Ash nodded.
“Good. To begin with, your sister is not a pervert. From what you’ve described, she is a sexual submissive. It seems to run in our family’s bloodline. I’m one, and I suspect your grandmother was, too, though she never admitted it.”
“A sexual what?”
“Submissive, Ash. It means someone who enjoys being treated in ways often considered demeaning or even painful to the general population. Some people enjoy submitting, others enjoy dominating. For some it’s a hobby, a spice to their love life, for others, it’s the only way they can be sexual at all. I’m the latter type. I don’t know about your sister.”
Ashley shook her head. “This doesn’t make any sense. I’m not that way.”
“Honey, you promised to listen. Let me start over at the beginning. It’s no secret I was born into privilege, here in this house, in fact, the only child to parents old enough to be my grandparents. I was a creative child, pampered, passionate, flirtatious and above all, bored. I had no shortage of dates in high school or college, and I could have taken my pick of the bluebloods of this or any other country in the world. My dad, your grandfather, practically begged me to marry, but I made mincemeat of every suitor.”
“Mincemeat?” Ashley giggled.
Libby laughed, too, her features softening as she wrapped herself round the pillow on her lap. “It’s true. I could out run, out shoot, out play and outwit anyone Dad sent to me. And I wasn’t very kind about it, either. Trust me; I made them all feel pretty inferior. And then your dad showed up. Malcolm wasn’t rich, nor did he have high social standing. He was an apprentice horse trainer, working at Daddy’s stables, attending to the extensive thoroughbred stock. In those days, Van Voorst Farms churned out stakes winners like popcorn.
“I was exercising a filly, just playing, when I first saw him. He was working with a colt. I was just nineteen, home on break from my first year of college. He was handsome, devastatingly so, with his light brown hair (the same shade as you girls) and his deep blue eyes, and those muscles under his shirt, ooh, I was a goner from the first glance. But it was much more than his looks. It was how he handled himself, so confident with that colt, and yet so loving at the same time. He just touched something in me, with that narrow waist, those powerful thighs and smashing leather boots and the tone of his voice – firm, commanding immediate respect.
“I wanted to meet him in the worst way, but I was torn between an impulse to run to him and another, just as strong, to run away and never look back. Part of it was just a young girl’s hormones, but the other part had to do with my submissive self, a part of me I did not yet know existed and which I was fighting fiercely.
“Falling back on my imperious upbringing, I decided on the direct, arrogant approach, opting to hit him like a ton of bricks. I forget the exact complaint I lodged about his work, but considering how ignorant I was of horse training techniques, it must have been something pretty outlandish. He let me sputter on and on, and when I was done he studied me for half a second and said, ‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll try to do better.’
“Then he just stood there.
“I was on horseback and he was on foot, but the way he was looking at me, his face expressionless, I felt about two inches tall. Turning bright red, I had no choice but to ride off. He’d bested me, like no one ever had. Without a word of challenge, he’d revealed how petty I was being. And yet the way he’d done it, silently and subtly, was totally without malice or sarcasm.
“This would have been bad enough, but later on I overheard him talking with a couple of the men about me. ‘Don’t mind the little miss’, the head trainer, a bald headed man with a heart of gold was telling Malcolm. ‘She was raised that way, she doesn’t know any better.’
“‘I could teach her some respect,’ drawled a groom, flapping a riding crop noisily in the air.
“I was able to sneak a peek through the barn door in time to see Malcolm snatch the whip from his hand. The man started to protest, but Malcolm cut him off, his voice low and menacing. ‘Don’t talk about things you don’t understand’, he said.
“At the trainer’s order, the groom apologized and no more was said. I’m sure that the man was only joking and would never whip a woman. But the way Malcolm responded, I had the haunting sense there was another world at work here, a secret world where things might be very different between men and women. A world where the whip was a serious, sacred thing, imbued with a power that only a man of the highest honor and strength could ever understand.
