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.”
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