Ursa felt Cupid’s smile against her knee and he nuzzled his cheek against her, not lifting his head. His skillful fingers caressed the back of her knee. “I…well, surely there were more wild displays than that,” she said.
“Don’t tease her! I think it’s fantastic, Owl,” Ruby Otter said and swatted her friend before grinning. “You look fantastic. It really suits you.”
“What does?” Ursa asked.
“Confidence. You wear it well.”
The server arrived to take their orders and offer mimosas or juice to the table while they ordered from the classy menu. She stroked Cupid’s hair as she placed her order for both of them, feeling her heart race when he regarded her with a pleased smile at the guess she made for his meal. The other women did the same, and when the server slipped off to fulfill the order, she found Ruby Otter looking at her.
“And you’re going to have this one run in the races? Confidence. I like it. It’s about time newcomers stepped up rather than letting some of the regulars run away with the show.”
She offered the drink to Cupid while watching the other women. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t other people participate?”
“Well, the core group, that is the loudest of the group, makes it challenging for newcomers. They tend to command most of the attention, you see. In the past year, they have driven off or discouraged a lot of newcomers from participating in the races and shows. The ponies seem quite concerned that they won’t get any new jockeys, or worse, that House Mistress might find this too drama driven and cancel the future events. The race is fun, but the horse show is even better and during the winter when we go to the Tahoe house, there are sled races. But unless more people participate, it’s going to end up dying off,” Ruby Otter explained.
Sapphire Fox broke off from her make-out with the mature man she’d partnered and cleared her throat. “I hear that one of the regular jockeys roughed up his pony last night in a drunken rage. He’s part of that circle, and rumor is, Rhino was one of them as well, though he was a newcomer. None of their conduct is making good marks with House Mistress, you see. It is easier to stop the sport than remove certain people from the party.”
Cupid glanced up at her and offered the mimosa back as he rolled one massive shoulder in a lazy shrug. His smile curled up in a smug little twist of his full mouth. Sexy as hell and so arrogant that she wanted to pull him by the hair up to her mouth and kiss him until his lips bruised against hers.
“All I know is, I have a man who is sexy as hell and I want to see him running around with my cock ring on as he prances in the race,” she said, surprised at the easy assurance rolling off her lips. Cupid’s fingers squeezed the back of her calf and she felt his chuckle tremble through him where he pressed into her legs.
The women around the table saluted with their glasses, beaming at her in pride for her transformation from shy and stuttering to taking the situation, and the man, by the balls. Of course, she was currently behind a mask. It was easy to be courageous with her identity hidden.
* * * *
Off to the Race
After lounging with the group at breakfast, they had little time to get to the garden where the races would take place. Ursa made a stop by their rooms to get the thick silver cock ring and Cupid gave her a wary look when she knelt before him.
“Owl…” He spoke her name in a hush of shock when she pushed the armored skirting up to expose his bare cock.
He was only half hard, but when their eyes met, the length of him swelled and pulsed with desire. She gave him a small shake of her head. “You need to learn some control, Cupid.” She teased him and drew the length of his cock and balls through the thick band of silver. “If you were really mine, I’d have a whole cock cage for you with a key, so only I could have at you and keep you out of trouble.”
He groaned and his hips rocked forward as his cock thickened and swelled despite the trap of the ring. “Oh! Mistress!” He sucked in a breath at the sensation and she could feel his effort to hold steady with the sudden spike of desire she knew her words sent through him.
“I’d engrave my true name in the cage so everyone knew who to send you back to if you ever escape me,” she continued and stroked his balls where they thrust through the loop of steel and pressed against the underside of his proud cock, arching upward. She met his eyes and moistened her lips. “Maybe after the race, we can get that off you and get a condom on you so I can have you in my mouth, you filthy boy.”
