Friday, August 23, 2013

In the shameful saddle (another of the spanking stories)

(We're continuing from this post.)

He came around the horse, towards me, and released my cuffed wrists from the chain above, then linked my cuffs behind my back. Standing behind me, but apart from me by an inch or so, he looked into my eyes in the mirror, and slowly brought his right hand around my waist. I closed my eyes, knowing what he would do, but, out of some sudden almost maidenly shame, not wanting to see it.

"Open your eyes, slut," he growled in my ear, and in surprise and obedience I did. "Watch yourself submit to me." Then he did do it: in the mirror I watched his fingers claim me, watched my mouth open in a gasp, then again in a little mewling sound.

"Look me in the eyes, slut," he said. "You are going to go for a long ride, now. Hopefully, this ride will teach you a little modesty, for as you ride, you will be spanked, so that you understand the price of your shameful behavior."

"Glug," I said.

"I'm not stupid, Emily--I know you will enjoy the ride. But it is the way you enjoy it that interests me. You will enjoy because I have commanded it, and I have commanded that this horse's cock will be the only one you are allowed to have inside you tonight."

His hand left my loins, and came around to give my right bottom-cheek a stinging slap that made me catch my breath.

"Straddle the horse, ass-wife," he said, and spanked me again, just a tiny bit lower and further in.

"Sir," I said, "Should I. . ."

"Not yet, slut. Just throw your leg over. I'll tell you when it's time to mount completely." I whimpered very softly at the thought, but with mingled shame and arousal moved to comply.

"Move your feet and bend your knees so that the tip of my dildo is right where it should be." When I obeyed, he came to my side, with a bottle of lube, and, as I sighed, and then cried out uncontrollably, anointed his dildo, and me. My hands were still cuffed behind me, and I nearly toppled over with the ecstatic trembling that shot through my hips and down my legs, but finally all was prepared. 

He put down the lube, and rested his right hand lightly atop my bottom, while with the left he held me open, but also held me up, so that I couldn't do what I longed to do, and fill myself with his silicone vicar. Then, very slowly, he eased me down so that just the tip of the dildo came inside my inside lips. 

"Slut, there may be girls who really are modest, but I think we both know that while you can pretend very effectively, when you need to, you are not one of them."

"No, Sir," I gasped, for he was still fondling me, his fingers slippery with lube, and with me, around and beside the dildo. I was in serious danger of coming, but I knew that he knew me so well that my climax really was at his command. If he wanted me to come, I would come. If he wanted to edge me, I would be edged.

"So there is no use in trying to make you modest." He pushed me down, and I groaned from what felt like the soles of my feet. I had been looking down at the purple, suede-like surface of the horse, but I suddenly realized that he had rearranged the mirrors slightly, so that when I raised my eyes I was looking straight back into my own gaze. The sight of the girl in the black garter-belt, with the shaved pussy taking the black dildo, her pale skin flushed to a nearly incandescent red--almost as red as her hair, which fell in a pony-tail now draped over her right shoulder, made me moan with a thrill of mortification. Why did mirrors always make me feel like my father was watching? That thought made the shame even that much more thrilling, and I closed my eyes, unable for the moment to bear the sight.

"I wondered when you'd notice that," said Charles, sardonically. "Open your eyes, Emily. Look well. You are going to watch yourself come, now."

"Oh, Sir, please--no."

In response, he gave me a tremendous spank in the sweetest spot, across the bottom of my bottom, and reinforced it with his miraculous standby, the firm circle on my lust's central bud with his middle two fingers.

I obeyed, and watched myself come, utterly possessed by my husband/master/trainer's hands and his devices, twisting and shuddering and moaning. All the while, Charles eased me further and further down, into the shameful saddle, until I thought my nervous system would simply give out, and I would be unconscious when (if!) my bottom ever felt the plush of the horse's back.

"No, no, no," I kept saying, helplessly, as the orgasm released me. But at the end of it, there I was, on the horse of my dreams.

"This is my horse, Emily. You will ride it when I say you will ride it. You will never ride it unless I command it. If I find that you have even tried to locate my horse in the house--if there are signs of a search for anything larger than a remote control--you will have such a ride upon it as you will never forget."

(Probably redundant to write "glug" here.)

"I wish to emphasize my ownership of it to you, because otherwise I don't think you will understand the purpose of this exercise, as a part of your training regimen. As I said, there would be no point in trying to teach you to be modest. You are a wanton slut."

"Yes, Sir." I moved, just a little, on the horse, and moaned, just to show him how very right he was.

"But the question of to whom it falls to make use of your wantonness, and to violate such modesty as you have. . . that is one in which I and my horse have a significant interest. You may begin your ride."

Each time I posted up, he made me hold my pose until he had delivered two spanks with my paddle, one on each side. Then I had to say, "Sir, may I lower my little cunt onto your big dildo?" before I was allowed to come to rest upon the horse's back again. 

"What are you learning?" he asked, then, over and over.

"That I belong to you," I had to reply, every time, my words less and less distinguishable from a sob, until finally he held my burning bottom and worked a finger, covered in lube, in there, and said, softly, "Wank yourself now, ass-wife," and I did, and made another of those sounds that are so tedious to try to render, but so delicious to make, and to hear. Then he helped me off his horse, and led me upstairs, and helped me out of the garter-belt and stockings, and into a nightgown, and put me gently to bed.

(If you like the stuff here on my blog, you'll probably love my books. EXPLORATIONS: Books 1-5 is now FREE at Smashwords!)

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