Midnight - Segment XVIII

Training a Young Midnight

“Always hold her head high, Oliver. You want her looking like a proud pony girl.”   

Mother hands me a long slim pole, my end wrapped in leather to accommodate the grip of my left hand. It slims at the end, some eight to ten feet from where I stand, offering much flexibility. There a short cord dangles with a clasp on the free end.

A naked, nubile Midnight stands in the corral area yoked. Hairless, I have worked for a week to please Mother and remove every stand of hair, attack every follicle with harsh smelling depilatory lotion. She is glum in being made bald, considering herself unsightly. Little does she realize how appealing is her animalistic and vulnerable presentation.

Nipples normal, Mother not yet beginning to elongate, youthful labia somewhat dangle, the stretching there presumably begun in her native Rwanda. Despite the deepness of her black skin, one can quickly ascertain that Midnight is blushing. She is outdoors... made to present herself... fresh air wafting about her oiled naked flesh, the cool breeze awakening every nerve ending, emphasizing her exposure, announcing to the world her demeaning servitude.

With her instruction, Mother moves and clips the clasp to Midnight’s nose loop. She then stoops and removes the short hobbling strap, the use of which I have returned.

“Up, up, Oliver. You want her on her toes.”

I raise my hand slowly and gently, with the past week of handling Midnight, well aware of the extreme sensitivity of the nose binding. Midnight’s face follows of course. And yes, head back, forehead skyward, indeed on toes, the presentation is one of pride.

“Very good. So today some pony girl dressage, Oliver. Tidy up her footwork, acclimate her to a controlling hand and the sting of the whip, melt away some of that youthful baby fat, strengthen the legs, thighs and buttocks...”, my regal Mother in her element.

About the corral area, Mother has set up a half dozen cones and some low wooden bars, not quite knee high. A simple obstacle course, Midnight is to be run through it in a preset pattern... step past left cone, step past right cone, jump, step past left, step past right, jump, etc. It is my role to stand in the middle, the length of the controlling pole such that I need only take modest steps as Midnight circles me, the broad radius dictating much exertion, responding to my commands, tugs on the dressage pole and snaps of the whip.     

Mother has had me practicing with the slim nasty single tail. I am reasonably confident I can apply pain without breaking the skin. Marking a girl, as Mother explained, can be detrimental to her value.

‘Her flesh will keloid, Oliver. Do be circumspect.’

So in my right hand is a threatening long single tail, the crack of the whip more for psychological governance, a tug on the dressage pole more than adequate for dressage and strict instruction.

Mother nods and we begin. I am as much of a dilettante as Midnight. But I soon take to another segment of Mother’s avocation, making a girl, denuded of all covering by my hand, run and jump, run and jump, up on toes, run and jump.

The guided route seems random... over two hurdles, back over one, over the next three, back over two, etc. but we repeat and repeat the same route. Over time, the challenge is to have the pony girl memorize the task such that I can offer slack on the dressage pole and she will exercise herself.

Failure to precisely follow the route brings tug on the pole... a snap of the whip.

I learn that the obstacle course Mother sets will change. Tomorrow will be a different configuration. Midnight’s training will begin anew, to again learn, respond to my directing left hand while she memorizes another seemingly random pattern, my excoriating right hand at the ready. Yes, she will adjust her footwork and her response will conform to the mandates of my hand.  

Thus there is not only a physical challenge but, as we circle for well over an hour, a mental one as well. Discipline, concentration... on me, ingraining a sense of pride and accomplishment in pleasing me. 

Midnight - Segment XVII

Food and Exercise

Whereas a brisk three mile run may seem like adequate exercise, for the likes of Midnight, it is more or less a warm up. Her well chiseled and honed form did not develop languishing in suspension.

So, after breakfast and completing a quick trip to the local jewelry and drug store, I show Douglas how to prepare Midnight’s slop and explain her demanded daily regimen.

“Midnight burns lots of calories, Douglas. She requires high levels of protein and complex carbohydrates. Limited fat, modest sugar.”

My words come as I stuff the blender with a gallimaufry of nutritious foodstuffs, adding a vitamin drink for moisture. There are also added a few droplets of that acquired at the drug store. A prescription for testosterone has been refilled. Ostensibly for me, it works wonders on Midnight, the female limbic system much more susceptible to the common male hormone. Had we not depilated her years ago, hair would grow in abundance. Instead it’s her clitoris that transforms. I like the thought of growing a little penis on her.     

