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“Then, I’ll be quite rough with her,” he tells me smiling broadly. “Especially at the start.” His black eyes are filled with undisguised charm.
Chapter Sixteen
I realize now what Lockhart’s been priming me for. There’s a competition of sorts between masters and their pony slaves. Because Lockhart has his indoor paddock, it’s the perfect place to hold the event, although it’s often still miserably cold outside. It’s just the middle of April and spring won’t really break out for another month.
I discover that my master is quite fussy about the details. I’ve been practicing arduously with the cart for nearly two months, carrying heavier and heavier loads. In that time, my shoulders have become stronger and my heart beats more steadily. I work in earnest on this, since it seems the more effort I put into the task, the more I ride Willow in the afternoon.
On the Saturday of the event, Lockhart wakes me himself. Rather than feel the sting of a lash, I’m immediately taken to be bathed, my hair shampooed and my entire body creamed with something sensuously soft and scented with the fragrance of wildflowers. My master attends me through all of this, as though he is waiting on me, not me on him. It’s amusing because he keeps tickling me, and I quickly discover that he does this on purpose.
The best part is the warm bath of water. I soak for nearly a half-hour—this is not a matter to rush. He wants me relaxed, not agitated and fearful.
My hair grows past my shoulders now, a thick mane of sleek mahogany. Though for this special occasion, he fixes it into a braid so it will be out of the way. After I’m soaped twice with a scented lather, he rinses me with a stream of warm water—usually it’s cold and this is quite a luxury. He pats my body dry, and wraps me in an enormous towel before he
applies cream to every inch, every nook and ticklish cranny.
I’m surprised to find a new harness to wear. This one is identical to the one I’ve worn daily for months—except for inlays of polished silver that make it shine. My collar is new as well, a silver one, studded with a ruby colored crystal. My excitement builds as he puts me in confinement. Without the straps to bind me now, I’d feel lost and very naked. But with this new harness, I feel particularly special. Once it all fits tightly, but for the strap between my thighs, another surprise greets me when Lockhart pulls out a generous dildo attached to a bushy horsehair tail.
The excited anxiousness in me deepens as my eyes fix on the amazing sight. I’m moved even more as he has me bend over and presses the greased rod into my ass. The enormity of its size astounds my physical sense, and this body cavity reshapes itself to allow the rod to settle pleasantly within. I relax profoundly; there is no choice to but to surrender with every atom in me. My poor cunt feels left out, now so empty and ignored.
Bringing me upright again, the remaining buckles of the harness are closed and locked. But unlike my other harness, this one has a new twist. With the dildo tail attached directly to my collar, Lockhart pulls the strap tautly, so my entire torso is forced to jut out, and my breasts with their fettered nipples protrude nobly from my chest. This posture is remarkable, this confinement daunting.
The bridle and bit follow—also new fancy ones, that I’ll wear as proudly as I wear the rest of my attire. My boots have been polished to a fine black gleaming shine. I wish I could see myself in a mirror—though, this stable has no such vain luxury—then too, it is not for my own pleasure, but my master’s, that I’m displayed this way.
I know I look as haughty and arrogant as I feel.
I’m drunk with my new power by the time I strut to the paddock on Lockhart’s leash. He whips at my calves in a reminder of strict form. There are three other pony slaves and their masters there—all as fancily attired as I am. I’d stop to look at them, but with a push from the buggy whip at my side, I take my place as ordered beside the others, and stare forward.
From that moment on, I feel a little intoxicated and my role as pony slave takes over my brain and body. The exertion of our workout is enormous. It seems twice is demanded of me, and because I realize the importance of this spectacle, I pour all of my determination into the effort. I feel the crack of the whip often, but it only eases my frail nerves. I work in tandem with the other slaves, and work even harder to conquer them in a race of slaves and pony carts. We are inspected, prodded and punished for any flaws, and when the first several grueling hours are over, I’m put to bed to rest.
The late afternoon session is a repeat of the morning, though there are other guests—some I recognize as Lockhart’s Thursday friends, and still other people I’ve never seen. I can’t pay attention to them, but instead must focus all my faculties on the show that I perform.
For a time, I’m taken with the other salves to a dais where we are one by one inspected and fondled by both men and women, attired in everything from smart business suits, to elegant riding gear—jodhpurs, silk shirts and woolen coats. As we’re closely examined, our pony cunts grow hot, wet juice dripping down our legs. We feel the smack of paddles, the cut of canes, our nipples tugged until we can’t be silent, and hands prodding the dildos that impale our asses. Form is all-important, and breaches of etiquette are summarily punished. I shudder deeply at each swish of a cane or whip. Whether it strikes my skin or not, or that of another pony slave, I feel the pain in trembling waves as though it is my own body being whipped.
