Groom Edgar returns leading Candy Bar on a leash, no pony girl to ever move under her own volition. Collared, arms tethered behind in the reverse prayer position, Sweet Cheeks peers, seemingly looking into a mirror. The girl’s image is her own. Bald, limited breasts, extended nipples protruding, flat stomach, the muscles rippling, powerful thighs furling with each tiptoed step.
To the second trapeze bar, the ear grommets are hooked, Groom Edgar stepping to the wall pulling a rope to raise the bar, bringing Candy Bar to her toes as well and forcing the pony girls to stand pressing against each other face to face.
Sweet Cheeks feels the girl’s warmth, her smoothness, sensing rise both homophobia... and arousal. Nipples press to nipples, belly to belly, the thighs graze against each other. Then Candy Bar shows her many years of equine training... and forced chastity She extends her tongue... notably lengthy... to begin licking Sweet Cheeks’ face... a pony girl greeting.
Groom Edgar laughs.
“Such a randy girl, Candy Bar. Lady Dyson will be here soon. Save it. Calm down for now... then put on a nice show for her,” Groom Edgar advises stepping behind Sweet Cheeks.
Despite the mental trauma, Sweet Cheeks is relieved as her wrist cuffs are released and unbuckled then her collar unbuckled and removed as well. She can move her hands! But she knows not what to do.
“Hands to your hips for now, Sweet Cheeks... no touching. Did you urinate for me?”
“No Sir.”
“Bladder shy after all these months?” Groom Edgar laughingly inquires.
“I... I... couldn’t... you know... without you.”
“Without a directing finger. Yes, that’s happens... more bonding,” the words coming as a knowing hand slips between the thighs, a finger working inward, finding the urethral sponge with celerity.
“Psst, psst. Open yourself.”
“But... Sir... Candy Bar.”
“You’ll spray her, no doubt. But she’s easily rinsed. You’re both here to be bathed after all.”
Sweet Cheeks berates herself. Bladder indeed brimming, why is it there comes a sense of relief with her groom and idol entering her, taking control, the daily ritual bizarre yet mandated. Now mandated by her own mind? Not able to urinate without feeling him inside her?
Urinary tract indoctrinated to ceding its function, a flow begins... to be cut off... to renew... to curtail... to finally allow full relief.
Candy Bar... splattered... feet wet... neither moves nor protests. Such sordidness is acceptable... expected?
Deed completed, Groom Edgar moves to Candy Bar, removing her collar and cuffs as well.
As demanded... the girls are naked, their only covering gone.
It is an odd feeling, cuffs and collar coming to signify care and supervision. Why is there a sense of comfort in being bound? Sweet Cheeks asks herself. And now to be able to move...her arms... her hands!
She notes Candy Bar places her hands on her hips without need for direction, apparently well versed in the tribbing exhibitions. And such remain there as Groom Edgar goes to the spray hose, turns a valve, adjusts the flow to comfortable temperature and without fanfare begins dousing the combined nakedness. Candy Bar squeals, Sweet Cheeks basks in the warmth, her day long, her nakedness coated with perspiration, the irritating salt of her pores sprayed to the drain. It feels so good!
Soaked, as the hose is cast aside, Lady Dyson enters, wine glass in left hand, a length of rattan in the right.
“Naked, naked, naked,” come enthusiastic words. “Well girls... pony girls... do enjoy my treat. You may embrace. And Edgar... a little higher with the bars.”
Groom Edgar silently moves to the ropes. Candy Bar, the term ‘embrace’ of significance , lifts her hands from her hips and reaches behind Sweet Cheeks. Wet bodies hugging, Sweet Cheeks is appalled. Yet it feels so good after months of chastity, Groom Edgar’s hands and fingers... worse Lady Dyson’s crop... being the sole source of touch.
“Your arms, Sweet Cheeks, hands to Candy Bar,” Lady Dyson politely commands, the rattan tapping her buttocks to bring a stab of pain.
As Sweet Cheeks obeys, she feels more tension on her ears, the bar rising as does Candy Bar’s, forcing even more proximity. But of more distress, Candy Bar opens her thighs. The girls will scissor, recalling Edgar’s description of tribbing. And sure enough, Candy Bar finally speaks.
“Dance with me. You may as well enjoy, Sweet Cheeks. And entertain your Master.”
Candy Bar begins the ‘dance’, vigorously wriggling and rubbing her flesh to Sweet Cheeks, in a way stealing her naked warmth. More appall comes as Sweet Cheeks feels the enormous clitoris- turned-penis stabbing her thigh, large and now well engorged in arousal.
“She watches,” Candy Bar whispers, though there is no doubt those in charge can hear the words. “Doesn’t that turn you on? Bring yourself off. Help me get off,” the latter words pleaful.
With that, there comes a whoosh of bamboo. Sweet Cheeks for the first time feels the true fire of the cane, her relatively static naked body not amusing her Ladyship. She lurches.
Having spent a good part of the day under Lady Dyson’s crop hand, Sweet Cheeks realizes the stroke was of moderation... a mere warning. She begins to gyrate, finding sick joy... but joy all the same in the forced girl on girl frottaging.
“Yes, dance, pony girl. Rub your tits, your thighs. I can smell your excitement... your secretions. I cropped you into a good lather. Your cunt betrays your need. Now please yourself!”
The message of the cane received, Sweet Cheeks wriggles. Meanwhile Groom Edgar returns his attention, standing at the right side, soapy bucket of water and chamois in hand.
Symbolic, Sweet Cheeks realizes. After all, the ruse for Lady Dyson’s libidinous show is a communal cleansing. But as Groom Edgar begins to swab naked flesh, there comes more warmth. The slipperiness abets, Candy Bar rubbing, squealing, wriggling. And her licking resumes... lips, nose, the appendage long enough to lap her missing eyebrows. Sweet Cheeks glances to Lady Dyson, sipping her wine, such a smug look of condescension in mandating Sapphic embrace, the whippy length of rattan threatening.
Arousal peaking, despite the reluctance, there comes a sense of surrender. Sweet Cheeks begins to dance in earnest, the slow grinding of her wet soapiness against Candy Bar’s accelerating, Groom Edgar’s chamois enhancing the sensuality, feeling the firm nubbin of Candy Bar’s clitoris seemingly attempting to penetrate her thigh. Moments turn to minutes..
And then, ultimate ecstasy broiling, climax pending, Lady Dyson signals, raising her cane.
“That’s enough. Edgar, a nice rinsing spray for my concupiscent pony girls. Make it cold... ice cold.”
Obedient response instantaneous, the hose returns. A frigid flow blasts. The squeals and lustful moans of carnal delight turn to shrieks of distress. Arousal plummeting, the show ends.
“Oh, you girls seem cold. Some caning to those nice firm buttocks will warm you.”
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