Saturday, April 6, 2013

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.       

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