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.

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