Saturday, February 23, 2013

Midnight - Segment VI

Introduction to Gukuna Imishino

“We’re not doing anything she would not encounter in Rwanda,” mother lectures.

Midnight kneels, yoke secured at the table top forcing her forehead to the surface, mandating a most ungainly... and revealing... pose. Back arched, bottom high, knees forced apart, the young girl in training spreads to display all.

I am overwhelmed. Inexperienced with girls, I am now not only introduced to one in complete deshabille, but forcibly spread wide open to exhibit all parts feminine.

It is now my responsibility to offer care for such. Midnight will never have hands free for basic ablutions... and other feminine needs. Thus mother offers lessons in anatomy. The first lesson, assisting with urination.

“In stretching the lips, fulfilling bathroom needs can be sloppy. You’ll assist. You see this little nub of flesh here, below that flap of skin? That is her clitoris. Very sensitive and to be avoided. Given the opportunity a naughty girl would play here. That’s why she’s kept in bondage. Her energy is to be expended in servitude not in pleasuring herself. But just above, toward her anus, is an opening... her urethral opening. That is where she empties her bladder. So watch how we must help.”

The thumb and index finger of mother’s left hand further part the puffy semi stretched labia. The right hand grasps a beaker and positions it under the referenced opening.

“Come now Midnight. I know you must go,” mother proclaims as she makes sibilant sounds.

Naked, bound, kneeling splayed wide open, I note a degree of trembling, the humiliation intense. I also detect a certain ooze, vaginal fluid. Though intensely demeaning, Midnight is stimulated, her cunny betraying her deep inner reaction.

Mother continues hissing and final Midnight somehow summons a flow. Then mother commands her to stop and hands me the beaker.

“It’s you turn, Oliver. You’ll supervise every morning, once in the afternoon and once in the evening. I suggest you make her beg for your attention. And be sure to report any mishaps... if she relieves herself on her own. That will earn her a good caning.”

Fingers clumsy, hands trembling, I replicate. A now eager Midnight, bladder in dire need of completing the urgent relief, obediently opens herself and consummates the deed.

It is an amazing scene of subjugation. We are the same age, Midnight and me, and I am suddenly in charge of a most intimate female function... and there is more.

Bladder empty, the anatomy lesson continues. At a very early age I learn every fold and flap, every segment of feminine pinkness. Mother explains gukuna imishino, the curious age old Rwandan custom still practiced. The belief that stretched labia are sexually attractive and adds to sensitivity. She explains the clitoris, that which in the womb develops into the penis of male infants. Mother knows this observation will serve to imbue on me a semblance of female joy... that as much as I attain pleasure from my penis tip, a girl can similarly achieve... given free hands and nimble fingers.

“This flap, in time I’ll have it removed,” mother referring to the clitoral hood. “It veils her little bud, that which offers the ecstasy which we will sparsely ration. I want it better exposed... perhaps ringed as well so she knows it is there... and not for her to touch. Now let me show you the lotion and we’ll begin.”

Mother reaches for a jar. Slick, the fragrance tropical, reputably from Africa, it is an unguent used in the stretching process, assuring moisture, reportedly increasing sensitivity, and for sure spurring even more arousal.

“Coat you fingers liberally, smooth it about both lips, pull gingerly. Treat the labia as you would a cow’s udder. Constant pulling. You’ll need to do this for an hour every day. In time we’ll weight her as well, but to do that initially there needs to be more length.”

Mother begins and demonstrates, working her hands and fingers as described. I notice that the flow of wetness not only continues but increases. Midnight moans. Her vagina secretes with abundance. Mother observes my curious look.

“Certain girls get very wet, Oliver. It’s natural. And when you want to treat her, she may even squirt for you. But that lesson is for another day.”

“Now coat your hands and get to work...”     

