Forced Erotica

by Emmie Combs

  We were both glistening with sweat and he withdrew from me. He leaned over me, kissed me and said "Ellen, sweetheart.....I don't know what to say, that was FANTASTIC!"

  It was awkward but I was speechless and just nodded slowly and stared at him.

  When Monica spoke it startled me some as I had not noticed that she had been there watching the whole thing, she said chuckling "Jason, I think she has had enough, for now any way."

  Jason caressed the side of my face with his hand and said "Yes, I think so but we gotta do this again, girls!"

  "Oh, you can bet we will." replied Monica.

  I was still on my back on the bed with my legs spread some and my wet pussy exposed as my head went from Jason to Monica as they spoke.

  Jason collected his clothes and headed for his bedroom when Monica took my hand and said "Come on, sweetie, you are sleeping with me tonight, this bed is a disaster, you can clean it up tomorrow."

  I was still a bit shaky as I got to my feet but I followed her hand in hand to her bedroom. I slept like a baby, cradled in her arms.

  The End.

  A Particularly Easy Pony to Please

  I woke with the dawn, I ached all over, I realised I was completely naked except for a crude bridle and bit and a collar and leash and a waist belt with a crotch strap which was so tight that it painfully separated my poor abused pussy lips, then I saw the lawn mower and the dirty old blanket daddy had covered me with and I remembered, I was home!

  I remembered Daddy's blows as he lovingly whipped my buttocks and then he changed to flicking up between my legs, until I gurgled in helpless orgasmic ecstasy. "You're such an easy Pony to please!" he said as with a final slap across my rump he was gone.

  Oh my god, I thought, Now what?

  I knew in my heart it was wrong, I couldn't be Daddy's Ponygirl, not Daddy's, and yet without a top class trainer like Daddy I could never hope to win at International level.

  I agonised about it for a few minutes until Dot, Dorothy Channing, Daddy's head groom gently eased the shed door open. "Breakfast in the Breakfast room Miss Georgina," she said.

  "I'm Rose, Rose Giles." I explained.

  "Yes Georgina whatever you say," she said condescendingly, "but there's a dress for you on the hook and you're to be washed and dressed and fed by nine, that's what Mr Gerald says and that's what you'll do."

  I felt really stupid walking across to the house in the cheap leather minidress father had sent over, and I was shocked at Mrs Giles reaction when I put my head around the kitchen door to ask when breakfast would be ready.

  "Miss Georgina, what happened to you?" she asked.

  "Oh, nothing, nothing," I told her and I sneaked up to my room.

  The water took ages to run warm in my shower, and then it was too hot, but eventually it felt fantastic as I soaked my filthy hair and generally cleaned myself up.

  "Georgina, that "Nine" was morning not evening," Daddy shouted just like I was Thirteen again, like Yorkshire had never happened, indeed just like last night had never happened.

  "Georgina, did you hear me!" he shouted.

  "Yes Daddy," I said.

  I just grabbed some clothes and rushed downstairs, "Ah!" Daddy said as I came into the kitchen, "I see."

  "What?" I asked.

  "Pink skirt, white top," he said, "Where's your Tack?"

  "Oh!" I replied as I suddenly realised I had completely forgotten about being a Ponygirl.

  "I have an appointment for you to see Mr Harcourt," Daddy said.

  "But he's a plastic surgeon?" I queried.

  "Indeed," he said, "and you have two disgusting things through your nipples and that thing through your."

  "Daddy!" I squealed, "Please!"

  "Quite so!" he said, "So eat something and meet me outside in ten, no fifteen minutes."

  "So you called yourself Rose Giles did you," Mrs Giles said sarcastically, as she handed me a slice of buttered toast.

  "Sorry," I said.

  "I should think so too, them things you got up to in Yorkshire," she said.

  "Mrs Price!" I protested.

  "Oh we heard, don't you worry," she said, "Least it keeps you regular, my husband Albert he'd,"

  "Mr Price please!" I pleaded.

  "Well at least you can't get pregnant, but fourteen straight off." she tutted.

  "Sixteen," I said, "It was sixteen, not fourteen, up the bum, if you must know."

  That shut her up.

