by Penny Birch
‘Now your boots and jodhpurs,’ I continued, ‘but not your knickers.’
She complied, tugging off her boots and then turning her back to us to pull down her jodhpurs. Her panties were plain white cotton, the type that’s see-through when wet.
‘Turn around slowly, then kneel down,’ I said when she was down to just her blouse and panties. She looked really sweet, her legs bare and with a triangle of white cotton covering the bulge of her pussy. As she knelt, the blouse rode up her back, leaving the broad seat of her panties showing, the material stretched taut across her bottom. I walked round her, watching her big eyes looking up at me uncertainly from underneath her fringe of pale brown curls.
‘Lift your top,’ I said, unable to resist the opportunity to see more of her.
She did as she was told, revealing her tight waist, the soft swell of her tummy and her naked breasts.
‘Stay like that,’ I added as I began to undress myself. Everybody else was absolutely quiet, watching Amber and me. Michael’s arm was round Ginny’s waist; Anderson’s hand laid gently on Vicky’s bottom.
I took off everything below my waist, going deliberately slowly and piling each garment neatly on top of the last. Amber watched me, her eyes wide and bright, occasionally nipping her lower lip with her teeth. I knew how she felt: much as I had, the first time I had been put across Matthew’s knee.
‘Drop your blouse,’ I said, stepping nearer. ‘Hold your tits up for me.’
She was trembling as I straddled her and pushed my hips forward, my pussy inches away from her face. I pulled my lips apart and closed my eyes, concentrating on building up the need to pee. I wasn’t sure I could do it at first, then felt the familiar ache start to build and knew I could.
I opened my eyes as I let go, watching a splash of pale golden liquid catch the front of Amber’s blouse. She sighed as it hit, the cotton immediately soaking my pee up and starting to cling to her breasts. Her nipples showed, every little bump of the areolae now visible through the wet cotton. I stood back a little, my stream catching her lower down and plastering the blouse against her tummy. Her mouth was open and her eyes shut, her hands massaging her breasts, the pee running through her fingers and down her arms. It was more than I could resist. I moved forward again, close to her face, filling her mouth with my pee. She opened wide, sticking her tongue out and lapping at my pussy as the stream died to a trickle. For a moment I felt the touch of her tongue on my clit, then she had drawn away, golden pee running down her face in rivulets. I stood back, watching her. She was sitting in a pool of it, her blouse and knickers sodden, still kneading her breasts and with her eyes shut tight. The front of her pants was soaking, the thick bush of her pubic hair plainly visible through the sodden material.
‘Sit your bottom in it,’ I ordered, ‘then stand up.’
She did it, wriggling her bum against the ground then getting unsteadily to her feet and turning so that I could see the wet patch spreading across the seat of her knickers. The wet cotton clung to her bottom, making a very pretty sight indeed. I left her standing, keen to let her humiliation really sink in and wondering if I should order her to sit back in the pool of my pee and masturbate in front of us. I hesitated and then decided that not to make her do it would spoil it for her.
‘Get back in it and you can come,’ I said, reasoning that she always had her stop word if she didn’t want to.
She obeyed, sitting down in the middle of the puddle with her legs at right angles. I could see every detail of her pussy through her knickers until she slid a hand down the front and started to play with herself. Her eyes were still shut and the other hand on her breasts, rubbing her nipples through the wet material. Her breath quickened and I knew she was going to come, but was taken by surprise when she called my name as she reached orgasm.
I quickly went forward to cuddle her, holding her head as her orgasm peaked again and then subsided. As she let out her breath, someone started clapping and then, the next thing I knew, the hose had been turned on us. It didn’t take long to clean up, although I had to take off my soaking blouse and bra and settle for staying topless for the rest of the afternoon. Amber had other ideas, as I discovered when she emerged from the horsebox, now fully dressed in corduroy trousers and a fresh blouse.