She never thought having control over how she touched someone would be so hot. The condoms were like a shield, a sexy weapon she could use to prevent him from just taking what he wanted. His eyes blazed with his need and he rocked his hips forward. Pre-cum beaded on the head of his cock, pearly and gleaming in the light as his cock bobbed lewdly before her lips. She blew warm breath over him and he moaned, but did not resort to begging.
“I heard that it’s best to keep a pony’s blood up. It will make them run better. But perhaps it will make you run a little slower so I can have that kiss I so badly desire.”
“You are cruel, Mistress,” he growled, eyes closing, struggling to regain his iron-clad control.
To aid him, she drew the heavy leather skirt down over his cock. Even the armored leather wasn’t weighted enough to keep his cock from tenting it forward right then. “Poor pony. You want to say the word, we can end this torment.” She remained kneeling and he kept his eyes squeezed closed in his stand-off for resolve and control.
She pressed her thighs together, rubbing her aching need between her legs. Her own resolve was a fragile, desperate thing. Unlike this handsome Cupid, she didn’t have her pick of lovers back home. Wouldn’t it be better to get her wild oats out every chance she could? Except she never enjoyed this sort of sweet torment with anyone either. No way would she rush things.
He watched her stand and offered out his hands to her and smiled when she slipped her fingers through his. They didn’t speak, just shared a look between them, she could feel the mixture of pleasure, frustration and need pulse through him, shared with her. Was it satisfaction? Or was he trying to test if her resolve would waver, and she’d jump him moments before the race.
“We’d better go,” she told him and pulled on his hands. “I’m sorry I don’t have a quality harness, just something I borrowed from the room. I’m still new at this.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m honored to wear what you give me. Even this horrible and wonderful cock ring.”
“I’ve always wanted to give it a try,” she admitted, watching him trade out his quiver for the plain harness. The way he shifted awkwardly to thread his wings through the leather reminded her of her strange fantasy, or illusion, from the previous night. Tonight, she wouldn’t partake of any wine. Moving behind him, she helped adjust the straps and smoothed his falcon-like wings around the straps, glad to see that the leather wasn’t going to rub against the trail of feathers down his spine.
She wanted to ask him about the wings, but her tongue tangled on words she wanted to say. “They look so…real.”
That attempt just made him smile and he tucked his chin and fixed her with his glittering black gaze behind his mask. “I know.”
His mildness made her grind her teeth and she pushed the questions aside. After the race, she might come up with a better way to ask him. Or maybe she’d just pull at the wing and see how it was secured to him.
The garden was filling when they arrived and Cupid slowed his steps so he would come in behind her. A glance over at him showed his chin high and his steps made with high-stepping action, like a gaited horse might use. That made her smile, but he looked past her, gazing off into the distance. Across the gardens, the other ponies with their jockeys were beginning to gather. Peacock and Leopard, with their partners, were showing off the elaborate and expensive harness gear they provided for their pony display.
If she did this again, she’d need to try to find a way to get her pony a better rigging. A big if. And w
ho knew if she’d even have the same pony. The heaviness in her heart flipped several times as Cupid stood behind her and waited for instructions. She didn’t have headgear or halter, as some of the other pairs were showing off. Another thing to try to get her hands on—something adjustable, something she could—
Cupid’s warm breath ticked the back of her neck, distracting her from her thoughts. He uttered a soft, horse-like nicker at her and when she turned her head, she found his glinting amusement fixed on her. She lifted a hand and ruffled his curls.
“Run well,” she told him, sliding the hand down from long, tousled curls to his jaw and down his neck and chest, trailing over his muscles. “Try not to disgrace them too badly.” He leaned in closer to her and brushed a soft nip along her neck before drawing away from her touch.
Reading about pony play in a book had not prepared her for seeing a race in full costume with spectators. It was as elegant as any garden party she could dream up with all the fanfare of a Triple Crown race. The grassy lawn around the neatly manicured track was filled with grooms, jockeys and ponies while spectators gathered around the edges where higher ground provided a better vantage to view the sport. Visitors wore outrageous hats that matched their masks just like they were at a derby race.
