Forced Erotica

by Emmie Combs

  Emily led Sarah out front, and hitched her lover to the pony cart. She smiled as she pinched Sarah's nipples, and watched her squirm between the shafts of the cart. Emily saw the bound ponygirl they had seen as they entered the store, and an idea came to her. She walked over to the pony, and took down the address of the pony's owner, and smiled. She scribbled a note, and tucked it into the small mail slot on the cart, and then she went back to her lover, and climbed into the seat of the cart. Emily smiled and picked up the driving whip, and lightly gave her lover a smack on the rump.

  Sarah leaned into the harness, and began to pull. She was helpless to prevent anything, and she was getting her dream. As the cart settled into a nice pace, Sarah could feel her tail swishing in the breeze, tickling the backs of her legs. The dildo in her pussy was pumping in and out with a rhythm that soon had her squirming. Every so often, Emily would crack the whip on Sarah's wiggling ass, bringing a startled yelp from her helpless lover.

  Emily drove Sarah back to their apartment, and then smiled as she left her lover hitched up to the public hitching post in the parking lot, and hailed a cab to take her back to the shop, to pickup their car. Sarah could only stand there, as her neighbors passed her, some occasionally giving her an appraising look, others offered a sip of water. Sarah was left there for nearly an hour, before Emily returned, and led her up to their apartment.

  "Sarah, my sweet, lovely ponygirl, I got to talk to the owner of that cute ponygirl we saw at the shop. She has agreed to train us, to be a matched pair of ponygirls. She will be coming by to collect us both in a few minutes. We will be her ponies for the next 6 months. I knew you would be upset if I told you while you were unharnessed, so instead, I am telling you now. She holds both our papers, and has signed an agreement with us, to release us in 6 months, to allow us to resume our lives, or to sign over our papers to her for life. Now, I am going to take you to the hitching post, and you are going to wait for her while she comes for me. I hope you can enjoy what I have done for us, my lover."

  Sarah squirmed and wiggled, but she was helpless to resist, and Emily simply slapped Sarah's ass, till she meekly allowed Emily to lead her back to the rail. Sarah whimpered behind the mask as Emily tied the reins to the post, and went back to their apartment. It wasn't long after that a pickup towing a horse trailer pulled into their parking lot. Sarah watched as a woman walked up the stairs to their apartment, and a short time later, came down leading a bound Emily. She came over to the hitching post, and untied Sarah, and led both ponygirls into the horse trailer. Sarah and Emily felt their bodies tied to the trailer, and heard the door slam closed. Sarah turned her head as much as she could, and saw Emily doing the same. Both girls looked at each other, in their tack, and as the trailer started to move, the girls quivered in their bonds, cumming on their dildos.

  Six months later, Sarah and Emily were released from their tack, and taken to the woman's house. They were allowed to bathe, shower, and get dressed, before they were led into a large room with a table in it. On the table were Sarah and Emily's papers. The woman was sitting on one end of the table, watching the girls.

  Sarah and Emily looked at each other, and picked up the pens...

  The End.

  Doggett

  The light peered through the mist, a beacon of warmth in the gloomy streets of Edwardian South London. Phillip cursed the impulse that had spurred him to England's capital without a plan, with little money for food, or more importantly he realised, lodgings. He paused at the door, apprehensive as to the reception he might receive as an unknown face. He needn't have worried, for when he stepped into the smoke, noise and bar smells, which wrapped their arms around him in welcome, he was ignored by everyone except a single barman.

  Inside the pub -- a rough place of the spit and sawdust variety -- the young man, on the cusp of his twenties, tried his best to appear as though he belonged. He stood on the periphery of a crowd of raucous navvies, all of whom were at the merry stage of drunkenness. No doubt the bonhomie would turn sour in an hour or so, with fistfights and curses punctuating the haze of blue smoke that hung in the air, but for now the pub was full of boozy good cheer. Reconciling the trade between half-an-hour in the warm and his meagre budget the lad ordered a drink. A pint of black and tan like a creamy-topped pudding sat half-drunk in front of the youngster while he pondered his next move. Having come to London on a whim, he found himself alone and a little scared in the rowdy boozer on the south side of the Thames. His most pressing concern now was where to spend the night.