‘Right,’ she announced calmly, as if we hadn’t just watched her make an utterly filthy exhibition of herself,
‘I hope you all enjoyed the show and you can be very sure I’ll remember it, for future reference. Revenge will be sweet.’
‘Well, just make sure we don’t catch you cheating again,’ Ginny retorted.
‘And as for you, Miss Birch,’ Amber continued, once more the cool, haughty mistress, ‘you can start by undressing again. Then you can put your harness on, all of it, and get in the back of the horsebox.’
My hands went to my jeans button and popped it open. This was what I’d been manipulating myself into, and now I was going to get what I deserved.
Six
If you don’t enjoy erotic pain and sexual humiliation, it’s impossible to understand either. I’d always enjoyed the fantasy of both and occasionally the practice. Now I was really starting to explore my sexuality, yet I couldn’t really claim to understand my feelings. As I lay in the back of the van in full pony-girl harness, I knew Amber was going to punish me and utterly humiliate me. There was nothing I wanted more and, as I lay on the floor, my mind ran on what she might be going to do. I knew that it would be ecstasy but that didn’t stop me being scared: scared and very, very excited. I would have liked to masturbate then and there, but Amber’s last act before shutting the horsebox had been to strap my wrists together behind my back and fix my ankle straps to her pony-cart. She had also had me put my hobble on, a system of leather straps that linked my thighs and made it impossible to spread them properly. A thick collar of black leather with a ring at the front had also been put around my neck with everybody watching, marking me as Amber’s.
Tied as I was, all I could do was lie in the dim interior with the smell of horses in my nostrils, squirm in my bonds and listen to Amber, Anderson and Vicky chatting in the front. I could only catch a word or two from their conversation, but I did gather that they were discussing the merits of different brands of mineral water. Having me strapped up in the back didn’t even seem to warrant a mention, which made my feelings even more piquant. Somewhere between Wiltshire and Amber’s house, she dropped them off, still ignoring me completely. The journey then continued in silence, my emotions growing stronger and moving in a direction I had never experienced before.
My body was completely under Amber’s control: hers and hers alone. I trusted her or I’d never have let myself get into the situation. It was that trust that kept the situation so intensely erotic and, as time slipped by, I found it building into a reliance. I felt I was her pet, treasured but ultimately owned. Being in the harness provided a name for this emotion: pony-girl. If the physical sensation when I first went in harness had been more intense than I had anticipated, then this new mental aspect to it was richer still.
At a deeper, more rational level of my mind I realised that Amber was doing it on purpose. Her understanding of the fantasy made Matthew, and even Michael, look shallow. I gave up squirming, lying patiently on the floor with only the occasional stretch to keep my muscles moving.
The journey seemed to go on for an immense period of time, but objectively it can’t have been all that long. I could still see bright sunshine through a crack at the side of the doors when the horsebox finally stopped. I heard Amber getting out to open the gates to her yard. When the vehicle stopped again, my trepidation returned, stronger than before. She didn’t open the back and the last thing I heard was the sound of her kitchen door closing.
I lay still in the cool dimness, waiting for my mistress. Every sound and sensation seemed magnified: my own breathing, the slight jingle of my cheek and nipple bells when I moved, the dull ache in my muscles. The tension inside me kept building and I had
She was naked but for knee-high boots of black leather. Her hair was caught back, giving her a severe look. In her hand she held a long whip, like the type a circus ring-master might use, and a coil of black rope. She stood looking at me and fingering the tip of the whip. The whip and her determined no-nonsense stance brought back all my misgivings about having humiliated her. It looked very painful and I knew I’d soon be feeling it across my bottom. I wanted to crawl to her feet and kiss them to say sorry, then be whipped anyway, but I could only look at her and beg with my eyes.
The ramp creaked faintly as she stepped forward and entered the horsebox. My ankles were unfastened and I was pulled to my feet, the end of the rope knotted in the ring of my collar. She walked down the ramp, the rope thrown casually over her shoulder. I was forced to follow, the hobble making me walk in tiny, precise steps. She walked across the yard, my eyes fixed on the muscles of her back and the movement of her bottom. Without once looking round, she went to the gap in the hedge and passed through, drawing the rope behind her. The hedge was double, blocking the view into the little paddock it enclosed.