Ponies, male and female, were geared in tack ranging from simple leather like her Cupid’s to the most extravagant equipment that money could buy. A majority of the ponies wore the same masks she’d seen the night before, but some had the additions of blinders and bit-gags complete with reins of leather, gold chain and she even spotted a double strand of black pearls on a man in a seahorse ensemble.
Most of the mounts were nearly naked except for the intricate harnesses across chests and shoulders. Men in only cock-cages and women bare breasted except for intricate clasps on their nipples. Aside from their masks, many wore only the delicate chains and straps around their athletic bodies for modesty. Bare skin gleamed with the careful application of oils, filing the air with their sweet fragrances.
Some had hair fashioned into elaborate manes and braids and adorned the crowns with ribbons and flowers. Some mounts wore headdresses of feathers and horsehair to that matched their masks. No two were the same.
Heavy soled boots where as popular as strapped sandals or bare feet. There were elaborate wrappings or simple functionality, but all were ready to run. It was a show, yes, but more importantly it was a race. There were no high heels or the uncomfortable bindings that would hinder a runner.
She noticed quite a few wore horse tails in various colors and textures. As those could only be in place by an anal plug, Ursa found herself longing to see Cupid subjected to the same decoration. Heat rose in her face and her sex tightened as she imagined the way his powerful body would quake with pleasure and need at the insertion of such a pretty addition. She led him to the line of other ponies and gave the contestants a smile and nod. The jockeys and grooms were dressed primarily in riding gear, with knee high boots, jodhpurs and jackets or were corseted and dressed for a garden party. Many carried crop and whip with their costumes. Ursa realized as people looked her and her pony over that they were overshadowed by the elegance of the event.
Only a few returned her greeting. Well, she knew that despite her lack of fashion, she had nothing to be ashamed of, so she stared down Peacock, who was trying to toss daggers from her eyes. The rejection of the previous night must have cut her very deeply.
A server wove through the jockeys once the ponies were at the starting line, and Ursa plucked a flute from the tray as she waited for the start. Around her, others were sipping what looked like mint julips.
“You know, we have a nice Pony Day Tea the first day of spring,” a familiar voice murmured at her side. The woman with the star mask regarded her thoughtfully. “Perhaps you would allow me to have House Mistress invite you and your pony out for the day? We don’t have races but…events.” Her lips pursed behind the spangle of her mask. “Bobbing for carrots and rolling apples. Things like that. We don’t wear masks, though. It’s mostly fluid-bonded couples so there’s not a lot of shame involved in our public sex.”
Ursa blinked away from staring at Cupid, who was showing off at the starting line. “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, this is my first event and we’re not—” She frowned as her nervous gesture made her drink slosh and spill over her fingers.
“Ah.” It was impossible to tell what emotion hid behind her mask. “Forgive me. After watching you two in the room, I thought you must be quite close. Well, I’m Celestia. If you wish, have House Mistress contact me. You might change your mind.” Her blue eyes twinkled like the sequins on her mask.
“Thank you. I-I d-don’t imagine I will.” She hated the stammer and chewed at the inside of her cheek to keep a smile on her face. “Is the man in the Ram mask…yours?”
Her smile softened. “Ah yes. Ram. He and I have been together awhile now. He mostly likes to show off rather than actually win.” She laughed and then pointed. “See there?”
Ursa turned her head and saw where Ram and Cupid had settled beside each other and were puffing out their chests and posing, looking at one another and then sliding covert looks back at them.
“Oh!” Cupid looked spectacular in that pose, tightening his stomach and giving his arms a flex now and then.
Hound and Hare were getting into the action too, playfully posturing to the others, but a quick whistle from the direction of Peacock and Leopard made the men stand still and at attention at the start line.