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Midnight - Segment V


A Reunion

I stroll to the tacking area, the attendant handing the leash to a stable hand. Midnight, by rote, lets herself be guided between the parallel prongs of a light pony cart and patiently stands. The stable hand kneels to buckle a broad belt about the waist. I note a wicked smile in being so proximate to Midnight’s prodigious labia. Next, the gag is unbuckled and as suspected a huge long dildo is slowly drawn from the depths of Midnight’s throat. The thought of my appendage soon replacing the training implement brings excitement.

“Thank you, sir,” Midnight’s voice finally heard.

I quickly press a finger to my lips to shush. As a bit is pressed to Midnight’s mouth, my admonishment of silence becomes superfluous.

“Do you want her figged, sir?” a plug of complimentary ginger apparently at the ready.

The juices bring fire to the anus and can greatly enhance a pony girl’s performance. I shake my head. Just a leisurely reunion ride, I think to myself, noting that Midnight seems to sigh in relief.

Reins are connected to bit and bridle, and threaded through loops right and left on the light but sturdy plastic yoke. The stable hand lifts the prongs and attaches such to the waist belt. I know to accept the offered riding crop, gather the reins and mount the small, low seat which positions me proximate to buttocks which I will soon have straining. 

“Giddup!” my command authoritatively blurted as my left hand tugs on the reins and my right hand extends outward.

I swing the crop horizontally from right to left and, though it’s been years, manage to nip the very tip of Midnight’s long right nipple. She lurches. Feeling the shudder of excruciating pain transferred to the cart by way of the waist belt and prongs brings a heady sense of governance.

The cart instantly accelerates. The feet pound, earnestly straining to avoid a second stroke. Midnight, trained day after day, week after week, needs no further encouragement. Obedience ingrained, I stow the crop.

Right hand free, I thus reach forth and palm the long strips of dark pink inner labia, gyrating wildly as the thighs pump. I gently roll about between thumb and forefinger then squeeze and tug. I feel the cart shudder again as Midnight spasmodically reacts... this time to pleasure. How often has such generous gesticulation been precedent to full masturbation?   

In my youth I ran Midnight for miles, mother’s ranch of good size. Before finally succumbing to male needs, Midnight’s nipples would be brought to rawness by the crop but her labia well massaged. But not this afternoon. A short jaunt, some conversation, Midnight will satiate and then a return is required before wife Victoria suspects. 

I pull to the right negotiating a turn then spy a clearing off the path to the left. I guide accordingly, pull both reins and Midnight obediently stops.

I dismount.

“Good of you play along with my game, Midnight,” snapping my fingers and pointing to the ground.

Midnight knows to kneel. I move to stand before her, my hands moving to the back of her glabrous head, loosening the bridle.

“Seems you’re owned once again.”

Bridle loosened, I slip the bit from her mouth, a deed countlessly performed, then cradle her head. She knows to lean forward, my zipper a target of focus.

“Now you may speak.”

“Thank you sir. I have missed you.”

“Yes, you liked my taste. And you shall have more. But today quickly, my wife awaits.”

Midnight knows how to be both quick and furtive, fellatio often offered with mother nearby. Thus her teeth find my zipper, clench and the chin drops to pull me open.

I have always found odd delight in watching a well bound girl, hands restrained, have to resort to such unique skill. It’s stimulating to think that a man’s joystick is so desperately desired. Normally I let her rummage about, tongue and lips laboring to coax my penis from my undergarments. But time dictates that I assist. So my right hand lowers, scurries through the folds and produces an organ semi hard and eager for attention.

“It is a beautiful penis sir,” a servile Midnight compliments before engulfing.

“You suck. I will talk,” the command unnecessary as a dancing tongue swirls and must I repress a sigh of pleasure.

A cocksucker nonpareil, my penis is drawn into a well of warm, wet softness. An accomplished tongue works the overly sensitive underside and I blossom to fullness. Some how the tip slithers further and further inward, yet there is not the slightest sound or gesture from Midnight. She can deep throat the largest of cocks, her training sublime.

“I have arranged for your purchase. No bidding. A tidy sum offered, Midnight, and I hope you are appreciative.”

The head withdraws, my penis is ejected.

“Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

“Keep sucking. Time is limited,” I rebuke.