“That’s really good food, Dad!” son Douglas surprisedly exclaims.

“Nothing but the best for our pony girl,” flipping the switch for the blender.

“But you’re ruining it!” the whirring blades turning the concoction to an unrecognizable grayish mush.

“For Midnight, food is to be functional, never something to enjoy. Hopefully the blending transforms the taste, hate to think she would identify anything... or find enjoyment,” my grin one of wickedness.

“So observe. There’s no magic recipe. Just stuff the blender, throw in some form of liquid and mash it until it becomes revolting.”

I pour into a bowl and grab a spoon.

“You’ll also need to supervise her exercise and you may find entertainment in an hour or two of dressage training.”

I lead from the kitchen... out the door... back to the barn with Douglas following... my seed planted.

“Dressage, Dad, what’s that?”

“The term comes from the French word, translated as ‘training’. In equine terms, horse and rider are expected to perform from memory a series of predetermined movements. The purpose is to develop, through standardized progressive training methods, a horse's natural athletic ability and willingness to perform, thereby maximizing its potential as a good riding horse.”

Douglas pushes open the barn door. We step within. The gaze of both pair of eyes immediately falls on our hanging pony girl. Not having weighted her elongated pink charms, she once again squirms in suspension, attempting to frottage her labia against her spread inner thighs.

More naughtiness.

“Another reason to keep her well spread Douglas. Note how she attempts to bring self gratification. I’m sure you will note the odor.”

Yes, the barn reeks, despite having hours ago offered Midnight a long cleansing with redolent soap. The scent of lavender has been overwhelmed by the redolence of her stimulated vagina.

I slip away the hood, offering Midnight a ‘tsk, tsk’, as mild rebuke. More severe admonishment or punishment is superfluous. After all, her libidinous actions only frustrate herself. She’ll never bring herself to ultimate climax while well bound and held open.

Handing son Douglas the bowl, I instruct.

“Slow and deliberate. She’s famished and will want to gobble. But remember, you are always in control.”

Midnight brazenly glares at me, knowing not to speak but signaling that indeed an empty stomach demands sustenance. So the feeding begins, one leisurely spoonful at a time, me nodding when a second, third and fourth offering is deemed appropriate, the timing so much augmenting both Midnight’s frustration and her owners power over her.

“Dressage, Dad. Midnight is a cart pony, not ridden,” Douglas’s curiosity bidding a continuation of our conversation.

“Oh, yes. Well for Midnight, the form of dressage is best having her prance through an obstacle course, the timing, the moves, the direction dictated by a trainer, practiced and practiced until memorized. It hones the foot work, acclimates her to being controlled plus inures obedience, not to mention of course conditioning legs and buttocks.”

My words bring reflection, recalling my introduction to Mother’s form of pony girl dressage many years ago...

Midnight - Segment XVI

Binding Midnight

One more lesson before stepping to the house for a hearty breakfast.

Midnight has been well cleansed inside and out. I watched with paternal pride as Douglas began to take comfort in his governance. Releasing the enema, the excretions gushed to the table top where under my instructions, Douglas waited, spray nozzle in hand, and quickly rinsed all down the drain. Then he doused the nakedness, Midnight seeming to acclimate. If a cat, she would have been purring as soap and a soft chamois laved everywhere... except for her cunny.

Yes, I admonished Douglas, never, ever was a pony girl to benefit from hygiene there.

‘You’ll come to enjoy her smell, Douglas... it embarrasses to no end... and she takes comfort in that.’ divulging more secrets of the masochist.

Still Douglas reveled in handling her, commenting as do most on the amazingly firm blemishless black epidermis and the taut muscling beneath. I encouraged him to take liberties, express his ownership... feeling, caressing, kneading wherever he so chose.

Midnight was in her element and unfortunately the wetness of the bath cloaked what I knew to be a sopping wet vagina.

Massaged then oiled, just as when standing on the auction block, Midnight glows, bringing more awe, Douglas not only again feeling and palpating her entire body, but partaking in the visual delight of her shining blackness, slowly turned to a masterful piece of sculpture, exhibited for our viewing pleasure. 

It is now time for her nap.

“Hobble her, Douglas, always,” my words coming as the ankle restraints are released from the short chains of the cleansing table.