Celestia sniffed over the rim of her glass. “Don’t mind those women. They are so caught up in winning that they have lost the joy of the game. You’d think they were out here stretching their legs.” She wiggled her fingers at the pair of jockeys and Ursa noticed a third person stood near them, a man in a dragon mask.
His full lips pursed slightly as though he tasted something bad. He was rather adoringly stroking the head of a blonde girl standing beside him, and when he turned to her the frown melted away into something joyous. The girl tipped her head up to grin back at him from behind an elaborate hummingbird mask. She was wearing a harness around her and her pert, athletic breasts bounced in time with her side-to-side shifting.
Noticing where she was looking, Celestia murmured, “They have a female race as well. Since it became so competitive, they no longer mix the genders, so the men will go and then the ladies. There are so many more women than men ponies. It’s not a bad thing to split them up.”
Ursa was about to ask more, but the ponies at the starting line were starting to get playfully restless as more stepped up to the line and other jockeys joined their ranks. Celestia was drawn into conversation with someone else. Just as well, really, as she got distracted again by Cupid’s more elaborate flexing, and took a cooling drink from her wine.
The House Mistress stepped out into the central point of the gardens where a gazebo, heavy with rose vines, was situated. Her dress seemed more elaborate today in the sunlight, drinking up the light and throwing back sparkles of blue and indigo from the many beads on the corset and flared, short skirt. Two men came behind her, bare-chested and wearing black, furred loincloths. They carried a bronze gong between them. “Welcome to the races everyone. I’m delighted to see new faces in the group. I hope everyone will make our newcomers feel at ease and at home. The race will be a single lap around the track. There are no jumps or obstacles this time, as last time the ponies were far too exuberant and we can do without scuffed knees after accidents.” Her eyes narrowed and she swept a look over the crowd, seeming to linger on Peacock and her group a little longer than the others. “Men race first and then women. Afterward we’ll have awards following the traditional Saturday lunch on the lawn.”
She squirmed in the silence that followed and glanced at Cupid to see him looking at her. A smile spread his mouth when he saw her looking. Dear God, he even made his damn pecs do that twitch thing. The only thing better would be for him to have those dark nipples pierced. She felt warmth spread do
wn her chest and into her belly. He was glorious in the sunlight. Like the dress House Mistress wore, he drank in the light and gleamed like black diamonds, those little wings on his shoulders, tight and sharp as a bird of prey. The smaller feathers against his skin rippled in the wind that stirred up, but the longer primaries stayed stiff and proud.
“Ready, ponies?” House Mistress’s voice rang out across the garden and the assembled, posturing and preening men in their harnesses focused ahead of them. A second passed while the woman seemed to measure their focus and then she grasped the hammer for the gong and struck the bronze plate solidly, sending a low thrum of sound to start the race.
The pony-boys dashed off the line together, at least the more competitive group of them. Some of the more flamboyant ponies pranced their way forward, using the time to show off their fine gear and finer bodies to the encouragement of the crowd. They were lovely specimens to be sure, their hard bodies fine-tuned to the running track, and even those who were a little fuller in body held themselves with such confidence that their smaller or larger sizes didn’t make any difference. They were all having fun.
The group ahead though, the runners, were in it for the prize. Or bragging rights. Or the pride of their Mistresses on the line. Cupid was behind the main group of runners as they hit the middle point by a stride or two. All Ursa could think of was the kiss—make that kisses—she would collect as soon as he trotted over the finish line. Velvety lips on hers, his big hands cupping her face. Oh yes, she was going to kiss the hell out of him and then fuck him until he couldn’t walk.
And then, as he crossed the middle marker, Cupid put the speed on. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was a competitor. Making it seem so easy, he powered past two, then four runners at the head of the pack. In another long, lean stride he passed another without even seeming to draw breath. She thought he might have said something to Hound as he strode by him easily, arms churning, and danced out of the way of a leg striking out at him.
Wicked Masquerade Page 6