My penis returns to Midnight’s welcoming nest. I find the concentration to again speak.

“Victoria is aware of my experience growing up on a ranch... and of mother’s... shall we say penchant for ownership. As you observed, she is unaware that it was you that I first harnessed and cropped. It required months of effort to have her consider taking in a pony girl. Consider that step one. Step two will be to have her acclimate to the ranch life. And step three, disclosing that you and I grew up together and ensuring she is comfortable with the notion.”

How I find the words while Midnight orally performs as exquisitely as always I do not know. Whereas she normally would suck for nearly an hour... an innate sense of knowing to delay any pending orgasm... on this day she knows time is wanting.

Midnight begins bobbing her head. Normally she prefers that I face fuck her, ending our oral coupling by thrusting my hips and cruelly driving to the back of her throat. I always fantasized that I would be unloading directly into her stomach. Instead the excitement of our reunion has brought enthusiasm. She face fucks herself.

“You’ll be caned and whipped, Midnight. Victoria is exacting and stern... quick to excoriate. Normally she prefers correcting mousey little masochists... sending them home to ‘daddy’ with a well chastised behind. But you seem to have intrigued.”

I explode and once again fantasize that I am filling her gullet with hot male seed. I pause, finally having attained one of the two things a man cannot get at home. The other thing... really of no concern. Eggs benedict never appealed to the palette.

Midnight, as trained, assures that all is consumed, attentively cleansing as much bodily fluid, whether hers or mine, as possible before releasing my softening manhood. She swallows all and slowly draws back her head, lips pursed to squeegee as much moisture as possible. Even in withdrawing there is delight.

“Will you care for me sir... like before?”

“You will be cared for. But that is another step in my plot. I have a son. He is coming of age. And I think it is important that he learn responsibility,” giving the word special enunciation.

It is the term mother used years ago when Midnight was first introduced to me... exposed to me?

“I understand sir.”

“Yes, you may enjoy his taste as well. Victoria has been complaining about crusty bed sheets and telling stains of late. A mother may soon learn the advantage of offering a young male a... well... a pet.”               

“Will I be stretched, sir?”

I pause in thought, recalling the many hours, Midnight tabled in the barn. Memories flash...

Saturday, February 9, 2013

Midnight - Segment IV


A Harnessed Midnight

Auctions are about dollars and fortunately I offer enough to have Midnight taken from the block. As my wife strolls about, so many naked girls, so many shapes, sizes and colors, an attendant steps up and releases the slim chain holding Midnight on her toes. As she steps from the low exhibition platform, the long reddish brown lips begin to flop about between black thighs. I signal the attendant to pause. It is now my turn to inspect.

I reach down and a learned hand cups at the mons. Pinky and index finger deftly splay, middle and ring fingers glide between the long labia and enter a sopping wet vagina. Being displayed excites. I know it. I know Midnight. My left hand reaches to the right breast, thumb and forefinger diddling an elongated nipple as my penetrating fingers hook upward to caress the urethral sponge. I feel the familiar tremble of joy, Midnight’s quim so much in need of attention.

“Remain silent, Midnight girl,” I whisper. “Play along and you’ll soon be back in the stable.”

I detect a smile beneath the gag. And there comes a slight nod. After many years Midnight is also eager to reunite. But the more important communication?.. pubo coccygeus muscles instantly squeeze my invading fingers to offer a humble greeting of warmth and tenderness. As noted, vaginal penetration is rare for the kept pony girl. She is as eager to be once again masturbated as I am to milk her cunny of the abundance of feminine juices which I know she not only secretes but spurts with zeal.

I withdraw my hands. As the attendant turns, holding high the leash to lead to the tacking area, I cannot help but give the buttocks a firm but playful slap. Then I observe in satisfaction. Even from the rear view, those long stretched lips can be seen gently slapping the inner thighs as Midnight prances high on her toes.

With every step, she is forcefully reminded of her nakedness, her vulnerability, her abject servitude... just as mother intended.  

More memories... That First Walk

“Take her to the corral. You’ve sacked some young colts. It’s the same process,” mother advises.