  "Georgina, Car Now!" Daddy shouted.

  "All right!" I shouted, and I rushed out into the yard, Daddy stood by the Bentley.

  "Daddy," I asked, "What happened to the Red one"?"

  "Ah," he said, "Got a very very good offer, very rare you know," he grinned, "And I borrowed this one."

  "Oh!" I said awkwardly.

  "Kitten." he said "Shoes?"

  I was so used to being barefoot I had simply forgotten.

  "Something stylish please," he suggested.

  I grabbed my red ones with three inch heels from the rack and put them on in the car as Daddy drove more recklessly than fast into town.

  Mr Harcourt was a quiet serious man in his forties, we went straight in to his consulting rooms. Daddy explained that I had stupidly mutilated my breasts and suggested I showed Mr Harcourt.

  It was ridiculously embarrassing to have to take my top and bra off in front of Mr Harcourt and when he said, "Bryants of Saddleworth?" I went as red as a beet-root, "Henry has the company Logo on them," he said, "That should heal up absolutely fine."

  "Georgina, the other." Daddy said quietly, "I'll wait outside."

  "Georgina," Mr Harcourt asked, "The other?"

  I waited until Daddy was gone, "My Clit," I exclaimed.

  "Well show me," he said so I slid my skirt and panties down.

  "Oh!" he said, "I see, ah,"

  "What's wrong?" I asked

  "Does it do anything for you?" he said.

  "Yes, of course," I agreed.

  "Come here," he said, "Now I'd like to bring you off, is that ok."

  "No." I said flatly.

  "Ok, but I think it's only through the hood," he said, "Let me." he said, and then his fingers were inside me, "Yes look, oh you can't see," he said, "Look it's harmless enough, leave it, remove or have one right through the clit itself, it's your choice." he explained.

  "I'm sorry?" I said.

  "It depends on your plans, if you're going into celibate or anal training." he paused, I'm sure I blushed crimson, "Then have a proper clit ring, then you can bring yourself off any time anywhere, but if you're looking for a man, then please have the rings out."

  "I think maybe I should have the ring out?" I suggested.

  "Yes, I think that's wise, right, I'll get my tool kit." he said, and within ten minutes he had cut away the ring and unscrewed the end of the barbels and slipped them from my poor tortured nipples.

  "That's Three hundred and seventy six pounds," he said, "Please."

  "What!" I demanded.

  "Including value added tax." he explained, "Unless."

  "Oh no!" I said, "No way."

  "Pity," he said.

  I pulled up my panties rearranged my bra and made myself presentable, Mr Harcourt pushed a button and my father walked in, "Well?" he asked.

  "I don't think so," Harcourt said sadly, "She's not interested."

  "I rather hoped James would take a half share in you," Daddy said.

  "You should have said!" I gushed, but it was too late, I didn't fancy him and I had hurt his feelings, "You should have said."

  "Time and Tide," Harcourt said sadly, "We'll forget todays fee Gerald, but look out for something, well."

  "Like me but better mannered?" I suggested, "Who likes a real man not some immature boy?"

  "Exactly that!" Harcourt said, "You really must come to dinner Georgina, meet Francine and the children," he gushed.

  Realisation hit me like a thunderclap, "real men" like Daddy and Henry Bryant were always in charge, I wanted a
man, but one who was not fully set in his ways, malleable, mould-able.

  "Gerogina!" Daddy said shaking me from me day dream, "Stop staring at James's bulge we have work to do."

  "Sorry," I apologised, but a darker stain was already spreading over James's dark trousers.

  "What on earth did you start playing with yourself for?" he asked as he hustled me from the room.

  "Did I?" I asked.

  "You're not tacked up so some decorum please!" Daddy suggested.

  We parked at the Bentley dealership and walked across to McDonalds for a light Lunch before he whisked me away to the sports ground adjoining our local school, the seductively named Alderman Winterbothan High School. Daddy was sort of an honorary school governor and he organised, and provided a major prize for, their winter under 21 Ladies open Cross Country run, so he was invited along as a VIP.