  A dog sat on its haunches near the door and, using the shadow as cover, observed the scene through intelligent eyes. Its gaze settled on the nervous lad. The animal raised its muzzle and sniffed the blue air.

  While the dog's black nose twitched, its attention focused on the boy, the barman spotted the beast and roared a curse.

  "Get out, you fucker!" he bellowed and, armed with a broom, lifted the hinged, trapdoor cover of the bar counter to advance.

  The animal rose to stand on all four paws. Unworried by the shout and the makeshift weapon, it stood square on and stared at the man. Intimidated by the size of the animal and its calm, level gaze, the barman stopped in his tracks. The hairy brute seemed to be ... amused? As if it would equally happy to rip his throat out or to leave peacefully. The man's life meant nothing to the dog. It had other business.

  The short impasse was broken when the door banged open and a new arrival entered and diverted attention. As the inebriated Irishmen shouted insults in welcome to the late-comer, the dog took its cue and slid out through the open door and into the unwelcoming arms of a cold London night.

  "That cunt woulda ripped your guts open," a voice called in Irish brogue.

  "Sired by a fuckin' bear, t'be sure," another voice agreed.

  The barman, relieved that the shaggy haired brute had left of its own accord, returned to his post. Just as the cover banged down signalling his return to duty, the door to the street opened again. This time it was a giant of a man who entered. He strode forward, confident that his long, wild, black hair, matching beard, and his mere physical presence assured him a place at the bar ... and speedy service.

  He stood between the young man and the rowdy Irishmen. "Black and tan," the man grumbled in a deep voice. He turned to his neighbour. "You want another, son?" The giant slapped coins onto the sticky counter while the boy blinked in surprise and some agitation. "Give him the same again," the man instructed the barman, who tilted a glass tankard under the spigot and yanked at the pump. "What brings you to town?" the giant asked.

  "Who says I'm not from round here?"

  A foaming glass found its way into the great man's hand. The pot looked more like a half measure than a pint in his huge fist. He grinned wryly at the puny belligerence of his new found companion. "Where you from, kiddo? What's your name?"

  "Aldershot," the boy replied, his truculence slipping away. "And my name's Phillip Traynor."

  "Here's your ale, lad," the barman offered and placed a fresh brew next to the one only half drunk.

  "Don't fancy the army then?" the big man said teasingly, Aldershot being the famed garrison town.

  "Not much," said the lad seriously. "Thought I'd try my luck at labouring on the railway. I heard there was a lot of work on the cut and cover, or mebbe the new station."

  The man sipped at the beer; the meniscus dropped by three inches. He smacked his lips in appreciation. "Money's not bad labouring, and you won't get your head shot off," he quipped. "One of these mad bastards might take your head off, mind. If you're stupid enough to fight 'em." He indicated the crowd behind him with a jerk of his shaggy mane. Two more gulps and the beer was gone. The man eyed Phillip's untouched pint and its predecessor. "One for the road?"

  Phillip shifted uncomfortably. "I don't have any spare money for beer," he said.

  "Well, Phil, me young friend, you just sup what you got there, old Doggett will buy hisself another and we can have a chinwag." The barman began pouring withou
t being prompted; he'd been in the trade for twenty-five years, since Victoria's mid-reign, and he knew his business.

  "How old are you, boy?" Doggett asked.

  "Nineteen ..." And so began Phillip's tale. He told Doggett, his new and only friend in the close, dark threat of the London's streets, all about his hopes and ambitions. About how he hoped to earn enough money to go to America, enjoy all manner of adventures, and eventually return to the Hampshire town and live a life of relative comfort. He'd maybe find a willing girl and raise a family, or perhaps he'd become an entrepreneur and make himself a fortune ... Either way, whatever happened, he'd be fucked if he was going to stay there and not chance his arm in the big, mean world.

  "And is there a girl?" Doggett asked. "You got yourself a lady friend?"

  The boy's blush betrayed him. He'd barely kissed a girl, let alone got his fingers wet. He looked up into the big man's eyes. He was surprised to see sympathy there; he'd expected some kind of ribald comment.

