by Mira Paul
“Ooh, it’s so nice in there…” Mistress sighed, slowly thrusting them in and out. “Such a lovely asshole.”
Blondie sat on her knees in front of me. I opened my eyes as she lifted up my hands from the ground and slipped on my hoofs, adjusting the buckle very hard and tight. My hands were already shaking inside of them; was it fear or just anticipation? I could never figure it out. These explosive feelings were always the same. Blondie then slipped on my vinyl black collar, buckling it comfortably.
“Mmm, that’s a good girl,” Mistress cooed, pulling her fingers out and slapping the tip of the plug against my small gape. The steel was shockingly cold, but as Mistress pushed it in little by little, it warmed to my temperature. I gasped in shock when all of it slowly slipped inside with the gentle force of Mistress’s hands. She pulled the plug upward, then downward, repeating the motion, pushing it back in, keeping it there. My asshole throbbed as the weight of the steel butt plug eased deep inside it.
“There we go. Now you can flaunt this lovely tail.”
The crop slipped out of my pussy, loud and juicy. Mistress sucked my juices off the crop handle. She stood in front of me after having sucked off every drop.
“Stand up.”
I pushed myself up slowly. The hoofs made it hard for me to stand on my own. When I was finally on my own two feet, Blondie brushed down my hair, which had dried up naturally in the heat and the sun. She styled my hair into a ponytail fashion and when I shook my head it felt like I had an additional tail to add to the one I wore in my ass.
Mistress grabbed my pony-bit gag head-trainer. It was made of supple black leather with a decorative, diamond-stud forehead strap. The bit was soft rubber, the ears were black on the outside, a rose red on the inside, and the long and extravagant plumage was a daisy yellow, so dressy and lovely, matching the color of my latex outfit. It was so beautiful. Mistress slipped it over my head as if it were a crown, a sign of my equestrian glory, which I was dearly proud and honored to have. The side strap and chinstrap held the rubber bit-gag snug in place. When I bit down on it, it was soft and easy on my teeth. Mistress nodded, satisfied at how I looked so far.
“Mmm.” She smirked.
She walked in circles around me slowly, slapping the crop against her palm in sharp and rapid smacks. She pulled my tail, making me yelp.
“Put on her outfit,” she said to Blondie. “And close your eyes, pony.”
I obeyed, feeling Blondie putting the warm latex dress on me with light pulling and tugging. When it was finally on, the latex hugged my hips, thighs, ass, and breasts. Indeed, the dress was cut out in the back, and a draft tickled my ass cheeks. The sleeves reached down to the start of my hoofs. When I made a slight movement, the latex squeaked. For a second I felt like the dominant one: powerful, strong, and ready to take on the world.
I was forced to sit down on the table as Mistress and Blondie slipped a pair of yellow latex stockings on my legs. It was the first time I had tried them and they were strangely invigorating. They reached high up against my thigh until only three inches of leg was showing. A black vinyl waist-cincher was put on me to accentuate my curves. I truly felt pampered, a fairytale pony made for a queen.
“Keep your eyes closed,” Mistress demanded, noticing I was trying to look. I tried my hardest to keep them shut. I shivered when my feet were slipped into the hoof-style ballet boots. Already, my feet were forced to look like a ballerina’s. Mistress and Blondie pulled the strings tight. It didn’t feel as uncomfortable as I thought it would, but boy, was I nervous about the moment when I would be told to open my eyes and stand up in them.
Mistress gave the command. I stood up slowly, cringing. The boots forced me to stand on the very tips of my toes. The new height from the heels made me dizzy. I almost wanted to cry. I gulped, trying to keep my composure. I had never felt this nervous, so hopeless and fragile. Blondie and Mistress just stood there admiring and staring at me from head to toe. Their bitchy smirks humiliated me. They were very amused at my fear and reluctance.
“My, oh my.” Mistress licked her lips, tugging at my tail. Blondie smacked my ass and tweaked my nipples through the latex. The combination of their wicked teasing and the height of the ballet boots made my legs shake uncontrollably. The heels were so fucking high and skinny: eight full inches, my fucking Lord. I was going to fall to the ground, I thought, and embarrass myself trying to stand back up.