  I felt really uncomfortable, wearing my casual clothes when as I realised Daddy had one of his better suits on and being Daddy he drove straight onto the field parked the Bentley by the time-keeper's bus and paid a third former five pounds to keep an eye on it and to wipe the mud off the tyres, and then he strode across to the podium, shook the head - teachers hand and precisely as the school clock struck two he picked up the microphone and his voice boomed across the sports field and everyone stopped to listen to him, even I was impressed.

  Daddy took a keen interest in Athletics, he even provided prizes for some of the upper sixth form girls events, and he said "It's extremely important that young people should continue their participation in Athletics right through their education, not abandon it as "Uncool" when other interests intrude," he paused for effect, "Particularly the girls, which is why I have sponsored this limited series of prizes for sixth form girls who will be eighteen by the end of the school year."

  But Daddy hadn't come to see the girls, well he had, but he had an ulterior motive, or three. "As some of you know my daughter Georgina has herself been in training and Miss Graves has agreed that Georgina can participate in one or two of our events.

  "Daddy!" I hissed, but he wasn't listening.

  "So over to Miss Fart, I'm sorry that's Miss Farque," he said as a great roar of laughter went up, "Who will announce." he said as with tears streaming from her eyes in humiliation the young Iranian trainee teacher sprinted for the nearest portaloo.

  "Ladies and Gentlemen, Children!" Miss Graves said grabbing the Microphone. but I was watching Miss Farque, her long skirt did nothing to impede her swift progress through the mass of children, parents and discarded kit that was sports day, her headscarf hid her long dark hair but I just knew she had real potential.

  I waited outside the portaloo for almost an hour, getting some very strange looks in the process before Daddy came for to look for me.

  "Did you see her run?" I asked.

  "Who Kitten there were so many?" he said in confusion.

  "Miss Farque!" I explained,

  "Oh, I rather, ha, bit of a faux pas," he said, "but Kitten come and see the boys."

  "Boys?" I queried.

  "Yes, under nineteen relay, there are some real class athletes," he said as the loudspeaker system suggested that the runners in the "Lord Melton under nineteen relay" should make their way to the signing in point.

  I saw a couple of chaps stand up and walk across, beautiful men their ebony thigh muscles rippling like racehorses, and then a familiar face, Tom Warrender, he lived just a mile or so down the road and we used to play together, you could say he was my first boyfriend, certainly he had me naked a few times playing Doctors and nurses, except he had grown since then, about another five inches judging by his bulge, and so pale and pink he looked really out of place.

  It was like a cattle market, Daddy leering at all these huge men, pointing them out to me, their ebony flanks all dotted with perspiration.

  "Daddy why is Tom here?"

  "Needs a good time to impress the Dons at Oxford, I'm afraid he's in the 100m scratch race I sort of suggested." Daddy said.

  "Yes, invite him round to dinner!" I suggested, how was I to know Daddy had promised he could fuck me if he won?

  The relay was a tumultuous kaleidoscope of colour and action as the six teams and twenty four runners rushed around the three hundred metre grass oval like small insignificant race-horses until finally team "Hornet" were judged to have won, four magnificent masterful creatures oozing testosterone, not literally, but well, uggh, not my scene I'm afraid.

  There was the usual form filling and milling around for several minutes and then someone announced the under nineteen "Boys" scratch race.

  I stood by the finishing line and watched them lining up, sweat from the earlier run still glistening on their bronzed ebony torsos, joking, jiving, doing little leaps in the air, there were far too many for an orderly start almost thirty runners for six lanes and I watched fascinated as they jostled for position arguing with Mrs Rathbone who had the starting pistol, until finally she lost patience. "Bang!"

  I think it was arguably the slowest one hundred metres start in history, twenty six black and two white athletes fighting for space, it was more like a remake of Zulu than a race, but perhaps Daddy planned it like that, one Athlete even dodged the wrong side of the starter's chair and leaped over a group of spectators to avoid the Melee, pulling at least six strides clear in the process, it just had to be Tom.

  I laughed, as Tom came loping awkwardly towards me, it was he who had cheated, although technically he had been "Impeded" by another Athlete, his running action was more suited to catching buses than the Athletics track, but he seemed to be putting in a terrific effort.