  "I gots an idea," Dogget said in a conspiratorially low tone. "I needs a favour."

  Phillip, now on his second pint, bought for him by the generous Doggett, replied: "A favour?"

  "Indeed, Mr Traynor, a favour—" Doggett winked theatrically. "—a favour, and," he added, "you stand to benefit a bit yerself."

  Phillip blinked in response to Doggett's odd diction, a curious blend of the West Country accent and upper-class vocabulary.

  Despite the lad's bemusement, Dogget outlined his plan. It seemed he'd had woman trouble. "Had a few pints, gotten to feeling all randy, and been to see a 'sort' what had been recommended. Costly on the pocket," he leered, "but worth it on the cock. Never had a sexier bitch show me her snatch ... She's got a cunt lined with velvet." Doggett's eyes took on a faraway glaze. "Anyway," he continued, "I left me old granddad's watch behind. Stupid of me, I'll hold me hands up, but she was such a good fuck ... Well, I lost the power of reason. She sucked all me brains out of me head," Doggett paused and added: "The head of me cock that is!" The man threw his leonine head back and guffawed. "The head of me cock ..." he repeated with tears rolling down his cheeks and into the jungle tangle of his facial hair.

  Phillip nodded furiously in agreement. He struggled to follow what the big man was saying, but it sounded crude, so he just smiled in his mildly drunken state.

  "Let's go over here and talk," Doggett suggested and indicated a tiny, lead-lined stained-glass enclosure.

  Phillip followed his new-found mentor to the snug. He settled onto the hard, bench seat opposite Doggett. Their tankards sat on the table like chess pieces between them.

  "It's like this. I left me granddad's watch behind." Doggett grimaced to emphasise his point. "I went back for it but she says she don't have it. I says she does, she says she don't. It goes on like this for a few minutes until she starts shouting and bawling and calling for the rozzers.

  "All of a sudden I can see where this is going to go. I mean, look at me, the size of me. I'm stood there, a great hairy cunt, as big as I am, and well ... I look like a wrong 'un and I don't fancy gaol ... And that's where the cunts'd send me, so I fucked off.

  "And now I got an idea. You do me a favour, Phillip, and I'll do you one. You help me get me granddad's watch back, and I'll get you a job with this noisy bunch." Doggett lifted a thumb towards the increasingly belligerent Irishmen.

  "What ... What do you want me to do?" Phillip asked through the hum of early inebriation.

  Doggett grinned. It was a disturbing sight, but Phillip didn't notice. He was too shocked by the proposal.

  "I give you coin," Doggett said. "And you go and fuck the bitch. Then, when she goes to douche her snatch ... And she will, rest assured, then you have a quick look about, and if you find the watch, lift it and bring it to me."

  Phillip, with a little persuading and a further pint of black and tan -- a drink as dark as Doggett's soul despite his gregarious demeanour -- agreed to the plan.

  Twenty minutes later, after a walk through cold drizzle and gas-lamp fog, Phillip found himself outside a soot-stained terrace in Lambeth.

  "Are you sure, Doggett?" the boy asked. "This doesn't look like a very nice place." The walk in the damp air of the winter night had gone some way to clearing Phillip's head. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't quite figure what.

  "I'm sure, son. She's in there. See that light?"

  The size of his friend comforted Phillip. If Doggett was there to protect him, then it'd be fine. Phillip saw the whisper of light from a first floor window.

  "I do," he acknowledged.

  "Well, my young friend, behind that blind is the most delectable creature money can buy -- I promise you. She's got the legs of a dancer, the tits of a goddess, the face of Helen ... and a cunt like a vice."

  Phillip, at Doggett's instruction, knocked at the anonymous door. He climbed the stairs, following the dusty crone who'd, without a word, allowed him into the house. The woman came to a halt on a landing and rapped ancient knuckles against one door of the three possibilities on that level. Without waiting for a response from within, the old woman opened the door and stepped back; an invitation for the young man to enter.

  Pale candlelight caressed the boy in welcome. A fire flickered in a grate and warmed him. The door closed.

  "Yes?" Her voice massaged him from across the room.