“Aw, look at her.” Blondie smiled. “She’s afraid to walk in them.”
Mistress attached the snap hook of my reins onto the large rings of my head trainer, standing face to face with me.
“You only have an hour to practice walking in these, understand?”
I moaned through my pony bit gag, trying to say, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I didn’t dare say it out loud enough to be heard. I nodded my head instead.
“Follow me…follow my steps. Watch how I walk in mine…”
She tugged the reins, walking step by step backwards, pulling me towards her. The first step alone made me wobble and ache. I slipped and fell to the ground. Mistress just stood there, watching. She slapped my thigh with the crop repeatedly with lust and anger.
“Get up, now!” she barked. “Don’t you dare embarrass me!”
She didn’t help me up. I got back up on my own, my legs wobbling. She stepped backward again, pulling my reins gently. I counted one, two, three, again and again in my head. My feet twisted slightly. I fell again on my knees, thankful that I wasn’t broken. Mistress smacked my back and thighs in response. The welts were forming. I breathed heavily when she was finally through. I looked down at the ground, nearly in tears.
“Look at me, darling,” she commanded.
I obeyed. She grabbed my chin.
“The harder you try, the more treats you will earn for the struggle, my dear.” She smacked my cheek.
I took a deep breath and stood, feeling determined and challenged to overcome this struggle. I stepped toe to toe slowly. I watched Mistress step back. The way she did it was so elegant, like a secret dance. I paid attention, marching in my boots gently, in the same rhythm. I was slightly wobbly and clumsy, but didn’t fall as hard as the other few times.
“There you go.” Mistress smiled. “Much better.”
I swallowed hard. I was sweating, but relieved I was getting better. Minute after minute, I improved. Regardless of the many times I tried, however, I couldn’t get over my nervousness. I wasn’t a natural like Mistress, and we both knew it. I fell on my knees again and again, thankful I didn’t break my ankles. Mistress laughed wickedly, pulling my horsetail and whipping me with frustration, indicative of the brutal pounding that I was going to get later. Blondie whipped me too for the first time, and she was as sharp and vicious. I kept on practicing walking in these shoes through the hot and throbbing bruises, scratches, and welts on my buttocks. Mistress held the reins tighter and pulled me faster as she led me around her in circles, laughing at my pain, mocking my clumsiness, amused at my endurance, all which encouraged me to grow stronger once more.
By the end of the hour-long practice, I was exhausted and tired. I passed out on the ground on my knees. My feet were killing me. Mistress petted my head and kissed my nose and said reassuringly, “With time you will get better. Right now, this will do.”
She allowed me to relax for a little bit. Blondie and Mistress disappeared for a minute. I knew what they were doing. They were pulling in the lightweight-riding cart, which had two wheels and a seat big enough for both of them. I trembled in pain, pleasure, and anticipation, realizing this was just the beginning of the day. Was I looking forward to it? Did this all seem like a fantasy I could never get myself out of? Hell, yes. All of this was for her. As long as I have known my Mistress, she had demanded a pony for her birthday. Since the age of six, she had begged, screamed, and pleaded for mommy and daddy to get her one. They never did. Twenty years later, I became the pony girl that finally entered into her life. When I heard the soun
d of the cart rolling towards me, I stood up immediately with shaking knees, wobbling legs, and aching feet. The turning of the wheels transformed me into the ultimate sub. No pain, no numbness, no complaints, no hesitation. I was proud to be my Mistress’s pony. My life was made of this. Deep down, I loved this more than life itself.
“You look stunning, absolutely stunning, my equestrian Melody.” Mistress smiled at me. She traced her finger down from my collar to my crotch, caressing my supple bare ass. “Do you have the strength to take us to our destination?”?I nodded quickly.
“Why did I even ask? I know you have the courage.”