I stumbled after Amber, who walked briskly across the paddock to a central post painted in red and white stripes. To either side were horse jumps and I recalled Ginny suggesting I be tied over a jump for my caning. Amber was heading for the post, adjusting the coil of rope in her hand as she went. When she reached it, she tied the rope to a large metal eye that was fixed in the top, then turned to me.
I thought she was going to tell me what was going to happen to me, but instead of the hard, merciless look she had worn when taking me out of the horsebox, she was smiling and looked more happy than anything.
‘Come out of role for a second, Penny,’ she said softly, taking the bit out of my mouth. ‘That may have been a bit hard; are you OK?’
‘I’m fine; it was lovely,’ I answered truthfully. ‘I never realised how much feeling I could get from all this. Other than just being turned on, that is.’
‘Good,’ she replied, smiling. ‘You want me to punish you properly, don’t you?’
‘Yes, please,’ I answered.
‘Good,’ she said again. ‘While you’re with me, your slow down word is ‘‘Yellow’’, not ‘‘Amber’’, otherwise it just gets confusing. Say it if you need to, OK?’
I nodded, almost in tears at her tenderness after my earlier treatment. She kissed me and gave me a squeeze then stepped back, about to return to her role.
‘Can I have a name, please?’ I asked, voicing a need I had felt ever since hearing that Vicky was called Hippolyta when she was a pony-girl.
‘Of course,’ Amber replied. ‘I’m surprised Matthew didn’t give you one. Have you got your heart set on something?’
‘You choose,’ I said, knowing that being named by her would add to the pleasure.
She smiled, and then the smile became cruel, with just the tiniest of changes in her face. I hung my head as she took my reins, leading me out until the rope ran taut from my collar to the top of the post. Ahead of me, some few yards away, was one of the jumps, as high as a small hurdle. I waited with my head bowed as she unfastened my wrists and looped the reins back up to the neck strap of my bridle.
‘Right,’ she announced, stepping back, ‘we’re going to try a little test of stamina while I think of a suitable name for my new pony. You run, jumping the two fences on each circuit. That sounds easy, doesn’t it? Very easy, even with my whip to make your bottom tingle if you don’t keep your pace up. Of course, it’s not that simple…’
She paused, reaching out to tap one of my nipple bells and make it ring.
‘You have earnt yourself six dozen strokes of the cane, which I intend to take out of your plump behind after dinner. Just before we go up to the bedroom, that is. Now, every perfect lap you complete will reduce your punishment by one stroke. Should you complete seventy-two laps, then you’ll just get the good spanking that is the minimum you deserve. If the rope touches the ground, or if you miss a fence, knock a fence over or any other error, then the lap doesn’t count. You start when my whip connects with your bottom.’
She had been walking away as she spoke, but turned and flicked the whip the instant she finished. I felt a sharp sting as the tip caught the skin of my bottom and started to run.
Even if I’d been fresh, I wouldn’t have done very well. The ground was dry but I immediately discovered that the second fence was a water jump; or, rather, a mud jump. I couldn’t jump over it and, by the second lap, my legs were already splashed with it. Each time I passed Amber, she would taunt me with the whip, occasionally flicking it expertly across my bum. By the fifth lap, my legs were burning and I had started to stumble at the jumps. Somewhere around the tenth, I lost count and, not long after that, let the rope touch the ground for the first time.
Only the memory of my previous caning and the thought of my coming punishment kept me going, although I was determined to take it without using my stop word. On what must have been about the twentieth lap, I slipped and sat down in the mud pool, smearing my bottom and thighs with muck. As it oozed up between my legs and into my pussy fur, I considered giving up and just collapsing into the cool goo. It would have been so easy, cane or no cane.
