," she observed in a pleased tone. "Look at that. No, don't tighten up. You can take this. Don't be stubborn." Her fingers curled around his cock again, a sensual stroke and tug, stroke and tug, that was disturbing, but oh hell... Okay, yeah, it was big, but she coaxed and teased, and it was going in, stretching, burning, and he was working with her, despite his initial resolve to resist.
When it was seated, it wasn't comfortable, but his dick didn't care, still floundering toward an erection again like a drowning swimmer determined to reach firm footing. It messed with his theory that if she'd used the big plug first he could have kept better control of his response.
"There it is, all the way in." The tail fell against the backs of his legs, and the burning had him fidgeting, making it swish more, adding to the whole equine identity crisis. God, he was himself, but he was this beast, this powerful beast she described, caught up in a fantasy where he belonged to her, where he had no rights beyond being her property. The more he chafed against it, the more she soothed and stimulated and messed up his head.
Stepping back up on the dais, she swung a leg over him. She didn't put her fine ass in the saddle right away. First, she straddled his shoulders. The feel of her round ass, wet cunt and springy hair, rubbing against his flesh, provoked the hard, angry need inside him.
When they'd come into the stall, he'd noticed there were a couple chains with stirrup-style loops hung from the ceiling. She grasped one now with one hand so she wasn't putting her full weight on him. It also gave her the leverage to rub herself over him lighter or harder, depending on her preferences. Her thighs clasped his upper body while she curled the other hand in the reins and his mane, and started to rock. As she rubbed her clit against him, her arousal dampened his flesh. "This is one way I can come," she mused. "Or maybe..."
She moved back onto the saddle. The brief glimpse he'd had of the pommel when she'd put the saddle on him had shown it was designed for other purposes. It was shaped like a phallus, with a rabbit ear clit stimulator. Since it seemed like she was manipulating it back and at a different angle, it apparently could be adjusted so she could work herself on it while comfortable in the seat. It probably also goddamn vibrated. A sudden tingle through the saddle told him he was right.
The plug in his ass, something about it was making him shift and rock and, oh God, what the fuck now? He wasn't ready to get fully hard again, but suddenly it felt like he could, he was. What kind of stimulant was in that lube?
Adding to his aroused state, she'd lowered herself onto the pommel. He was watching her fuck it, push herself up and drop back down. She'd chosen an inanimate object over him, a man who could fuck her to pleasure. A stallion that could cover a mare, bite her neck, hammer into her until he spilled his seed and possessed her completely.
He tried to jostle her, buck her off, and didn't succeed at all.
"This is how it's going to be, Marius," she said. "I take care of my own needs. I'll make you come whenever I wish, long and hard, drain you dry, but you don't get to take the lead in giving me pleasure until the day you want the privilege badly enough to mean it. Oh..." She let out a sigh that evolved into a moan, which felt like velvet against his frayed nerves. "You feel so good beneath me when I'm getting off. Nothing better than riding a horse..."
He was growling in anger, groaning in sexual frustration, watching her pleasure herself, feeling the rock of her through the saddle. She'd even denied him anything more than that brief contact with her cunt. Some of his more creative cursing came through, because she reclaimed the crop and started using it, smacking his ass, his balls, hard enough he was jumping against his bonds for different reasons. She was laughing breathlessly at him, calling him her bucking rodeo mount. He couldn't get away from any of it. His cock got fully stiff again as her husky laughter became longer, deeper moans.
Something was cracking inside him, the pressure of his emotions building in an alarming way.
She'd turned him into a fucking horse, made him feel like a horse, one she'd fucked up the ass before giving him a tail and pleasing herself with a damn rubber dick. She was arched back, her beautiful throat exposed, breasts bobbing. He couldn't see that far down, but he imagined her long, flat but soft stomach contracting, her cunt lips and short curls becoming wet as she came at last with low, throaty cries. Her legs, encased in the thigh high hoof boots, flexed with her movements.
He wanted, he hungered, he needed. He was going to fucking kill her. Or kill something to have her.
He needed to pull himself back together. She was just a clever bitch trying to take what he hadn't given her. Yet he could only stare hungrily at her as she went over her peak and came, gasping, moaning, claiming her full measure of satisfaction from him. He could watch her come forever. He wished he could be what made her come all the time. Every time.
Stop this shit.
But he was tied and could do nothing right now but watch. And feel. He hated it. Yet he never wanted her to untie him, so he couldn't ruin it for her. For either of them.
When her orgasm was done, for some inexplicable reason he was shuddering as much as she was. After a few long, steadying breaths that did interesting things to her latex-molded chest, she unstrapped her mask and pulled it free. As she bent behind his stallion headpiece, her lips touched his shoulder, where the tattoo armor was. He didn't want that either. Mistresses weren't tender to him. He had a few that he got along with well enough it was a fun fuck, and they were affectionate afterward. This wasn't that. He wanted to tell her to get off him.
But instead of spitting curses at her, he closed his eyes behind the mask, experiencing the touch of her lips through every nerve ending. She straightened, running her hands over her hair. Even with the compression of the mask that had somewhat mussed her features and hair, she was still beautiful.
She dismounted, removed the saddle and the harness, but left on the mask and straps that held his head and body in place. She was humming a little tune to herself.
When she came back, he tensed, not sure what was next. But she began to run a curry comb over him. Tiny rubber teeth massaged his muscles as she moved it in circles over the base of his neck, his back and shoulders, down over his ass and upper thighs, his stomach.