“I dared not think on the subject anymore, but that night as I slept I had a powerful dream in which I was in a field running from something. I didn’t know what it was, and I kept looking behind me to see. Suddenly, there was Malcolm, in front of me.
“‘You can’t run forever’, he said. And with that, I was in a horse ring and there was an audience, consisting of every male I’d ever slighted or ignored. They were cheering at Malcolm, dressed in cowboy gear and spinning a lariat. I tried to get away, because they were all looking at me, but this time, over my shoulder I heard the whistle of the rope and then I felt it tightening round my middle. I was lassoed! Everyone started laughing as Malcolm brought me down and roped me, hand and foot, on my stomach in a hog tie, like they do with calves.
“He stood up then and raised his arms to silence the crowd. In an instant, they were all gone, and he was carrying me in his arms, unroped and in a new dress, taking me from the stadium.
“‘Are you going to whip me now?’ I asked. He smiled and shook his head. ‘You’re not ready yet. I’m going to break you in by hand first’. I felt my bottom grow warm because I knew it meant he would be spanking me. I don’t recall the rest of the dream, but when I woke up the next morning, I found the sheets twisted between my legs. I was covered in sweat, and I must have orgasmed, judging by the amount of fluid on the sheets.
“Later on, under the needling rays of the shower water, I faced the terrible truth about that dream and about my life. I did want to feel that riding crop, and much more besides. I’d always imagined I wanted to rule over men, but now I knew that I needed for a man to rule over me. And that man was Malcolm Daniels, if he would have me. I vowed from that moment on to make myself his, to go to him, find a way to test him, to see if he really could train a girl as well as he could a horse.
“To this end, my every free moment was spent at the stables. Too much of a tomboy still to give up my jeans, I did switch to softer blouses, which I left discretely unbuttoned. As for my hair, I kept it down and each morning I would give it a thousand strokes with the brush to make it softer. I put myself in Malcolm’s way constantly, teasing, enticing, challenging. I tried every strategy. When I wasn’t fawning on him, openly flirting, I was trying to antagonize him. Anything to be noticed. Everyone could see I had it for him bad and I could hear them behind my back, taking bets on how long till the lucky bastard bedded the owner’s haughty daughter. I grew wet in the crotch at the very thought of it. How I wished he would simply take me, drag me off somewhere and have his way with me leaving me no choice but to submit.
“As it was, he continued to be aloof and polite, giving me not the slightest sense of any personal interest in me. If he intended to put me off, though, it only had the opposite effect. The more he ignored me, the more I was his. With perverse pleasure, I embraced my new reputation. I went from being the little brat, to Malcolm’s pet, a tamed piece of tail forever panting over him. It made for wonderful masturbation at night, but a girl needs more.
“It was my mother of all people who gave me the help I needed to overcome the stalemate between us. The words she spoke to me were the one and only indication I ever had that she too was predisposed to yield herself, body and soul to a strong man. Had my father spent more time in her bed and less in everyone else’s, he might have found this out himself.
“What she said was this: ‘Libby, dear, sometimes it’s up to a girl to make the first move, to let a man know it’s okay to be the boss. But she can
’t very well bully him into taking charge, can she? No, the only hope she has is to let him know in no uncertain terms that she is a female and hope that nature will do the rest, bringing out the male in his own breast’.
“She’d spoken so timidly, her hand over mine as we took tea together. I’d never said a word about my dilemma or my interest in Malcolm, but it must have been obvious enough, the way I was looking out the window in the direction of the stables. There was a tear in my eye as I thanked her. It was the closest I ever felt to her.
“And I understood it, too, what she’d meant. Somehow she’d lent me wisdom, far beyond my years. That very afternoon I decided to act, taking the biggest risk of my young life. Abandoning my boy clothes, I donned a dress, very feminine, cut above the knee, and low in back. It was sleeveless and I felt naked even after I put it over my underwear and slip. To complement it, I chose a pair of white sandals. I painted my toes, an action so provocative to me I had to stop three times to collect myself. The thought of what I was about to do, how vulnerable and exposed I would be was incredibly intoxicating.