  "Gabrielle?" he asked clumsily, calling her by the name Doggett had given

  "Yes," she confirmed, "I'm Gabrielle."

  Phillip saw a compact room. The main focus was the bed, a huge affair with pristine, white sheets and a burgundy, down-filled cover folded in a diagonal line like the beginnings of some origami paper design. A gramophone stood in a corner, with the great mouth of its trumpet pointing toward Phillip as he nervously surveyed the boudoir. Soft, classical music nudged any uncomfortable silence from the room. Heavy drapes, fashionable in the time, kept the tubercular breath of London at bay while Gabrielle treated him to professional smile in welcome.

  "What can I do for you, sir?" she asked.

  Phillip couldn't answer. Doggett hadn't lied - the woman was breathtaking. Her face, framed by the severe cut of her fringe and the straight edges at the sides was undeniably beautiful. Gabrielle's eyes were huge and brown in colour. Long lashes gave an impression of, if she chose, demure compliance that belied her true nature. Her slender, never-ending neck grew from the elegant dressing gown she wore; an allusion to modesty women of Gabrielle's ilk strove to convey.

  Despite his naivety and mild intoxication, Phillip noticed the suggestion of the woman's breasts as they moved like liquid beneath her gown

  The woman smirked. "Are you a virgin?" she asked bluntly.

  Phillip's downcast eyes gave her the answer.

  "I'm going to enjoy you, darling," Gabrielle breathed. She smiled and touched the boy's arm.

  Outside, in the cold, Doggett moved into the shadows, away from the circle of light thrown from a gas lamp outside the house. "Enjoy yourself, lad," he growled, low and menacing.

  In the bedroom, the woman moved slowly to the immobile Phillip. "Undress me," she whispered and locked her gaze on his eyes. She took the young man's cold fingers in her hands and guided them to the catch just below the hollow of her throat.

  Gabrielle's eyes reflected the dancing fire as she smiled at Phillips hesitation. The young man could smell her, a subtle scent that caressed his senses. Despite his nerves, Phillip's penis reacted.

  She's real, he thought. >She's real ... and beautiful ... and I'm going to fuck her. Jubilation surged through as the evening's delights lay before him. He'd break his duck with this woman; his trembling fingers closed around the simple clasp; the gown fell away from Gabrielle's shoulders.

  Phillip's eyes flicked from smooth, round shoulders to her face; to her pubic bush; to her legs; to her ... He groaned, too greedy with his eyes for his brain to keep pace.

  The first naked woman he'd ever seen posed for a moment. She smiled at him and said: "Will I do?"


  Phillip gulped and nodded vigorously like an eager child.

  Gabrielle turned from him and walked several paces away. He swallowed at the way her hips moved and her buttocks rolled. She moved like a dancer; sinuous grace and latent power in a deceitfully petite body. The woman teased Phillip for her own amusement.

  "What will you do to me, Phillip?"

  He hadn't told Gabrielle his name, but this fact escaped his attention; the entire focus of his conscious world was mere feet from him ...

  Phillip swallowed again. "I... You ..."

  "Come to me," Gabrielle murmured and sat on the edge of the bed. "Put your coat over there and come to me. Let me see how big I make you. You're already stiff, Phillip ... Aren't you?"

  The boy hung his heavy jacket on a hook conveniently provided by a skeletal coat-stand. He nodded in response to the woman's question.

  "A lovely big boy!" Gabrielle exclaimed after unbuttoning the front of Phillip's rough, workingman's trousers and pulling the untidy tangle of the garment, and his underwear, down to his knees. "Strip out of those clothes. Then we can get to know one another and do things that will make your toes curl."

  In a flurry of ridiculous activity, Phillip finally emerged from his frantic haste to undress and joined the object of his lust on her bed.

  Doggett, now at the bottom of the stairs with only the dark and cold to keep him company, waited patiently. The anticipation of what was to come thrilled him. A reedy whine that started from somewhere within his chest surprised him; He forced himself silent.

  Upstairs: "You can touch me, Phillip," Gabrielle breathed. "... Anywhere."

  Phillip's breath hung suspended in his chest as he reached for a breast. He gasped softly when his fingers touched the flesh.