Exhaustion carries me pleasantly into the night, and I sleep with the other pony slaves in the stable, waking for a second day of the exhibition, to find more grueling hours of practice and performance. We are little more than trained animals at this exhibition. Our plain food is served on platters on the floor. We eat and toilet with our hands tied behind our backs. We’re cleaned and groomed by our attentive masters in the same way we’ve attended to our master’s stallions and mares. I can’t imagine any world but this—to think of anything beyond it would be silly, and only make the task of surrendering more difficult now.
At the end of the second day, I’m nearly delirious. I know I’ve both succeeded and failed in Lockhart’s eyes, but I have withstood my first public scene and conquered a good deal of fear. As the other pony slaves and their masters disappear, I feel strangely playful with my Lockhart, and he seems willing to accept that mood.
“You’ve performed well,” he says placing a white chocolate in my mouth. It melts away, and like an aphrodisiac, has me suddenly so sexually hot I’m ready to rape him. The idea is ludicrous, but as he starts to remove my bridle and bit, I find my hands reaching out teasingly toward his body. He smiles. “Feeling frisky?”
“Oh, sir, I am.”
His fingers are glorious, in every way they move against my bare skin and over the straps of the harness. I’m moving toward him for more, feeling crazy—and very drunk. The empty portal between my legs cries for something to fill it.
“You’re quite aroused.”
“You make me so.”
“This life becomes you.”
“These days have made me hot and way too bold. I’m sorry if I’m too forward—,” I rush on almost unthinkingly, saying so much more than I’d dare to speak on any other day, “but I would die for you to hold me, sir. For your cock to press my cunt—not my ass—though I’d take anything, I swear, and never complain.” I’m clenching; spasming so hard, I know it will only take a little to have my body rocking with orgasm. “I’m so in need.”
Before I realize what’s taking place, the harness is completely off, except for the strap that holds my tail inside me, and the silver collar that attaches to it. Lockhart throws my cape around my body, and then leads me briskly to the brown-shingle, up the stairs to his bedroom. It’s been months since I’ve been in his bed—I can’t remember back that far. He removes the tail and dildo, leaving me with a strange feeling of emptiness. It’s been a long time since I had nothing in either orifice. Am I lost? Am I dreaming? I can’t even remember being at the shop. I think it’s been three weeks, but I can’t be sure. I recall giving Ellie notice of my plans to be away, and then departing as though I was closing the door on that part of my life forever.
When Lockhart removes the silver collar, I’m so naked, I’m nervous and frightened, and it takes his powerful arms around me to hold me still. His mouth presses mine, our lips opening wide. He feels my skin and I jump lively in each place he touches, all pleasantly sore from the physical corrections I’ve taken over the last two days. My ass has born the brunt of my punishment, and in his bathroom mirror, I’ve seen the results: lines from the cane, bruises forming beneath the flesh, and places that were roughed up with the paddle. Now, those places burn with desire, that desire climbing into my body, burrowing deeply so the arousal I feel goes much beyond just skin and tissue. It hits my veins in rivers of fire. My cunt clutches as though there’s something inside to squeeze, but it remains empty for a good long while as Lockhart’s hands caress me with a passion I’ve never experienced from him before. He clutches my ass, strokes my breasts, and kisses them with tenderness. He’s climbed into my intimate spaces as though seeking out another piece of me to own—when in fact I have nothing left to give him.
I return his ardor diving willfully into his muscles, into his thighs, to his cock that feels so familiar in my mouth. I know it well. My nose nestles for a while in his balls, while he receives and I give with gracious abandon, losing myself again in the smell of my master, in the way he groans in reply to my touch and kisses and hums of pleasure. He runs his hand through my hair, pulling out the braid so it falls free in a willowy mass of waves. Drawing it across his skin, I see how he shivers. I scratch his sides while listening to his mirthful reply. My lips descend to his nipple and I suck just as he’s so ardently sucked mine. We float together for a time in our exploration. At first, he is the aggres
sor and then I am. We move back and forth in this simple give and take of lust. And then he’s inside me, big and bountiful, as though his cock is reaching for something and I’m his ticket for transport to an unheard of world.