The short strap joins her feet. The yoke is released from the clever stanchions and lastly I unhook her leash. Handing the controlling length of leather to Douglas, he guides her from the cleansing table to where she is to be suspended. There I show him the procedure for securing her from the overhead ropes... the waiting boxes, broad straps and the cords of the pulley to be attached to her yoke.

“When you want her to sleep, slacken the cords from the pulley. She can thus lean and lower herself to rest prostrate. Always assure her entire body, feet included, are off the floor. It is important to imbue helplessness. Make sure she is well spread as well, such assures the humiliation she craves, having her cunny always open for inspection and access.”

Douglas nods, quite the willing student. Task completed, we both step back and observe the fruit of our labors. Do I detect tears? Of shame? Of frustration? Of the humiliation she so desperately demands? 

“She’s crying , Dad,” Douglas also noting. “Why?”

I step behind and without effort deftly slide two fingers into her wide open inviting sex. The simple penetration causes motion. As her naked form gently swings to and fro in suspension, I hold up the drenched digits before Douglas. He just smiles, the imputed knowledge of her arousal answering his own question.

My son is a quick learner, he realizes Midnight is happy.

I hood our pony girl then adjust the pulley cords, her torso lowering to permit slumber.

“Let’s eat.”

Midnight - Segment XV

The Cleansing Table

There is really no need to secure Midnight to the low, well drained washing table. She thrills with her ablutions after a good long run in harness and would willingly endure.

Still, there are my rules. She is to be held immobile, at all times in thorough restraint, unless pulling the cart or other vehicle of conveyance. It makes her eager to be run.

“Over here, Douglas. You’re going to give Midnight a good cleansing,” patting the top of the slab of stone.

Beveled, drained, plumbing fixtures above, the elaborate cleansing table, a slab of marble with some special features, beckons a sweaty well worn pony girl.

At one end, left and right, are adjustable stanchions designed to hold in place the ends of Midnight’s yoke. At the opposing end are short chains, well secured to the marble, to be clipped to Midnight’s ankle restraints.

Thus as I direct, Midnight knows to mount, kneel, lower her head to align her yoke into the stanchions, and part her feet. As always, I want her spread open, revealing all, imbuing a sense of vulnerability as her buttocks part and the long labia dangle between forcibly spread thighs. Within moments, the yoke is secured as are her ankles, making Midnight one with the table. Her leash is tied off above, holding steady her face and head. Then the bit is slipped out, Midnight knowing to remain silent as I furtively press a finger to my lips. 

Douglas becomes a little squeamish when I announce that thorough daily cleansings begin with a long deep and soapy enema.

As stated, Mother spared no time and money in caring for her property, for those she owned. The formidable table and stanchion configuration is quite an investment. Midnight’s yoke can be lowered to mandate the proper posture. I thus show Douglas how to work the adjustable stanchions and within moments Midnight kneels in a most obscene and revealing pose, head and shoulders low, spread and open buttocks high. The tips of the long nipples abrade the cool marble and I smile in seeing the long pink nubs crinkle and harden.

We fill the enema bag... soap, warm water. I have an ulterior motive for the deep colonic we are going to administer. Midnight’s colon remains filled with my seed, the evidence of sodomy needs to be purged. 

I note that Midnight begins to quiver. All the years of intense degradation and she remains so wonderfully shy about being handled by men she does not know. I thus mandate that Douglas do all the touching, including well greased fingers working that tight but well used sphincter.

“No gloves, Douglas, it’s too impersonal and it’s best you and Midnight get to know one another... intimately,” my words coming as index and middle finger plunge deeply where my penis so joyously reveled.

And so the morning jaunt comes to an entertaining end, watching a helpless Midnight quiver as Douglas clumsily stuffs her rectum with an oversized enema nozzle, the valve is opened and the slow torment begins.

“Just ignore any moans, Douglas. Deep within she enjoys...”

Midnight - Segment XIV

Douglas the Groom

Having left a note on Douglas’s bedroom door, he greets us at the barn door. I smile to myself... no hesitation for this normally obstinate teen. Last night’s many lessons have indeed piqued prurient interest in our newly acquired beast.

It’s warmer in the mid morning sun, and whereas I was able to work Midnight into a good sweat in the early morning cool, her sudoriferous form now exudes rivulets which stream to her calves and feet. I crop the buttocks with zeal, the thwack of leather on wet skin sure to further impress young Douglas. The cart lurches, attaining top speed. And so I drive Midnight at an unsustainable pace for the final quarter mile, Douglas observing with awe.