A girl on a leash... and one naked and bound to complete helplessness!

Yes, mother hands me the controlling line and I at first am perplexed. But when she also hands me a riding crop, as she expected, I quickly fall into a role... something in the genes I presume.

I offer Midnight a gentle tug and am shocked when she winces and instantly dismounts from the low table.

Wow! Control! Thorough and absolute. The loop of plastic, though smooth and flexible, brings instant anguish. The slightest tug of my hand can bring immense suffering I soon learn... and so does Midnight. She clamors to follow as I lead from the stable. I begin to feel more bulge at my zipper. Midnight’s nakedness initially spurred a degree of adolescent tumescent. But leading her about on a leash seems to bring full stiffness. 

Out into the bright sun, I cannot help gazing at the smooth darkness of Midnight’s epidermis. The sun’s rays bring a glow. Though lacking the feminine curves of a woman, Midnight has shape and is it evident she is further shaping. As with the colts I raise high my hand to assure she submits to my authority. Thus with head held high, hands secured to the back of the neck collar, her nakedness becomes a depiction of subjugation.

Placed about the corral are low hurdles, used to exercise and bring focus to free spirited young horses. I lead Midnight to the first, lightly tap her left cheek with the crop and she knows to follow my guiding hand and leap over the knee high barrier.

This is fun!

To the next hurdle then the next. A stroke of the crop. A leap. Around and around the corral. I note that those protruding inner labia ripple extensively, adding to my new found delight. In time I notice that mother watches from the porch and after some thirty minutes she gestures to approach. 

I lead to where she stands.

“Another lesson, Oliver,” mother lectures.

A hand lowers to the genitalia and cups, palm upwards. It is then that I learn, mother demonstrating how to open and diddle within a pony girl’s sex. The middle and ring fingers penetrate then quickly slip out, dripping with feminine essence.

“This is what happens when naughty girls become stimulated, Oliver. Your guiding hand excites. She needs this... needs you. Remember that.”

I have.

Saturday, February 2, 2013

Midnight - Segment III


Returning to the Auction

“Yes, I should enjoy caning these hillocks. I don’t suppose they allow some sample strokes... sort of a test drive?”

Wife Victoria has become infatuated with the enormous divine mounds both mother and me shaped to perfection. Hour after hour running the girl and supervising exhausting treadmill work. Plus of course, there were mother’s injections, male hormones augmenting the rapid development of layer upon layer of muscling.

“No marks. The girls need to be presentable,” my words bringing disappointment.

“Well, we should definitely put in a bid on this one. I’d like to strap her to a bench and hear her scream.”

I smile. The hook is set, my little game progressing.

“She can be harnessed and run... though again no marks. But if you feel strongly, I will have a talk with the auctioneer. It’s possible, if we meet a certain price, she’ll be taken out of bidding. Sort of a bird in hand reasoning.”

Besides, after so many years, I cannot bear the thought of losing Midnight again. She is exquisite. And though her acquisition will not assure eggs benedict, I will surely partake in that other delight which most men cannot get at home.

“I’m not into the pony thing, Dear,” Victoria reminds.

I nod. Victoria just enjoys the application of searing pain. And though my subterfuge is somewhat self serving, Midnight’s mammoth buttocks will more than suffice in satiating my wife’s peccadillo as well. 

“Before pledging the dollars, it is best to assure obedience and some level of training. It’s time consuming... breaking a girl.”

Victoria nods. We’re both dominant libertines but also need to work. She knows as well as I that breaking in raw submissiveness can be draining on one’s time and attention.

“Have your talk. Take your ride. I’ll amuse myself inspecting the other girls. Do you suppose she can talk?”

As stated Midnight is gagged, an imposing broad strip of leather covering the mouth and convincingly buckled at the back of her bald head.

“No way of knowing. She may have been silenced and bears a penis gag just to assure the gag reflex is kept controlled,” I outright prevaricate, knowing full well that Midnight speaks.

“You men and your blow jobs,” Victoria mildly rebukes with a wry smile.