The Sash - A Morning Jaunt

A Morning Jaunt

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

Markie holds high her left hand, her index finger looped through Thursday’s nose ring. This painfully forces the tethered naked steed to present himself on his toes. Once again Markie’s free hand toys with the testicles, so vulnerably presented, the support ring of the cock cage seeming to thrust the pink plums into the palm of her right hand.

“Steady boy, steady. You’re going to please the Prince today. A nice long run for you. A good fucking. You’re going to taste the Royal pecker... what a treat, ha, ha, ha.”

Bridle and bit in place, Thursday cannot reply. Yes, he’s been tethered, a broad leather waist belt secured to the prongs of the Prince’s low sleek pony cart, wrist bands hooked to his neck collar, arms awkwardly folded in discomfort at the elbows.

Thursday’s alabaster nakedness gleams in the African sunlight, every inch of flesh coated with sun block, the Prince insisting that his penis penetrate only the whitest of male flesh... his penchant.

Bringing more gleam to the buttocks are the remnants of lubricant applied to the rectum. Markie  knows it will not be enough, that the Royal pecker, vast in both length and girth, will most painfully open, stretch and penetrate... slowly... deliberately... relentlessly. Yes, Thursday will be penetrated despite his tightness, his sphincter still acclimating to weekly sodomy.   

“Be good to his highness now,” Markie’s final words as she spies her Master approaching.

The Prince is garbed in a colorful silk kimono. Markie knows that beneath the flowing folds there is nothing... that with a quick flip of his hand the Prince can facilely display the only normally functioning penis at the ranch... that after running Thursday into a good sweat he will pause, unhitch the well worked steed and take him... orally... anally... most likely both.

“Good morning, Markie. You look pretty this morning.”

“Thank you, sire,” the naked castrate blushing with the kind words from he so admired.

“And you’ve nicely prepared my steed for a good run and fucking. I’m going to take him to the oasis... swim in the cool water while the sun heats the steel of his cock cage. It’s deliciously slow torment. Makes them eager to run... a cooling breeze becomes most welcomed, ha, ha, ha.”

The Prince gathers the reins, Markie marveling at the powerful hands, the well muscled arms. As well conditioned are the human steeds, the Prince is even bigger and stronger... and his penis is fully functioning... and unlocked, Markie notes to herself with adoring envy.

“Have a good run, sire.”

“Thank you Markie. Make sure my boys are well exercised. I like to feel firmly toned muscling succumb to me... as you know,” mounting the cart.

A riding crop awaits. With a forceful swing and calloused splat, feet scurry, leg muscles labor, the reins tug to guide Thursday from the corral.

“Be a few hours... work ‘em hard,” the Prince calls out as Thursday eagerly jogs to avoid more strokes of the crop.

Suffering under the crop and tethers will only be interrupted when the Prince decides the Royal penis needs satiation, Markie notes to herself, turning to return to the stable.

Five more steeds await her tutelage... for them, hours on the treadmill.  

Meanwhile the Prince finds himself entering nirvana. His psyche daily ceding to his need, a wry smile slowly broadens as the prominent white cheeks of his human steed strain... only to receive brisk snaps of the crop, right then left. He feels the cart shudder with paroxysmal reaction to the sharp pain. This spurs a boisterous laugh of delight.

“You’ll better move those legs and thighs... tempt me with those pearly white buttocks... or feel more sting, Thursday. I like making a boy work for me, ha, ha, ha.”

The pace accelerates. The sound of air rushing past bit and bridle comforts the Prince. Though the noon hour is not yet, the intensity of the direct rays of the African sun quickly bring perspiration, the wet mixing with the sun lotion to commence streams of moisture.

Ah, thinks the Prince, perhaps my naked steed will feel the power of the Royal penis along his entire body. Yes, I’ll frottage every inch of flesh, feeling him quiver and squirm in distaste. Then I’ll face fuck him, the sound of choking always empowers. Lastly, when rock hard, then I’ll take him anally. Such tightness these new boys possess. Such a delicious reaction of horror as I slowly enter. Such revulsion as I pump and pump.

Into a valley, the road is dusty but smooth, well worn with the daily excursions. A turn to the right, a slight descent, and there comes the reflection, a modest pond, the glint of water beckoning.  

The reins direct to the shade of a tree. The Prince positions such that Thursday is left in the daylight, facing the sun. He dismounts. A short chain is quickly clipped right ankle to left. Leaving no slack, the reins are tied to a tree branch above. An exhausted Thursday will remain standing... for now.

“You’ll be eager to kneel and spread for me... in an hour or two. You’ll hate taking my cock... but you’ll also welcome it, ha, ha, ha,” the words offered as the Prince disrobes.

Kimono cast into the cart, the Prince displays his well chiseled masculinity. The impressive muscling is only exceeded by a thick manhood, the tip swinging heavily between the knees. Thursday, selected for purchase due to his own prominent endowment, gulps in dread, knowing he must service, submit to the royal penis, before being cropped and run again.

Thursday does not like Thursdays.