Yes, at six foot two, 190 pounds of pure muscle, a yoked Midnight makes an impression with those stretched nipples jutting forth and the elongated labia flopping wildly between rapidly pumping thighs.

I sometimes wish I could both observe and be the flagellant working her into a lather.    

I pull the cart to a stop and direct, the first day of ‘Douglas the groom’s’ training.

“Hobble her, then take the reins,” tossing to Douglas the short ankle strap.

The first step is facile. But then I must explain that the reins must drawn from the cart and back through the eyelets on the plastic yoke, leaving such looped through the ends of the bit and the nose restraint.

I dismount and demonstrate.

“Be very gentle, Douglas, besides the bit pressing her mouth and lips, the nose loop penetrates her sinus cavity, thus applied tension irritates a myriad of nerve endings,” reaching forth to tweak my son’s nose.

“Ow! Dad!”

“Just so you understand. Handling the nose loop... and anything attached to it, offers instant and thorough control over her. You must be appreciative... as appreciative as her.”

Douglas nods, his eyes watering from the untoward pinch of my fingers. Rather brazen of me, but the point is made. Do not thoughtlessly apply suffering. Pain is to be applied for a reason.

“Now take the reins, one in each hand. That’s it, now just a simple tug left then right...”

Douglas complies and for the first time in his life experiences the exhilaration of controlling the subordinate human beast. Remaining attached to the cart, Midnight’s face diligently follows Douglas’s slow draw to the left then back to the right.

I smile with the dismayed look on Midnight’s face, a well trained and experienced pony girl having to respond to the neophyte. Yet she has no choice. And I am willing to bet that a simple splay of those labia and quick diddle of her vagina will reveal the wetness which betrays her true reaction to a controlling hand. It arouses.

“Now draw her into the barn, Douglas. Hold her head high. Always demand good form from a pony girl. Slowly now, remember you’ve hobbled her...”  

Douglas raises his hands.

“Higher, bring her up to her toes. Pony girls look more obeisant on toes. She will be more respectful of your governance... be more obedient... use your power.”

More comical foot work, as on toes, Midnight is forced to prance. Though the way is short, the steps are many, and I note Douglas’s eyes are glued below to where the dark pink flesh of Midnight’s vaginal opening announce her ownership and forced modification.

Into the barn, I show Douglas how to release the prongs from the hip rings. Then, freed of the cart, I direct to the washing table. It’s bath time. And whereas Midnight normally enjoys the deluge of warm water, soapy chamois and my caressing hands, I am sure she will once again find reservation. As opposed to last night when Douglas merely watched, on this morning he will touch... everywhere. Naked pony girls no longer have need for modesty. Yet the humiliation and the concurring concupiscent reaction remain.

Midnight - Segment XIII

Countering Apprehension

“Your spouse wants to cane me,” a somewhat somnolent Midnight proclaims.

Midnight is in repose, kneeling, belly pressed over the familiar log, upper body prostrate. My semi erect penis continues to rest inside her tight rectum. We let it slowly become flaccid leaving behind a massive discharge of male effluent. I lean, my torso resting on her muscled form for support, my energy temporarily depleted after fucking with fervor. My warming her nakedness is appreciated, the morning air still nippy.

Yes, Midnight remains tight... marvelously tight. With male pride, I ripped her open... and reveled in so doing. My thrusting motion caused her labia to rhythmically dangle back and forth, occasionally brushing my scrotum. This brings to her tantalizing joy and pleasing thoughts for me... that I am seizing male pleasure and, but for faint grazes of her stretched labia, completely  denying her.

The sexual power exchange enthralls.

I recuperate as she advantages herself of moments of permitted speech... ungagged, unbridled, and not gasping for breath.

“It’s Victoria’s thing, Midnight. One cannot deny a woman of her ilk her pleasures. I think deep within you will enjoy. Your prior owner was a woman...”

“She was not overly harsh, Sir. She spared the crop and whip as long as I orally accommodated.”

I laugh, the notion that Midnight thinks she can somehow dictate any form of intercourse amongst her owners brings a degree of drollness.

“It is not within your purview to decide how you will serve... how you will be used, Midnight. Surely you must know that by now.”

