Look Saturday for the first segment of a pony girl story. Very little Female Dominance, sorry to disappoint. But I'll be working on Part Two and there will be a female handler and women medical staff for the pony girls.
Enjoy.
And the reference to 'Constancia Island' is intriguing. Wrote that story 20 years ago!
CB
Segment V was the last posted segment. Hopefully you readers enjoyed. The full story is available from Lulu as posted on November 14.
Any one have interest in a pony girl story?
CEO Alexandra Morris arrives home late. As she presses the remote to open the solid steel gate for entry to the long drive to the house, the headlights flash on a small package. She is expecting a delivery, high tech ear buds to more fully condition her human equine to total isolation and dependence on her tutelage. The idea came to her in spotting the number of young employees at her firm listening to music and facilely able to take phone calls when needed.
For Robert there will be no music... but there can be phone calls. Yes, Miss Alex will enjoy exercising her dominion from a distance.
Stopping the car, she exits quickly to retrieve the package, as always limiting activity and attention to the otherwise barely noticeable estate entrance. In stooping she notes an envelope perched nearby, a hand written salutation ‘Dear Neighbor’.
An interloper! Though obviously not able to enter the grounds, Miss Alex has concerns. Was the package delivered before or after the envelope? Envelope dropped off first... no harm. Envelope delivered later... the package would reveal her name.
Such would undermine her efforts for anonymity with any nearby residents. With the estate purchased by a trust, not even the village tax records divulge her identity.
Too much time already expended, it’s back to the car, envelope and package in hand, Through the gate, the sensor closes, Miss Alex is again cocooned in her world of Feminine Dominion.
To the house, to her bedroom, she disrobes. Darkness precludes walking her steed outdoors. Thus she decides to return herself to the island days of her youth. She dons a simple shirt leaving herself otherwise naked. The lack of attire brings a warm glow. Miss Alex closes her eyes, dreamily sensing the nimble tongue of a kneeling steed tenderly lapping away at her young bald mons.
Robert awaits. And in being held in suspension bondage for the entire day there will be such eagerness to serve.
To the kitchen, as Miss Alex prepares a bottle of wine her eyes return to the ‘Dear Neighbor’ envelope. Curiosity brings the need to open and read but there is also the need for cunnilingus. She decides to take it with her to the basement... peruse as steed Robert orally assuages after a stressful day.
Iced wine bucket in hand, the code to open the well secured basement stable is entered. Miss Alex takes the envelope, grabs the delivery package opens the door and descends. She can’t help thinking that the sound of her entry may be the last thing Robert freely hears. Hence he will linger in wait of her company in both darkness and silence. The notion brings moisture, her daunting dominion over the subjugated male to be augmented. She once again reminds herself, the submissive male, masochism so well ingrained, needs her governance... craves her governance.
“Good evening Robert. Happy to see me?” mocking in knowing he’s been kept sightless since his morning stint on the treadmill.
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Oh, I tend to forget I keep you blindfolded,” placing the wine, ice bucket, package and envelope on a nearby table. “And since I’m nearly naked you’ll need to stay that way tonight.”
She steps before the hanging form, the hooded head at the level of her waist, reaching to cradle.
“And I’m happy to see you. Your nose may tell you so,” pulling to guide Robert’s mouth to her well trimmed pubes.
Long held in chastity, Robert, as with all the human equines trained by Mother Morris, hungrily thrusts forth his tongue, his nose indeed telling of Miss Alex’s needs. It is a long and strong appendage, slipping past the outer labia with noted gusto.
“Good boy.”
Yes, Miss Alex returns herself again to the island paradise of her youth, endless oral servitude. She pauses in silence, several moments absorbing the delight.
“Should I masturbate you tonight? Have your penis drool for me?”
“Oh yes, please Ma’am. It’s been so long,”
“We’ll see. I tend to think you’d be more attentive to me... my cunny... with another week or two of denial.”
The words bring a moan... and a smile to Miss Alex’s lips. She brings the head closer in a silent command to resume.
“Well I’ve brought something for you. It will enhance my control over you... which you so much need... and bring you further into the world of complete submission. You’d like that wouldn’t you Robert?”
“Oh yes, Ma’am. It will please you.”
“Yes it will,” pushing back the head to go to the package.
She returns opening and explaining.
“I’m going to deprive you of sound... normal sound. Unless I want you to hear something.”
From the small box come the ear buds and a control box.
