Come Play With Me

by Charlotte Stein

  ‘There’s a good girl,’ he says soothingly, stroking my cheek as he would a horse’s.

  His tone calms me at once and I am immediately reassured. A little voice at the back of my mind tells me I am completely safe, that it’s OK to let go, that there’s nothing to feel self-conscious about.

  You’re standing at the door to a fantasy, I tell myself. All you have to do is walk through it.

  I do.

  The rich musky smell of the leather encircling my face inspires me and I give my head a more spirited toss, struggling just enough that he has to establish control of me again. He does so at once, firmly but gently, murmuring reassuring words to me all the while.

  When I am subdued again he reaches into his pocket and I blush as he withdraws a lump of sugar and holds it out to me.

  I immediately do as Sapphire and Cheyenne had done and lower my head to nibble it from his hand. He strokes my head and calls me ‘good girl’ again and I melt with pleasure as the sugar dissolves on my tongue. I’d had no idea there was such a submissive streak in me.

  But the game is far from over. Although he has tamed me for the moment, he hasn’t broken me. And where would be the challenge – and indeed the fun – for him if I didn’t make him earn it? After all, he’s already driven me to the brink of sexual hysteria. Now it’s my turn to drive him wild.

  ‘Come on,’ he says briskly, tugging at the bridle. He wants me to get up off the bed but I lower my head stubbornly and press my hands and knees down into the mattress, refusing to move. He tugs again, a little harder, and this time I pull back, actively fighting him.

  I had expected such resistance to be met with force but he surprises me again by chuckling at my behaviour as though he finds it charming.

  ‘Caitlin,’ he says, his voice low and stern and irresistibly sexy. ‘Now you don’t want to spend the day locked in the stable, do you?’

  I’m not sure how anthropomorphic I should be, but I risk a little head shake to say no, I definitely don’t want to be locked in the stable; I want to be put through my paces.

  ‘Come on, then.’ He gives the bridle another tug and this time I obey, getting shakily to my feet.

  My legs are trembling and I stumble forward like a new foal taking its very first steps. It occurs to me that a horse should have four legs, not two, and I glance at John’s face for guidance. But he seems happy with me as I am and I’m grateful for that when he clips a rope underneath my chin and leads me back down the stairs and along a long uncarpeted corridor. The polished wood chills my bare feet and I take slow careful steps at his side, trying to imitate the graceful languid gait of a horse. He notices and strokes my hair.

  ‘Good girl,’ he says. Each repetition of that phrase only makes me more eager to please.

  At last we come to a door and when he opens it I gasp with surprise. It’s the stable. Immediately I am overwhelmed by the rich smell of hay and I breathe deeply, relishing the sensory bombardment. He was right; it is nice and toasty.

  But it’s no ordinary stable, as I discover when he guides me into a large annex. The deep-green carpet gives the illusion of grass and scattered all across the floor are little fences and rails, the kind you see in show jumping. Although these seem to have been made for horses of very small stature. Horses about my size, in fact.

  An enormous picture window dominates one wall, offering me a sweeping view of the countryside, blazing with all the vibrant colours of autumn. It almost feels as though I’m in the paddock with Sapphire and Cheyenne, gazing out at the big wide world, yearning to run wild and free through the lush meadows until it’s time to return to the cosy warmth of the stable.

  As I peer around the room my eyes come to rest on a steamer trunk in the corner. A little surge of heat courses through me as I try to imagine what might be in it. A saddle perhaps? I certainly hope he doesn’t intend to ride me! Well, not like that anyway. I wait nervously while John opens the trunk and fishes around inside it. After a few moments he finds what he is looking for and returns to me.

  At first I’m puzzled by the lavish red feather but then I understand. It’s a plumed headdress, the kind you see on circus horses. I bow my head and hold very still while he fastens it to the top of my bridle. I catch my reflection in the window and the sight that greets me makes me smile.

  But he isn’t finished with me. Next comes a full body harness with straps and buckles that criss-cross my bare breasts and loop round my upper legs, framing my sex. Everything is on display. I have never felt so exposed – or so aroused – in my life.