I reach beneath, left hand and right each finding a firm pony breast, depleted of most feminine fat through extensive exercise, yet remaining overly sensitive, to both excoriating crop and sensuous touch.

“She’s given to apply bamboo here as well, Midnight” my fingers bringing joy as I feel her tighten in fear.

A moment of silent thought, then Midnight finds words.

“I am not sure I can take that. Not there.”

“Oh, but you will. It is your role to accept what others offer... no matter the pain, the discomfort, the humiliation. You will not have a choice. Picture yourself strapped down, well exposed, offering all to the chastising hand of a Domineering woman. It excites, Midnight. Deep within it arouses you. I know... and in time you will as well.”

Midnight puckers her rectum, squeezing my spent penis and adding a degree of post coitus thrill. In turn, there has been comparatively none for her, of course. Pleasure has been all mine to take.

“I need to be run, Master.”

Reluctantly, I arise, with a ‘plop’ my flaccid penis exiting a well trained anus, my torso no longer warming Midnight’s nakedness. My well fucked pony girl is right, breakfast awaits. Extended moments in the carnal embrace of the Sodomite will bring questions.

A crooked finger slips through Midnight’s nose loop. I force her to stand. I guide, smiling lasciviously in watching a hobbled Midnight hop back to the waiting pony cart, labia rippling with each strained footfall.

“Welts will nicely adorn your black flesh, Midnight.”

As I return my beast to the restraints of the pony cart, clipping the prongs to her hip rings, I recall the persnickety care Mother offered Midnight’s skin, at the time the exacting level of her attentiveness lost on this hormone deluged teen.

Yes, Midnight was sunned regularly, nose loop secured high above to a stanchion in the corral, her entire body exposed to the intense rays of the summer sun. Hour after hour she was made to expose herself in the hot direct rays. As dark as her Rwandan skin was, Mother assured she was further blackened, day after day after day.  

And then there was the effect of ultra violet rays on unprotected pink flesh. Yes, a crop applied to sun burned pink flesh can be quite effective... limited exertion... maximum response.

Before returning the bit, I stand proximate, a finger hooking the nose loop to draw Midnight’s face to my zipper. Without need for a command she cleanses the moist, odorous appendage, the final task of the well trained sodomite. Saving time, I zip myself then press the bit to her lips and draw the slack from the reins.

Such an invigorating view, I think to myself in mounting the cart... though I barely noticed. 

Midnight - Segment XII

Running Midnight

I am an early riser. Victoria sleeps relatively late. The morning thus becomes an ideal time to harness Midnight and have her flex those well developed but most likely cramped muscles.

Concluding my evening lecture, I not only left her legs restrained in a folded position, after a priapic Douglas exited the barn, I took the time to apply the special lotion and robustly pull away at Midnight’s pink parts. I then enshrouded both labia and nipples with the soft stretching straps and located a challenging set of weights, such that have previously dangled from her feminine parts, and attached with fervor. Thus her modification continues.

Whereas the elongation of her vaginal lips is culturally acceptable for Midnight, the nipple stretching is found to be both objectionable and aggravating. Yet it is for the best. Long nipples offer easy targets for the crop. As stated, running a girl is for her exercise, not the equestrian. Therefore the lightest of strokes to a nipple can bring instant compliance, nominal exertion for the rider. In the long run, it’s best for both.

I forgo a morning shower for now, to bathe after any prospective coupling with Midnight deemed to be the wiser course. Casually dressed, I head to the barn, hearing the propane heater roar in offering offsetting warmth to the early Spring coolness.

Midnight hangs, prostrate, just as I left her. She no longer contracts her muscles to spur an arousing swaying motion. In being weighted, she knows such futile motion will only hasten the stretching of her sensitive flesh. 

Hearing the barn door open, she stirs, the limited temperature making her eager to be harnessed as intended. I therefore waste no time in preparing her, heartened that at some point son Douglas  will be trained as a groom and each morning have the naked form well trussed and waiting for me harnessed to a cart.

But for now, it remains my task.

There comes a sigh of relief with the removal of the four weights. The soft straps are unraveled. A bucket is pushed under her pudendum and with some sibilant sounds, no further encouragement is needed for Midnight to open herself as I reach to part labia which appear to have grown another half inch.

It is not true of course, my male imagination offering pleasant delusion. Still there will be steady inexorable lengthening, probably attaining the imagined half inch of growth within a month or two.