  He was still leading as he approached the finishing line, I smiled at him, you know, he was funny, his white shorts came almost to his knees he hadn't any trace of suntan, it was like he had been time warped from the Victorian era, Doctor Livingstone pursued by savages, and he grimaced and put in a super human effort for the last few strides.

  He came second, typical!

  "Hi," gasp, "Georgie, long time," gasp, Tom managed to grunt as he sat on the grass gasping for breath..

  "Yes, you'll have to come to dinner one evening," I suggested.

  "Yes," he agreed, "Love to!" or was that a Freudian "Love Too?"

  And then Daddy dropped me right in it, "Kitten, I said you would give the girls a challenge, will you do a hundred metres for me?"

  "No!"

  "Rose, you can either do it as Georgina or Tacked up as Rose, which might be embarrassing?" Daddy said.

  "You wouldn't dare!" I spluttered, Naked except for a bridle and harness that even separated my lower lips, he had to be joking, and yet if I refused he could have my Ponyclub registration cancelled, "Ok," I agreed, "Hold my shoes." I always ran better barefoot, actually I always ran better naked, but compromise was needed, "When I've had a wee."

  I undressed in the portaloo and left my shoes with Daddy, my bra stuffed in one and my panties in the other and ambled down to the start, it was the 100 metres girls B Semi final, the others were wearing spikes and crisp white shirts and shorts and they bent over the starting blocks like professionals in a way I dared not emulate, they showed their crisp white knickers while I would have shown far far more.

  In the end Henry Bryant's training paid off, by half way I was looking back to see where they had all got to and even when I backed off I still led by a couple of strides at the finish.

  It's a great way of spotting Lesbians, winning a race, they smile invitingly, straight girls smile with a frosty, "Keep you hands of my Boyfriend," smile, or just plain scowl at you.

  And then there was the Final. I felt really rotten winning it, those poor girls who trained all term only to be thrashed by an interloper, but from Daddy's perspective I provided a baseline and from their perspective I wasn't eligible for prizes anyway so it was probably harmless.

  Daddy had to present the prizes, "Lord Melton" they announced him as, he hated that, "Benjamin, Gerald, Arethusa, Carmichael, Fourth Baron Culcuith of Melt
on." was his proper title, he preferred Major General, not that he rose above Captain in the Guards but because he loved Gilbert and Sullivan's operas!

  "I'll need your address to send the cheque to," he said to each girl as he made sure he was photographed with each winner, and then as with all schoolish things it was over and we simply went home.

  "What do you think Kitten," he asked as we went to the Bentley.

  "Invite Tom Warrender to dinner," I said quite firmly, "And Miss Farque."

  "For gods sake she's pathetic!" he complained.

  "No, this evening, I'll find her," I insisted.

  She was sitting head in hands by the Lemonade tent, "Miss Farque, Daddy was mortified, quite mortified at his faux pas, will you please dine with us this evening so he can make amends?"

  Miss Graves heard me, "Oh Sonia, you must go, Lord Melton's grounds are stunning and his wine list, oh, it's to die for!"

  "Shall we say seven thirty for eight?" I queried, "We'll send a Taxi," and before she could refuse I was gone.

  Tom could wait, except by the time I got back to the Bentley Tom was sitting in the back seat, "Invited Tom to Tea, Kitten,you don't mind do you?"

  "No," I said really annoyed that Daddy had interfered again.

  "Will you drive dear, my sciatica is playing up again," Daddy lied, he was worried about his license as he had been regularly sampling the school sherry, during proceedings.

  I liked Bentleys, this one was a four door, still the W12 engine what ever that was, automatic gearbox, 180 mph top speed, some people said they did more but Daddy got really cross when he woke up to find I was doing 180mph along the A9 near Aberfeldy coming back from a shoot at Dunrobin in Scotland in his Two door, spoilsport.

  So I drove very decorously and cruised home with hardly any wheel spin.

  Tom looked quite ill when we got home, "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "That hump back bridge, I left my stomach behind," he said.

  "Sorry," I said, with no sincerity, I liked leaping hump back bridges, he could damned well get used to it.

  "Entertain Tom a moment will you Kittten," Daddy said, "I'll see about something to eat."