  ‘We’re nearly there,’ he says, removing something from a small box inside the trunk.

  When I see the length of horsehair I blink in surprise. Then I smile as I imagine him fastening it to the back of the body harness. I’m completely wrong, of course, and when I see how he intends to transform me I turn scarlet and lower my head, my heart pounding with a thrill of shame and arousal. A round rubber plug is affixed to the tail and he is opening a tube of lubricant.

  I blush to the roots of my hair as he turns me around and guides my hands down onto the closed lid of the trunk. He eases my legs apart and I obey his silent command to hold still. I arch my back to lift my bottom up for him and I whimper a little as he smears me with the cold lube and positions the tail against my tight opening.

  ‘Relax,’ he says.

  I take a deep breath as he gently eases the plug in, filling me the way his cock would if he were to take me like that. The thought makes my sex throb in response and for a moment my legs don’t feel capable of supporting me. Then he pulls me back up and I wiggle my bottom to make my tail swish against the backs of my calves, relishing the strange sensual pleasure.

  John beams at me proudly. ‘Who’s my good girl?’ he asks. He turns me in a circle to admire his handiwork. Then he feeds me another lump of sugar.

  At last it’s time for the show. John leads me by the rope to the first obstacle and I step lightly over it, earning more praise. The placement of the jumps looks completely haphazard; I have no idea where I’m supposed to go next and I have to rely on him to guide me through the pattern. It’s trickier than I’d have thought. He turns me in unexpected directions, forcing me to alternate legs as I step over the rails.

  My tail sweeps against my legs with every step I take and the weight of the plug inside me is an exotic and dirty little thrill. John urges me to move faster and I obey, doing my very best to make him proud, to earn his praise. It’s dizzyingly erotic, the simplicity of knowing exactly what’s expected of me. Knowing that all I have to do is follow his instructions and go where I am led. My heart pounds with exhilaration and I catch sight of my reflection in the window as I step over a particularly high obstacle. I can’t help but admire my bound and naked body, my long legs and glossy black tail. My moment of vanity costs me, however, and I knock the top rail onto the floor. I freeze instantly, horrified out of all proportion to the mistake.

  But John laughs softly and flicks the rope to get me moving again and before I know it I’m at the last hurdle, the highest of all. This time I don’t step; I leap over it, closing my eyes for a second, imagining that I have four powerful gleaming legs instead of just two and that my beloved trainer is astride me, nudging me with his heels as we take flight together.

  I land gracefully on the other side, panting and holding my head high as John showers me with praise. I nibble two lumps of sugar from his palm before I fling myself into his arms, forsaking my horsy role for that of sex-starved woman.

  I greedily yank open his shirt, and buttons go flying in all directions. He laughs and soon he is as naked as I am. Well, not quite. I’m still in my harness, but it doesn’t impede his access in any way. He wastes no time in bending me over the trunk again and I shudder with anticipation as he sweeps my tail to one side and presses his hardness against my sex.

  Then he slides in, filling me with his delicious length. Immediately I clench around him. The presence of the plug intensifies the sensation, pus
hing against my inner walls and stimulating me along sensitive nerve endings I didn’t even know I had. My hips grind against him, urging him deeper.

  I cry out as he begins to thrust in and out. He seems to know exactly how rough I like it, how hard I need it. Just as he knew from the very first moment how I’d respond to everything else he’s done to me. As his cock plunders me he reaches round with his hands to clasp my breasts. He slows his rhythm to give them more attention, pinching the nipples, rolling them between thumb and forefinger to make me gasp.

  It’s almost more than I can stand. My arms are trembling with the effort of bracing against the trunk, and my legs threaten to buckle with every powerful thrust of his cock. But his hands are firm upon me, kneading my breasts as he pounds me again and again.

  Just when I start to think I can’t possibly take any more I feel the first rising throb of his climax. At the same moment he releases my breasts and his hands move to my sex and he presses his fingers against my clit, instantly sending me over the edge along with him. My body convulses with his in waves of devastating pleasure.