With a snap of her fingers, Blondie took off my hand-hooves. As soon as my hands were free, I held onto the wooden bars of the cart. I turned my head slightly. Mistress had a serpentine bull whip in her hand. She sat down in the cart, holding onto the reins. Despite her weight, the cart was still light. Blondie sat beside her, making it no more or less heavy. She held a four-foot leather-strap whip, and I was more than anticipating her lashing, as well as my queen’s.
Mistress pulled the reins. I began to march. I knew exactly where I was going: to the woods behind her estate. Mistress gripped onto the reins tighter. With the sharp, fiery smack of her whip, I marched onward, trotting in those killer boots, nervous, wobbling, shaking, but feeling as if I were basking in comfort and walking on air. I didn’t fall again, not even once as I stepped over rocks, twigs, and branches. At last, half the struggle was over. Off I went, wild and free as the rhythmic slap of the whips on my back played on.
Lucky
by Xan West
I need to be forced to name my desires. I need to look them in the eye and accept them for mine. I need to travel that long journey through shame into pride. I am lucky to have someone willing to give that to me, who can go to those scary places with me. I am lucky to have Sir.
Sir knows me. Knows what I want. Knows where the edges are, and how to take me there. We go for intensity, and it is glorious, and scary, and cathartic. It would not work between strangers. It would not work if Sir didn’t communicate my worth, and her love for me, in small daily ways.
At the leather conference, Sir dressed me in the morning. I knelt and she wrapped my wrists in cuffs. She had me wiggle into a garter belt and sit on the bed as she slowly rolled fishnet stockings up my legs and attached the garters, her fingers teasing my thighs. She pulled me to my feet, produced a skirt, and slid it up my legs, smiling with satisfaction when it barely covered my ass, leaving just enough bare thigh to show off the garters.
She removed the A-line shirt she wore the day before and through the night, and slipped it over my head, tugging it down my large frame. It smelled like her, of sweat and cologne and that musky scent that is Sir. She pulled out a deep red lipstick, painted my lips with it carefully, then smiled wickedly and wrote something in lipstick on the shirt. She handed me my Frye boots and ordered me to polish them and put them on. She was in and out of the shower before I was done, and pulling on her socks just as I finished. Her boots were gleaming, polished first thing that morning, and I helped her into them, my eyes lingering on the sight.
She unzipped her fly and pulled out her cock, saying huskily, “C’mere, slut,” as she grabbed me by the hair and thrust my mouth onto her cock. I shuddered, feeling her deep in my throat, her hands fisted in my hair, fucking my mouth. She reached into me and named that core truth I rail against. I am a slut. I was helpless to ignore it with her dick in my mouth, and that was the point. I spend so much time resisting my own desire; those moments are when I can surrender to it, because she loves it, because it is safe, because I ache to so badly.
“That’s my slut. I know how much you love getting your mouth fucked by me. This is who you are, slut. A hole aching to be fucked.”
She thrust into my mouth quickly, grunting her pleasure, then yanked my mouth off by my hair.
“Plant yourself on my boot, slut. Get it nice and wet.”
My eyes lifted and begged her not to make me do this.
“Get to it, slut,” she said gruffly, no mercy in her eyes.
I spread my legs and wrapped them around her boot, my cunt spasming as it contacted the leather. I was so ashamed that this turned me on. And so grateful that she made me face it.
“Ride that boot for me.”
I thrust onto her boot, tears forming, pleading whimpers sliding out of my mouth.
“That’s my good slut. That’s it, ride out your pleasure on my boot. Don’t stop riding it, baby. Open your eyes, let me see. You love this, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes. You love being my good little boot slut. You can’t stop until you come for me. I want your come on my boot all day, just waiting for your tongue to lick it up tonight.”
Incoherent begging sounds emerged from my throat as I rode her boot. I knew the rules but I couldn’t form the words. I couldn’t stop fighting this. I battle in my head every time. That’s the point.
“That’s my good slut. You love fucking yourself on my boot, don’t you? I can smell you, slut. All day I’m going to smell you on my boot, and know you are mine.”