“As I walked to the stables, I could feel the breeze between my legs, the brush of grass against my toes. I felt so helpless, so aroused. A good gust of wind under my skirt, an idle flick of a man’s wrist at my waist and I would be as good as naked, barely covered by my silk slip and panties. I could feel the men’s eyes on me as I moved, on my bare arms, on my daintily painted toes and of course on the lines of the dress where they hugged my every curve. I had my hair braided as well, with a ribbon at the end so as to leave no question whatsoever as to my sex.
“I went straight to the barns. If ever Malcolm would notice me, if ever he would want me as a female, this would be it. There were whispers around me, but the men cleared the way for me, no one daring to say a word. When I found him, he was alone in the last barn, stripped to the waist, heaving piles of hay with a pitchfork. His back was to me and he didn’t turn, although I was sure he must have been informed of my coming: me, the boss’s daughter, dressed for love, declaring to the world her interest, once and for all in a hired man and damn the consequences. It was a humiliating thing to do, I assure you, and I was probably going beyond what my mother intended. I didn’t care, though, because I knew what I wanted for the first time in my life.
“’Hello, Malcolm’, I said softly, announcing my presence.
“He turned to face me, his magnificent bronzed chest glistening with sweat, his noble brow placid as ever. Extending my hand, unable to speak, I offered him the clump of wildflowers I had picked for him.
“’Thank you’, he nodded, thrusting the pitchfork into the hay and resting his hand on the handle. ‘That was kind of you’.
“I swallowed hard. ‘May I put them in that water bucket?’ I asked, indicating a vessel full of water destined for one of the horses.
“‘Yes’, he nodded. ‘And thank you again’.
“With that he returned to work, leaving me once again to my own devices. I could see now that all the power was his. My choice was either to leave now, preserving what scraps of dignity I had left or else to stay and risk surrendering everything.
“The flowers attended to, I called his name once more.
“He stabbed another batch of the hay, arcing the pitchfork like a spear of the gods. When he had completed the swing, he looked at me. How splendid he was, how strong!
“’What is it Miss Van Voorst?’” he asked, employing my surname though he was four years my senior.
“’Please call me Libby’, I said shyly.
“He pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket, dabbing his forehead. ‘All right, Libby. What do you want?’
“I watched him mop his brow. How I wished I could perform that humble task for him, using that very rag, or better still, my own tongue, lapping at his glistening skin.
“’I want to know why you don’t seem to like me much, Malcolm’, I said, feeling suddenly bold.
“He arched an eyebrow. ‘I don’t like or dislike you, Libby. That would presume a personal relationship, which is something we don’t have’.
“’Do you find me attractive?’ I pressed, no longer caring that I was making a fool of myself. ‘Am I as pretty as the whores in the city, the ones I hear the men talking about?’
“He smiled thinly, stuffing the cloth back into his pocket. ‘I wouldn’t know, Libby, I don’t frequent prostitutes’.
“My response was on my lips before I could stop it. ‘I want you to make love to me, Malcolm’. Can you imagine it, those ill chosen words falling into empty space, spelling my doom? Squaring my shoulders, thrusting out my breasts proudly, I decided to finish the matter, by telling him everything.
“’I’m not like other girls, Malcolm, and I think you know that. Most girls want roses and teddy bears at the carnival. Me, I see you tug on a mare’s reign, or wield a crop and I swoon. Most girls want a home, a white picket fence; I want a man who can put me on my knees and keep me there. I belong to you, Malcolm. In my heart, I’m already yours, like it or not’.
“Stubbornly, defiantly, I dropped to my knees and bent forward then, my wrists over my head, in a crossed position. It was sheer instinct, but I discovered later it was a gesture with powerful, almost mystical symbolism behind it. Head bowed, breathing wildly, I was happy, certain of heartbreak, but still relieved to have told the truth.