  When it is over I hang limp in his arms, unable to support myself any longer. John guides me down onto the carpet, where I curl into a ball against his chest. He strokes my sweat-dampened hair and kisses me.

  My body is still buzzing with euphoria as I gaze in wonderment at my surroundings, hardly able to believe everything that’s happened. My eyes come to rest on an object I hadn’t noticed before. It’s a small two-wheeled cart with a seat for one person. A pair of long poles extends out from the seat and I can’t help but smile as I realise that the cart isn’t wide enough for a horse to pull. But it will fit me perfectly.

  You Can Have Me

  Justine Elyot

  I had a T-shirt printed. It said, ‘You Can Have Me’.

  I took it out of the package and put it on right away, not bothering with a bra. It fit tight and snug, my rounded breasts stretching the ‘You’, my nipples warping the fat black print. It was just a bit too short to reach to the waist of my bandeau miniskirt, so the little strip of flesh between that and my navel peeked out, asking to be touched.

  The skirt was made of lycra, black and shiny, its hem skimming the high part of my thighs, below the arse it outlined so pitilessly. My exposed legs ended in espadrille wedges, ankles tied in criss-crossed cotton.

  I put my hair in a ponytail, filled my handbag with condoms and walked out of the door.

  The workmen were still drilling into the pavement outside. Perhaps they’d be drilling into me, inside their red-striped plastic tent, before long. But not yet. I didn’t want to get that dusty that soon.

  Heat crept over my skin, sunshine lighting me up as I walked towards the gym. Passers-by double-took or clicked their tongues. One – a young man – started following me.

  ‘Is that true?’ he asked, eager feet dancing around me. ‘What it says on your T-shirt?’

  ‘One hundred per cent,’ I said. ‘But not here. There are laws.’

  ‘Right, right. Where then?’

  I shrugged as I turned into the gym car park.

  ‘Think of somewhere. Are you a member here?’

  ‘Uh, no.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll catch you later then.’

  Disappointed, he slunk away as I pushed open the double doors and flashed my membership card at the girl behind the desk. When I bent to sign in, I saw the beginnings of her sly smile. She twisted her head around, looking for a friend or colleague with whom to exchange significant eyebrow-raises.

  I straightened up, giving her a dazzling smile.

  ‘Enjoy your day,’ she said, a tiny snort at the tail-end of the exhortation.

  ‘Oh, I will.’

  I headed straight for the men’s locker room.

  The wave of sweat and heat hit me in the face. The steam from the showers, thundering away at the end of the room, misted around the five bodies in various states of undress. One by one, they stopped what they were doing and looked at me.

  ‘Women’s locker room’s next door,’ said one, a beefcake wrapped in a towel.

  I met his eye and licked my lips.

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  He stared for a moment. From the benches, a sniff, a chuckle, a ‘woah’.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ he said at length, his eyes resting on my breasts. My nipples were tight and stiff, pushing against the material of the T-shirt. ‘And that little message – is it for somebody in particular?’

  ‘Mankind in general,’ I said. ‘Or womankind, if she’s up for it.’

  ‘Mankind in general,’ he repeated. ‘Did you hear that, guys?’

  The others, having left off their vigorous towelling and application of deodorant, made various noises of voracious assent.

  ‘Come on then,’ said Captain Beefcake. ‘Get over here and show me just what it is I can have.’

  I walked through the steam until I was inches away from him. He put a huge hand on my shoulder, stopping me. He was a big bronze brute of a man. I wanted to get on my knees before him.

  His fingers curled around the lower hem of my T-shirt, lifting it up over my breasts.

  ‘Good pair,’ he approved. ‘Look at these nipples, guys. Hard as little pebbles.’ He pinched one and I swivelled my hips, wanting to escape the pain and yet embrace it as well. He weighed the full rounded globes in his hands, feeling them up comprehensively while his four sweaty acolytes looked on, glazed of eye, dry of mouth.