My clit jolted, and my cunt ached to be filled. Tears rolled down my face. I was ashamed and aroused and so fucking helpless. There was only one way to end this.
“Please, Sir. Please may I come for you, Sir?”
“I need you to say it, slut. Tell me you are my slut, and you may come.”
I could feel my eyes get huge. There was a lump in my throat. She gripped me by the hair tightly and her voice was ferocious as she said over my whimpers,“Tell me. Tell me who you are.”
“I am your slut,” I whispered, and her hands released me as I came for her, writhing on her boot, tears rolling down my face, my cunt throbbing. There is no release like tears and orgasm combined, and she doesn’t forget that. She lifted me to my knees and gently licked the tears from my cheeks.
“Look at yourself,” she said warmly, lifting and turning me to face the mirror. My eyes were wide, face flushed, hair wild. My lipstick showed I’d been sucking cock. The A-line shirt was stretched tout over my large tits and belly, and was so thin you could see my nipples clearly, “slut” written across my chest in red. My skirt had ridden up and my cunt peeked out, glistening. The fishnets had ripped, and the tough boots made me look decidedly queer. She had marked me, her scent enveloping me, her name for me emblazoned on my chest, her cock still on my lips. I am not just a slut; I am her slut, and her actions crystallized that fact. Being her slut makes me powerful.
She tugged my skirt down slightly and stood behind me, pulling the lock out of her pocket and locking my cuffs together behind my back. I stood tall and followed her out of the room, strutting, my shoulders back, my boots loud, my head high. I was proud to be seen with her, my handsome butch in leather.
All day she showed me off. The attention made me dizzy. A tall gorgeous man with chocolate brown skin, broad shoulders, predatory eyes, and fangs peeking out from his wicked smile admired my tits and growled in my ear, making my cunt spasm. A gorgeous Asian femme dyke eyed my legs as she talked to Sir quietly. Her boy, a short, square-framed Latina butch, licked her lips and winked at me. Sir kept a hand on me all day, tugging my arms back by the cuffs to push my tits out further, stroking the back of my neck, resting her boot on my thigh as I sat at her feet. Her touch casually claimed me, keeping my arousal high.
Late in the day, she brought me over to watch a pale redheaded trans boy black the boots of a gorgeous bear of a man with pale skin covered in gray fur. She unclipped my wrists massaged my arms and locked them together in front of me, sitting me down to watch as she approached the bear to whisper in his ear. He nodded, gesturing to the boy, and they continued to talk, the bear’s eyes grazing my mouth, my thighs, my boots. I was mesmerized by them, watching the boy’s hands work, and when he lay on his belly to lick the bear’s boots, my cunt jolted and my breathing stopped. Sir returned to stand behind me, leaning into my ear as she pinched my nipples.
“Co
me,” she growled.
I did, trying to be quiet, my eyes locked on the boy tonguing those boots as I writhed in my chair.
“That’s my good slut,” she said. “I’m going to enjoy giving you away tonight.”
My eyes widened. I imagined being given to the bear in front of me, my ass pounded by his cock. Or maybe his boy, using those strong hands to open me up. I could almost feel the vampiric man sinking his teeth into me as he rammed me with his cock. I could see that femme top holding me down for her boy, her nails raking my skin as her boy fisted me. I writhed in the chair, my cunt throbbing. I was trembling, my mind racing from one image to the next, until they all blended together and I met Sir’s eyes, whimpering.
“Yes, slut. I’m going to offer you around. I’m going to make sure everyone knows how much you need to be fucked. You will be displayed for all to see. Everyone will know what a slut you are.”
I was going to be displayed, naked in my desire. I shuddered, lowering my gaze. My clit was pulsing, my skin hot and flushed with shame.
Fear built through dinner. She sat next to me at a crowded table as I awkwardly attempted to eat with my wrists locked together, watching my face as I thought about saying no, calling it off. I was not sure I could do it. I barely tasted the food, and sat quietly as the table ordered coffee, my hands resting in my lap. Sir leaned over and whispered in my ear.