I next remove the hood and extricate the extreme penis gag. Now is as good a time as ever to permit Midnight to speak, son and wife in slumber.

“Thank you sir,” the humble words coming after Midnight clears her throat and finds moisture for her lips. 

I release the leg straps and Midnight graciously smiles as she slowly straightens her legs and lowers her feet to relieve the cramping.

“Must you bind me so firmly, sir? I cannot move at all.”

“It is best for you, Midnight. You know that. Deep within a girl like you finds comfort. Plus I can safely assume you’re now eager to perform for me.”

She reluctantly nods as I turn to prepare the light pony cart. The two wheeled vehicle rests nearby, nothing more than a seat mounted on an axle, two aluminum poles jut forth, Midnight to stand between, her deeply implanted hip rings to bear the23 stress of pulling her Master. 

Yes, Midnight will be run completely naked, ubiquitous yoke and nylon ankle cuffs her only covering. No waist belt as utilized at the auction house. Mother preferred to expose as much of a pony girl as possible... a penchant with which I came to concur at an early age. There is an optimization in binding a girl. Restraints offer the modesty of covering. I prefer demeaning nakedness, as Mother vehemently suggested. So Mother had Midnight pierced at the hips, deeply, stainless steel rings mounted on posts which internally penetrate bone. Thus Midnight will be made one with the light pony cart, but not overly covered in leather restraints.
As Midnight kicks her legs, limbering muscles held in strict immobility, I begin to water her... lots of water. I squeegee one pint then return to the barn’s cleansing area to refill.

“It was most humiliating to be introduced to your son like that, Master. Spread wide open and exposed.”

“I am glad you enjoyed it. He’s going to learn to care for you, Midnight. After I have run you this morning, he’s going to cleanse. It will be interesting to see if my lecture spurred any adolescent male thoughts. You will accommodate him, by the way. And report to me. Since Douglas thinks you can’t talk, it will be amusing to learn how a hormone laden teen will take advantage of you.”

“And your wife?”

“She will benefit from bed sheets made more presentable,” I muse, assuming that Midnight, having so often fellated me as a budding teen, catches my drift.

I squeegee more water. Midnight at one time resisted being filled and filled. Years of training in strict bondage have brought complacency in being compelled and controlled. She swallows.  

“You always enjoyed my taste. I am sure you will come to enjoy Douglas as well.”

“Yes sir.”
 
“And as you are aware, Victoria is an aficionado of the cane. When the occasion arises, do scream unintelligibly. You’ve been silenced. The ruse must continue for now. No pleading. No discernible words.”

I raise the cords holding the yoke, returning Midnight to being suspended upright. Next I return the two boxes and her bare feet deftly find the smooth surfaces, worn by many years of mounting and dismounting, to stand on toes. Weight transferred, the thigh straps are easily loosened, lowering and permitting her feet to slide off the boxes and come together on the barn floor.  

With that I engage the hobbling strap and clip a leash to her nose loop. Midnight objects.

“You need not hobble me sir. I will not kick”

“I know you will not kick... because you will always be hobbled when not suspended or harnessed to a cart. It is important for you. Control, Midnight. A girl like you needs to sense constant control.”

“I suppose you are right, sir,” the words coming as I untie the cords holding the yoke.

“Time to be run, Midnight,” my voice gushing with enthusiasm.

Holding high the leash, I lead Midnight, prancing on toes, to the light cart. Nothing more than a seat mounted on a pair of wheels and two prongs to be attached to the hip rings. Midnight knows to position herself with little guidance as I stoop, raise the aluminum poles and secure such to rings, snapping in place utilizing ‘D’ clamps.

A simple bit is next, rather welcomed after enduring the long stout penis gag. She willingly opens to take it. No bridle necessary, I know she will not attempt spit it out. Then I remove the leash and in place attach thin strips of leather, nose ring to a waiting loop in the bit, through a loop on the yoke and then to the seat area... left side and right. Her reins. I turn off the propane heater and open the barn door.

Watching the reaction of Midnight’s coal black skin as wafts of cold air rush in is delightful. The nipples crinkle, with their length the dark pink shafts turning to pencil points. I sit, crop in hand leaving the hobbling strap in place. Nothing more than deviant fun, I apply a crisp snap of the crop to the right nipple and a perplexed Midnight instantly shuffles forth, the reins directing to the door, the encumbered feet bringing a most entertaining and strained gait.