“So you’ll spend most of your day... and night of course... in nice tight bondage and both blinded and deafened. Just the sound of static... what’s termed white noise. It will be most annoying at first... but you’ll adapt.”
“Must you do this, Miss Alex?” the beseeching quest coming as Miss Alex carefully slips her fingers beneath the cloth spandex of the hood.
“Of course. I can do things with you, for you and to you. So I will.”
Ear buds are inserted, left and right. Miss Alex retrieves the control box. A dial is turned, and her naked well trussed steed is immersed... his world of darkness now one without the cognition of earthly sound.
Miss Alex presses a button. She speaks, the sound of her voice transmitting through ear buds.
“But you’ll hear my voice from time to time. And I think it’s best you be gagged from now on. Licking my cunny will become more and more of a privilege. So food, water and licking... otherwise you’ll be gagged and silenced.”
Miss Alex smiles in seeing her captive attempt to nod, already conforming to the expanded protocol of her strict guidance by remaining silent. She senses twinges, the wetness of her loins evidencing the enjoyment of her thorough dominion. More tongue work must come. But first the envelope. She steps to the table, opens and returns. The tongue resumes. She reads... a type written note.
Dear Neighbor,
My name is Duncan Hunter and I recently moved into a modest home near your beautiful estate. It seems I thoughtlessly intruded on your privacy a few days ago, interrupting a Saturday picnic. I believe you noticed my drone overhead. It’s a rather childish hobby and it seems in my attempt to better get to know the countryside I disturbed you. I hope it was not the noise of my drone that caused your horse to run off.
I’d like to introduce myself personally and make amends for any inconvenience I caused. If you’re an oenophile, I have a few bottles of a fine Chablis which need to be consumed.
My apologies,
Duncan
914-555-6198
P. S. I love your boots.
As Miss Alex completes reading, the sounds of the slurping tongue bring a frisson as the twinges strengthen. Knowing that the sensory perception of her loyal steed is further deprived by her hand brings a giddiness. Robert is further objectified... a mere set of tongue and lips... and useful feet and legs when touring the estate.
The first of many mild orgasms comes. The tongue glides upward in search of her clitoris. It is blissful.
She refocuses on the letter. Brazen to more or less invite himself to visit, this Duncan Hunter. Yet the postscript intrigues. Removing both boots and jodhpurs for her steed’s oral servitude, she recalls leaving her garb near the cart. Obviously the drone’s camera focused there for a time. Yet there is no mention in the letter of her apparent state of semi nudity beneath the blanket. Just a compliment on her knee high black leather boots. Somewhat telling, knowing of so many submissive males who are known to lick the leather footwear of an imposing woman.
More intrigue in the mention of a missing horse... a subterfuge?.. pretending not to be aware that the pony cart is reconfigured for human conveyance?
Her anger with the intrusion comes back to mind. Over the past days she has put it aside. But the concern remains. Will there be more drone interruptions when running about her naked steed?
Surely this Duncan Hunter must have suspicions concerning the full nature of the ‘picnic’. If the camera lens conveyed images of her boots, what of the clamped testicles and golden brown buttocks of her oral servant? Surely more drone incursions will come, more fully satiate this man’s curiosity.
Her privacy paramount, Miss Alex mulls the invitation. A notion to ‘nip in the bud’ comes to mind. Perhaps a phone call. To strongly object to being observed and recorded. But would that not further flame the man’s curiosity? Suggesting there is something to be kept from view... which of course there is.
No objecting phone call. A more personal appeal. Perhaps to indeed accept the offer of wine. Yes, a visit, with frank discussion. That the drone noise does in fact scare her horse... politely but firmly ask to refrain from more overhead annoyance.
But what of the horse? There is none... none with four legs. And if this Duncan suggests a visit to her stable?
As she senses well trained lips purse about her bud, she laughs with the thought. Yes, she needs to be bold in protecting her privacy. She’ll invite this Duncan Hunter for a visit. Clad in her boots, riding crop in hand, she’ll feel the man out, the nature of his penchant for black leather to be fully scoped.
Knees weakening with the surge of pleasure, Miss Alex steps back. Cunnilingus time over... for now. She decides to immediately begin indoctrination into steed Robert’s new world of nothingness, not speaking... certainly not explaining... simply terminating the sensual inputs of taste and smell by merely stepping away. His sole sense will be touch... to feel the constant cling of her bindings.
And she cannot forget to gag him. Strolling to the far wall, feeling the delight of the cool basement air wafting over her wet mons, she selects a stout ball gag with a large opening for air.
