Saturday, February 16, 2013
Midnight - Segment V
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.
“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...