“If you again object to being hobbled, I will run you like this for miles,” I admonish. “Understand?” 

A silenced Midnight nods, the added tension on the reins bringing a pang of suffering.

Exiting the door I pull to a stop. Dismount, shut the barn door then stoop to remove the hobbling strap from a rapidly chilling Midnight.  

Yes, she is most eager to be run, so much wants to perform for me. Still I take my time, reseat myself and pause. She knows to remain perfectly still, obediently waiting until I once again apply a snap of the leather to a nipple long and sensitive.

‘I’ve missed you,’ a sentimental side wants to call out.

Yet, I refrain from emotion and finally apply a convincing stroke to the left nipple. I am sure Midnight has missed me as well, judging from the instant and obedient contraction of enormous thigh muscles and buttocks, my flick of the wrist bringing forth quick acceleration of the cart.

Such a delightful morning.

Despite the cool morning air, I soon have Midnight worked into a good sweat, droplets flinging from a moist, glabrous body which gleams under the rising morning sun. I deliberately select challenging inclined ranch paths that lead up a modest hill. The vista there can be invigorating, and the many climactic releases offered in the past by Midnight’s receptive apertures bring fond  memories of adolescence.

So I crop away, feeling the cart lurch with the quick but effective nips of agony, knowing that Midnight is in her element, legs pumping impressively, enduring, exerting, wondrously tormented... yet enjoying.

Air suctioned in desperation whistles past her bit. The muscling ripples and rolls. What buttocks! On occasion I reach forth and palm a pair of pink labia which flop about, thumping against her inner thighs, serving to both amuse and entice.

We finally reach the apex, and though I tug unmercifully on the reins, strained head rotating under my exacting direction, by rote Midnight knows where I want her. A convenient clearing, a smooth boulder upon which to sit, a fallen tree where, tummy down, a Midnight released from harness can rest and open herself for the anal penetration she first ignominiously learned to accept and later came to deviantly crave.

I pull the cart to a stop and dismount. Expelled lungfuls of demanded oxygen bring snorts. I loosen the reins, drawing slack in order pop the bit from Midnight’s mouth. It dangles just below her chin, suspended by the slim leather lengths which remain attached to her nose loop, threaded through her yoke and attached to the front of the cart where I tied off. I stoop and again hobble her ankles with the short strap. On this occasion she utters a wordless ‘umph’ of disapproval. I choose to ignore.

“Welcome home,” my tone one of genuine acceptance.

“Thank you sir,” Midnight manages to offer between gulps of needed air. “You ran me rather hard.”        

“A girl like you needs to be run hard... and cropped,” stooping again as I insert a hand between well heated thighs. My digits knowingly splay the lips then middle and ring finger glide between her loose labia, easily slipping into a vagina gushing with the juices of feminine excitement. Midnight squeals with the joy of my evanescent touch.

Withdrawing to hold the sopping wet odoriferous digits before her face, I smile, my look one of Schadenfreude.

“Would you suppose this is perspiration, Midnight? Are you sweating now from your vagina? Or did that demented psyche of yours secretly enjoy every agonizing stroke to those long stretched nipples? Yes, you need to be worked... naked... bound... well exposed and displayed, made to perform.”

Her masochistic needs are an addiction. And males such as me, sadistic males such as me, have become the dealer of the drug which she craves.
                               
She demurs in answering, still not fully cognizant of what we of the governing ilk understand so much better. Naked, harnessed and cropped... indeed forced to perform... Midnight is aroused. She is in her element, but she comprehends not.

“May I taste you, sir?” the tone so tantalizingly obeisant.       

How can my smile of evil not transform to one of condescension? I move proximate. Midnight knows to drop to her knees.

“I need to relieve myself first... and I do believe you need to be watered. Then bring me up and I’ll take you over the log, tummy down, back arched, thighs spread. It’s been awhile, but you know the position...”

“Yes, sir,” those talented teeth and lips working my zipper as I cradle her bald, sweat coated head.

“I have not brought lubricant. Be sure you moisten me well... otherwise it may hurt,” I forewarn.
   
We always kept Midnight tight back there, maximizing penile pleasure. Mother understood the penchants of the male, regularly slathering Midnight’s rectum with the astringent alum... hydrated potassium aluminum sulfate... to assure a purse string muscle well toned and both receptive yet delightfully reluctant to fully yield.

Hopefully her former owner has done the same.