It was seeing Amber pointedly counting on her fingers that made me go on, forcing myself into a kneeling position, standing and staggering on around the pole. The brief rest did me good and I started counting again, completing four more laps before feeling the warning twinge of a stitch coming on. I forced myself on but, when I reached the next jump, I knew I just couldn’tdo it and stopped, sinking to my knees and then to all fours with my head bowed to the ground.
I was covered in muck and sweat, my hair falling around my face in a bedraggled mess, my beautiful new harness filthy with mud. For a long moment I stayed still, panting and wondering how many laps I’d done; then I heard a sound and realised that Amber was standing in front of me. I looked up, finding her boots directly in front of my face and the scent of leather and polish strong in my nose.
‘Lick, Calliphigenia,’ she ordered curtly. I eased my bit aside and put my tongue out to touch the shiny black surface, tasting the bitter-sweet tang. I’d been named, the name implying a pretty yet plump bottom; flattering, yet humiliating and just right.
Raising my eyes, I could see her boots through my fringe. Her feet were planted slightly apart, a position of command with me at her feet, face down and licking her boots. My bottom was raised and my knees open, a pose of blatant sexual availability which I had adopted without thinking. The touch of her whip between my buttocks made me fully aware as she tickled the ultra-sensitive skin around my anus with the hard nylon of the lash.
I moved from one boot to the other, working slowly higher, then changing my licks to kisses as I reached the soft flesh of her thighs. I looked up for approval, but her eyes were intent on what she was doing with the whip between my bottom cheeks. Taking this for acquiescence, I carried on kissing a little higher each time, aiming for the golden fluff of hair that covered her pussy. She couldn’t keep herself from giving a soft moan when my tongue found her pussy lips. Her spare hand took a grip in my hair and I found my face pulled hard against her belly. I licked obediently, burrowing my tongue in to find her clit and settling down to a steady rhythm against the hard little bud. Her scent and taste were strong in my head, feminine and musky.
What I wanted most of all was to make her come under my tongue. She denied it to me, suddenly pulling my head back and looking down at me. Our eyes met for an instant and then she pushed me away. Her pussy was moist with my saliva and her own juice, the pink flesh of her inner lips visible among the hair. I think we both knew that if she’d let me make her come, it would have broken the covenant of mistress and pet for the afternoon, perhaps for the rest of our precious twenty-four hours. It was at that instant, as I knelt back and looked up at her naked body, that I realised I didn’t want to go back. I was in love with Amber.
She paused, perhaps sensing something of the depth of my feeling, then took me by the collar, pulled me up and set off across the paddock. After tying me to a convenient ring in the wall, she took off her boots and turned on the yard tap. She didn’t say a word as she hosed the mud off me and then scrubbed me down with a stiff brush and a sponge. My harness was in a fairly sorry state, but nothing a bit of polish wouldn’t cure. I stood naked, raising my hands to let her get at bits of me that were still muddy.
By the time she had finished I was pink and well scrubbed, with my skin tingling deliciously. Having her groom me was another new aspect of pony-girl fantasy for me, different again from what I had already learnt.
I suppose in its purest form, the groom would be someone other than the mistress or master, but I was more than happy to have Amber washing me and still felt myself hers, with no diminution of our roles.
The day was beginning to cool and I could feel the first taste of autumn in the air as Amber rubbed me down with a towel. She rubbed firmly, covering my whole body and treating my breasts and bottom with the same detached thoroughness as the less sensitive areas of my skin. Only when she came to my pussy did she break role, rubbing the towel well in and coming close to kiss my mouth as she explored between my legs. Her breasts felt firm and resilient against mine, both bare, the hard nipples rubbing against my skin. I opened my mouth under hers, eager to be fondled as we kissed, only to have her pull away and raise an admonishing finger.
‘Later, Penny,’ she chided playfully, her first words since outlining the details of my punishment. ‘For now, you are going to serve me dinner and, when I’ve finished, I’m going to cane you. You could probably do with some rest first, so run upstairs and relax until I call you.’
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