“He made me wait like that for the longest time, all the while studying me, not unkindly, but with a depth that unnerved me completely. It was as if he could read my very soul. At long last, when I was sure I would melt away into a puddle of need and expectation, he spoke to me, his words very exact, spoken with utter smoothness.
“’Get up, Libby. That is enough’.
“When I was on my feet, he told me to go home, but that if I meant what I said, I should return here at exactly midnight. If I didn’t come, he would understand, but in that event, I must never again try to make contact with him. He asked if I understood, and I said yes, adding hastily that I would return, exactly as he commanded.
“’The choice is yours’, he shrugged. But after I had turned to go, he added a final warning, just as I was at the doorway. ‘But if you do come to me tonight, Libby, remember, I don’t play games’.
“I gripped the door jam, my knees suddenly rubberized. If only he knew how much I wanted to hear those very words. Not looking back, afraid I might throw myself at him shamefully, I ran all the way home, blurring past the prying eyes and the snickers of the men. Ironically, everyone’s assumption was that more had happened than really had. It is odd, as I look back on it, how neither of us seemed to care what anyone thought. It was as if we were forging our own world, our own rules.
“As you can guess, I couldn’t stand waiting till midnight. I paced my room like a caged tiger, amusing myself by trying on dozens of outfits. In the end, as the moonlight began to peek in my window signaling it was nearly time, I opted to keep on my long nightgown, under which I was nude. Adding a robe and donning a pair of boots, I began my trek, sneaking from the second floor window, across the eaves and down the white trellis on which my mother was growing flowering ivy.
“It was a brilliant escape, if I say so myself, and one which I would repeat many more times that summer. To my great thrill, Malcolm was waiting for me, cross-legged, in the middle of the barn floor. He had a lantern hung from one of the beams, enough light to give the room an eerie glow. My heart pounded as I saw he was wearing pants, and nothing else.
“’Close the door, Libby’, he said, this time giving me his full attention, ‘and remove your clothing’.
“I was glad I’d worn only the thin chemise under my flannel robe. It was easy to remove, and also served as a signal of my readiness. It must seem mad to an outsider, that a girl of nineteen, an overprotected virgin would trust a man this way, but all I can tell you is that I knew my heart could never lie to me about Malcolm. He would possess me, he would control me, but I knew he would never ever hurt me.
&
nbsp; “’This is the only time I will tell you to bare yourself in my presence’, he explained, his eyes inspecting my pale, nude body as I stood before him at attention. ‘From now on, when you come to me, you will do so automatically. Is this clear?’
“I lowered my eyes, cupping my hands over my sex. ‘Yes, Malcolm’.
“’Hands at your sides, Libby. Good. Now fetch me the whip on the wall over there. The thin black one’.
“I could hardly walk, my legs were so weak. By the time I reached the wall to unhook the fearsome thing, I could barely stand. Could this be real, or was it another dream? Was this man whom I loved truly compelling me to bring him the instrument of my own torture?
“’You may crawl to me, Libby, with the whip in your teeth’.
“It was an act of mercy, for he knew my turmoil, my need to be low to the ground. The leather was bitter in my mouth, and the hay prickled my soft, pampered palms and knees. I soaked in every sensation. The smells, the cool air on my naked flesh. I was dripping sex juices, I could feel it trickling down my leg. My nipples were engorged, like a nursing she beast. By the time I reached him, I was primed to beg, a mare in heat, yearning for the touch of male control, for the instruments of power to come crashing upon my world. The whip, the cock, the binding leather, and above all, the words that would open me, transform me into the creature only Malcolm could bring forth. My true self, my proud, inner spirited self, the captive goddess.
“Each step grew more painful than the last. For by his will I must traverse the distance on my own, entering the orbit of his maleness, the scent, the raw energy. Not daring to touch him, not trusting myself, I stopped, inches from his bare feet, lowering my head to touch the hay.
“’You may put down the whip’, he said. ‘And then you must tell me why you are here’.
“A soft moan escaped my lips. What more could I say that he could not better realize with his own will? ‘I want you to teach me’, I offered at last.
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