  ‘I want to put my cock between them,’ he said, unknotting his towel. ‘Bend over and squeeze them together.’

  I leaned forward, pushing out my arse so that the lycra stretched over its curvaceous outline, and pushed my tits together until the brute’s thick erect cock lay squashed between them.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said, rocking gently on his feet so that his cock slid up and down between my breasts. ‘Feel your nipples for me, baby.’

  I flicked at them, my thighs straining to hold my bent position.

  ‘What’s her arse like?’ asked the brute.

  ‘Fucking nice,’ supplied one of the watchers. ‘Good big handful.’

  ‘What are you waiting for? Get that skirt off her and your hands on.’

  Two men jumped forward and began tugging at my tight black sheath.

  The brute whipped his cock out of its nestling place and grabbed a handful of my hair.

  ‘Suck it now,’ he commanded.

  I wrapped my lips around his shaft and slid them down, cupping his balls in one hand.

  ‘Keep at those tits,’ he said, slapping one of them lightly with his open palm.

  I fiddled again with my nipple.

  My skirt was wrenched over my buttocks, baring them. I felt it fall heavily to my ankles. Two pairs of feverish hands laid themselves on my bottom, hips and thighs. While I worked my mouth up and down, breathing in the salty, nutty scent of the brute’s crotch, my bum cheeks were spread and explored by fingers of men I did not know.

  ‘What’s her cunt like? Juicy?’

  I felt my labia split and the space between them stuffed with impossible amounts of fingers, all busy around my clit. A couple speared their way up inside my vagina.

  ‘Really wet.’

  ‘Hot.’

  ‘Tight.’

  ‘She wants it.’

  ‘Well,’ said the brute, with some effort now, his pelvis jerking while I gobbled at him. ‘Give it her then. That’s all right, isn’t it, babe?’

  I nodded, as far as I could with his hand yanking at my hair.

  ‘Who’s first?’ The voices over my shoulder pondered the order of play.

  ‘I dunno. But we’ll need … Jim, get us a box of the ribbed from the machine, will ya?’

  ‘Just one?’ The voice was low and amused.

  ‘For now.’

  I concentrated on all the hands, all the fingers, at different points of my body. The brute had one in my hair, one on the tit I wasn’t fondling, grasping it hard. The pair of men at my rear had annexed my
slit; their fingers fought each other for the best positions, on my clit and inside my vagina. They were positioned and replaced constantly, a struggle that I couldn’t lose, especially when I felt the stirrings of orgasm, low in my belly.

  I was being used and handled by three men at once. Thick stubby fingers thrust up inside me while rough pads moved on my clit. Brute’s cock surged further and further down my throat.

  ‘She fucking loves it,’ somebody said, and I came.

  So did the brute, bitter liquid spattering my tongue, bursting in my mouth.

  I swallowed without thinking twice, still rotating my hips as my own orgasm receded.

  My mouth was empty of cock then, and the fingers moved away from my sex as well, a triple loss that I felt quite keenly. My knees were post-orgasmic rubber, but the brute held me up with his hands on my shoulders, keeping me steady for the first penetration.

  I heard the latex snapping behind me.

  ‘Who’s first?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ asked brute, his voice much lower and looser than it had been, now he had spilled his load into me. ‘Everyone’ll get their go. We can have her. The T-shirt has spoken.’

  ‘Well, I beat you on the squash court,’ said one of the pair. ‘So I reckon that gives me first dibs.’

  ‘Go on then,’ said the other, resigned. ‘I’m seriously gonna work on my backhand tomorrow.’

  I tried to breathe steadily, to straighten my legs and hold them taut while I waited for the first move.

  ‘You want her like this?’ asked the brute gruffly. ‘Bent over? Or against the wall? Maybe I could put her on all fours.’

  ‘Nah, this is good. Just the right height to …’

  His hands held my hips and then I was speared, so quickly I gasped and tried to jump away, but the brute had me exactly where he wanted me and I had no choice but to take that good hard cock all the way up.