at my mouth and
ass.
I knew how to be a pony. I was even a little vain about
being a rather good one, but I was afraid that maybe I was
kidding myself, that her standards were so high that she'd be entirely displeased with me. Anyway, I tried really hard
to hold myself in a proud pony stance, while she harnessed
me to the cart, grunting as she pulled the straps snugly into
place. She did it quickly-I remembered how competent her
hands had looked, managing Tony that morning. And when
she finished, she gave my ass a hard slap, which I chose to
interpret as a good sign. And then she came up front, to show
me the whip she'd be using, and she doubled it in her hand
and caressed my breasts and then my face with it. I arched
my back, rubbing up against the worn leather of the whip.
I strained my neck, pushed against the bit a little, so that she
could see that I wanted to use my mouth, I wanted to kiss the
whip, to show her how hard I was going to tryy "Save it, asshole," she chuckled, getting into the cart and cracking the whip,
and signaling with the reins that she wanted me to gallop.
Good. I wanted to go fast, cover ground, see everything.
Blue sky, rocky terrain, fluttering silver leaves of olive trees.
Downhill from us, a big stone amphitheater or athletic field.
I figured I'd see it again, but not today, I guessed, because
we started uphill. The high boots they'd given me fit me well,
and their soles were thick. I was glad, because I needed all
the help I could get. The path wasn't steep, but I knew that
the constant effort of running uphill would catch up with
me eventually. Still, I didn't want to slow down until I absolutely had to. But hey, I realized as I felt the whip catch me on
the ass, she wasn't going to let me slow down anyway. And I
didn't know what would happen when I became so exhausted
that I'd have to.
Well, I wouldn't worry about that just yet. It was warm
and sunny, early afternoon, and a bit of salty sweat was dripping into my eyes, bouncing prisms off the dusty colors in the shining light. Her hands at the end of the reins were quiet,
eloquently articulating their desires through the tugs I felt at
the bit in my mouth. I didn't know if I was crying out against
the bit or if it was silencing me, but it didn't matter, because
you wouldn't be able to hear my cries-not over the noise
of the cart on the road and of my pounding feet. And now
we'd rounded the crest of the hill and there was the sea all
around me. Some parts sparkled, and some looked still and
deep purple, and I could see tiny islands of black rock off the
shore: I half expected that Sirens would be sitting on them.
Annie didn't use the whip a lot, just when I'd break rhythm,
when I'd become dazzled, distracted, by the colors of the sky
and sea. She's onto me, I'd think, pulling my eyes away from
the landscape; she knows what I need.
We hit some more level ground now, a road through an
olive grove. The light and shade dappled the rocky path in
front of me. She slowed me to a canter, and then a trot as we
came into full sunlight. She began to be more critical of my
form. "Shoulders back, knees higher, tits up and out," she
cried out, using the whip for emphasis. I concentrated on my
center, knowing that my arms and legs and shoulders would
become more graceful as well. Just a little extra energy to the
legs, to lift the knees.
We circled a meadow, and I got my first view of the
house. And I was so curious that I forgot all my good resolutions about focusing my entire attention on my form. I was
disappointed at first. It seemed surprisingly small, gray stone
and whitewashed stucco. And then we wheeled around to
the right, and I could see that it was immense-built down
into the cliff, stairs and terraces leading out from many bright
expanses of windows, artfully weathered wooden doors. It must storm here sometimes, I thought-I imagined being
naked, chained, fucked, beaten, out on one of
ass.
I knew how to be a pony. I was even a little vain about
being a rather good one, but I was afraid that maybe I was
kidding myself, that her standards were so high that she'd be entirely displeased with me. Anyway, I tried really hard
to hold myself in a proud pony stance, while she harnessed
me to the cart, grunting as she pulled the straps snugly into
place. She did it quickly-I remembered how competent her
hands had looked, managing Tony that morning. And when
she finished, she gave my ass a hard slap, which I chose to
interpret as a good sign. And then she came up front, to show
me the whip she'd be using, and she doubled it in her hand
and caressed my breasts and then my face with it. I arched
my back, rubbing up against the worn leather of the whip.
I strained my neck, pushed against the bit a little, so that she
could see that I wanted to use my mouth, I wanted to kiss the
whip, to show her how hard I was going to tryy "Save it, asshole," she chuckled, getting into the cart and cracking the whip,
and signaling with the reins that she wanted me to gallop.
Good. I wanted to go fast, cover ground, see everything.
Blue sky, rocky terrain, fluttering silver leaves of olive trees.
Downhill from us, a big stone amphitheater or athletic field.
I figured I'd see it again, but not today, I guessed, because
we started uphill. The high boots they'd given me fit me well,
and their soles were thick. I was glad, because I needed all
the help I could get. The path wasn't steep, but I knew that
the constant effort of running uphill would catch up with
me eventually. Still, I didn't want to slow down until I absolutely had to. But hey, I realized as I felt the whip catch me on
the ass, she wasn't going to let me slow down anyway. And I
didn't know what would happen when I became so exhausted
that I'd have to.
Well, I wouldn't worry about that just yet. It was warm
and sunny, early afternoon, and a bit of salty sweat was dripping into my eyes, bouncing prisms off the dusty colors in the shining light. Her hands at the end of the reins were quiet,
eloquently articulating their desires through the tugs I felt at
the bit in my mouth. I didn't know if I was crying out against
the bit or if it was silencing me, but it didn't matter, because
you wouldn't be able to hear my cries-not over the noise
of the cart on the road and of my pounding feet. And now
we'd rounded the crest of the hill and there was the sea all
around me. Some parts sparkled, and some looked still and
deep purple, and I could see tiny islands of black rock off the
shore: I half expected that Sirens would be sitting on them.
Annie didn't use the whip a lot, just when I'd break rhythm,
when I'd become dazzled, distracted, by the colors of the sky
and sea. She's onto me, I'd think, pulling my eyes away from
the landscape; she knows what I need.
We hit some more level ground now, a road through an
olive grove. The light and shade dappled the rocky path in
front of me. She slowed me to a canter, and then a trot as we
came into full sunlight. She began to be more critical of my
form. "Shoulders back, knees higher, tits up and out," she
cried out, using the whip for emphasis. I concentrated on my
center, knowing that my arms and legs and shoulders would
become more graceful as well. Just a little extra energy to the
legs, to lift the knees.
We circled a meadow, and I got my first view of the
house. And I was so curious that I forgot all my good resolutions about focusing my entire attention on my form. I was
disappointed at first. It seemed surprisingly small, gray stone
and whitewashed stucco. And then we wheeled around to
the right, and I could see that it was immense-built down
into the cliff, stairs and terraces leading out from many bright
expanses of windows, artfully weathered wooden doors. It must storm here sometimes, I thought-I imagined being
naked, chained, fucked, beaten, out on one of
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