Such cruelty. Mother Morris would be proud.
Grapes consumed, multiple orgasms tossed, Miss Alexandra Morris suns herself, tummy down, feet parted. Steed Robert’s oral servitude continues, lying prostrate, face wedged between her shapely cheeks. A fine wine is savored as the more mild yet gratifying orgasms brought by assiduous analingus make the afternoon seem endless.
Miss Alex recalls first discovering the delights of such sordid tongue work. Her cunny being licked, a second steed of her mother’s herd dutifully approached from behind, the many, many weeks of forced chastity bringing great attraction to her cute young backside. When Mother Morris noticed the young trainee fervently licking, she commanded more focused attention to her daughter’s rosebud opening. Miss Alex smiles in thinking of her initial squeal of delight. She quickly learned to relish a steed’s tongue work both front and back.
“Be careful rubbing your penis tip on the blanket, Robert. No frottaging. Bad boys stay infibulated.”
As Robert murmurs concurrence there comes a sound.
Miss Alex hears a whir.
Miss Alex looks skyward.
Miss Alex rises to her elbows.
Miss Alex shields her eyes, searching the sky.
Miss Alex finds the source.
It is a drone. It is of size, not a child’s toy. And it approaches.
A hand quickly grasps the edge of the blanket and flips, covering her buttocks and Robert’s hooded head and upper back.
“Stay Robert.”
Miss Alex realizes that to move about will present their nakedness and she has no doubt the intruding craft has a camera. Otherwise there would be no recreational purpose.
Hands reach beneath the blanket, pushing away Robert’s face then twisting her body beneath the blanket to lie on her back, torso propped up on her elbows. She notes her quick efforts failed to cover Robert from the waist down, his well muscled globes of golden brown prominently exposed for filming if indeed the drone has a camera.
It is disconcerting. Hundreds of secluded acres, walled and fenced for privacy, and her moments of intimacy with her oral servant are on exhibition.
She mentally tries to shrug off the invasion... it is what it is. But then her eyes go to her pony cart, waist belt hanging at the prongs, riding crop at the ready. Her heart sinks in realizing the discovery of the drone owner... that this is not an afternoon of two lovers picnicking on a leisurely weekend. It is a woman of Dominion exercising her supreme authority. For besides the sight of a pony cart with no pony, Robert remains bearing the testicle clamp. She hopes the steel encased penis shaft is tucked under his belly.
How good is the drone’s camera lens? The craft remains relatively high above, not obnoxiously encroaching. But it does hover, recording what would seem quite bizarre or eccentric in the vanilla world of a staid and wealthy New York City suburb.
Trapped beneath the blanket, a frustrated Miss Alex does her best to placate herself. At least with her blouse remaining in place, any flash of feminine charms has been limited, the covering blanket flipped in place when the drone was at a distance.
Then, drone continuing to linger in place overhead, there comes anger. For sure some voyeuristic hobbyist is finding demented delight. Yet to what conclusion can she assume the viewer will come? A naked man of color half covered by a blanket... a pony cart without an apparent form of conveyance.
Finally, battery power no doubt diminishing, the craft moves off. Miss Alex pushes aside the blanket, rising to quickly slip into her jodhpurs and boots.
“Well that ends a relaxing afternoon, Robert. And it seems I’ll need to take caution in running you about.”
Miss Alex pulls at her steed’s shoulders. Robert knows to right himself, going to his knees. The sight of his full erection brings a smile. Despite the frantic conclusion of his indefatigable oral efforts, tongue thrusting, lips savoring, basking in her scent, the virile yet chaste beast has enjoyed. Miss Alex looks to see a circle of wet at the end of the blanket.
“Goodness, Robert, such drool. I will have to masturbate you soon,” promising again.
“Yes, please Miss Alex.”
A left hand rips away the blinding cloth. Right hand to the testicle leash, Alexandra Morris calms herself. At least she will have a riding crop and a fine pair of buttocks for consolation, tugging to return to the cart.
“I have a plug of ginger in the basket, Robert. Want to offer me a quick dash back to the house? It stimulates you wonderfully,” the suggestion coming as the waist belt is buckled and secured to the prongs of the cart.
“Please no, Miss Alex,” the well trained steed all too aware of the stinging, burning anal insertion.
Yes, a training aid for reluctant and recalcitrant human equines, Robert has too often been figged. Mother Morris so much enjoyed the harmless torment.
“Then do give me a good pace... without wearing out my crop.”
