The Stallion (11 page)

Now what do I do? she asked herself, her mouth slightly open, and her eyes vaguely aware of figures moving in the gloom.

Spontaneity was part of her character so it wasn’t too difficult to come up with something suitable.

‘Kiss me, and I will carry on. I will give you all that you desire better than you’ve ever been given it before.’

Ecstasy as well as moonlight lit his face.

Then he kissed her, his lips warm and soft against hers.

But Penny was very aware that such tenderness would not be enough for him.

‘Dog!’ she exclaimed as she slapped his face. ‘I didn’t tell you to kiss me like that! You can’t kiss my lips. Not those anyway!’

As he rubbed his face and stared at her wide eyed, she opened her legs and lifted her skirt. Then she peed, her golden rain hot and rising like an autumn mist from the soft straw.

A whimper escaped Auberon’s throat. Even in nothing more than moonlight, she could see his eyes glittered and his cock had stiffened.

‘Take your clothes off first,’ she told him.

He did. With fastidious precision he folded each item and laid it neatly to one side. She watched in silent fascination. How predictable he was; how moulded by his school-days.

Flesh quivering with delight rather than repugnance, he knelt before her and steadied himself by putting his hands on her thighs.

‘Hands behind back!’ she growled.

Like an exceptionally obedient dog, he obeyed.

She opened her legs a little wider and edged closer to his face. To accommodate her, he tilted his head backwards. Before long, his ears were against her thighs. His head was trapped. The lips of her sex kissed his mouth.

His tongue licked amongst the thick cluster of pubic hair before she opened herself for him with her own fingers. With undulating movements, she moved herself over him so she could take full advantage of his heat-seeking tongue, his chin and his nose.

He sucked at her like a hungry baby, taking the last clinging drops of golden liquid into his mouth. Then his tongue worked its way over her, prising more juice from her, but this time less salty, more sticky and resulting from desire rather than relief.

His tongue was now in her, hot, probing, like a small prick, yet more pliable.

She moaned and, as she clamped his head tightly between her thighs so he could not possibly move, she let her skirt fall over him whilst she unbuttoned her bodice and let her breasts break free.

Once they were unrestricted she rolled them in her hands, closed her eyes and felt as though she were the goddess Diana herself, bathed in moonlight and riding some creature of the night as she rocked back and forth over Auberon’s open mouth and willing tongue.

Her eyes opened briefly to survey the darkness. She smiled at it. Then she took off her dress.

The moonlight streamed through the window and added an iridescent richness to the colour of her hair and an incandescent brightness to the creamy gleam of her skin.

She was a performer and she loved the part she was playing. The figures in the darkness were of no account; they were just spectators in the auditorium enjoying the show. But, like all plays, there is a first act, then there are the second, third and fourth . . .

A pool of erotic energy was building up around her pussy and eddying with waves of rising desire to lap against her swollen clit. Despite Auberon’s best efforts, he could not make her come.

Now, she decided, is the time for the next act.

‘Enough!’ she shouted, and pushed his head away.

She couldn’t have pushed him that hard, yet there he lay, gasping among the straw, a film of her moisture shining like silver around his lips. He looked cowed in body, yet there was an undeniable glint of desire in the bright hazel of his eyes. He was playing a part and enjoying it. Well, she’d really give him something to remember; she’d really use and abuse him
for
all she was worth. He yearned for it, she needed her own climax, and the watchers in the shadows expected it.

‘Hands and knees!’ she shouted at him. ‘Get on your hands and knees!’

He rolled over and did as she ordered. She walked around him, proud in her nakedness, showing herself off for those whose eyes watched from the darkness.

If Mark could see me now, she thought to herself with a lewd smile, he’d take me and take me until we were both exhausted. But Mark wasn’t there. Auberon was.

Auberon had a good body and, despite her determination to play for the crowd, she admired it. With long, sweeping strokes she smoothed her hands down his back, then smacked each cheek so that pinkness replaced the perfect whiteness. There, between his thighs, his balls hung in their soft sac. She raised her foot beneath them so they sat warm and weighty, first on her toes, then on her instep. She rolled them on her foot, enjoying the warmth, enjoying the feeling of power it gave her. She heard his breath quickening, then realised her own was racing, too. In time with the rising of his desire, hers, too, rose and waited.

‘Stand up,’ she ordered.

Hesitantly but with obvious subservience, he got to his feet.

‘Don’t hurt me,’ he wheedled.

Even that, she knew, was just play-acting. Of course he wanted her to hurt him. He enjoyed being hurt, enjoyed that evolution of pain that led him to that final throb of a spent member.

‘I will do as I please,’ she told him, and held his prick as if it were just his handle and made of something harder than normal flesh and blood.

She bound him with items of leather harness that hung on the wall. The ends she found looped up easily into iron rings that hung from a wooden beam above his head.

She stood on bales of straw to reach the iron rings, then fastened the ends of the harness back through the pieces she’d already looped around his wrists.

His arms were raised full-stretch and the tautness of his muscles were outlined by a compliant moon. He hung there – like a sacrificial offering on some pagan altar – waiting for his moment, for his time of giving.

Surprisingly she found other matching rings in the floor. She bound him to those, too, so his legs were stretched apart, thigh and calf muscles hard and unyielding beneath the softness of her hands and the tightness of the leather.

When she had finished she stood back to survey her handiwork. She was well satisfied. He formed a near perfect ‘X’, his prick still proud of his body, limbs stretched to full extent, buttocks tightly clenched.

Like a preying panther she circled him, trailing her fingers over a body that was unburdened with superfluous flesh. There was only muscle, hard, primed to perfection.

Her eyes wandered over him shining with delight, and she realised suddenly just how much those other eyes in the darkness must be shining, too.

Her body trembled in anticipation as she admired the tension that rippled his muscles and quivered in hard spasms over his taut behind.

All the time she laboured, exploring with just the tips of her fingers. The more pressure she applied and the greater the sharpness of her nails, the more his penis grew.

‘How does that feel?’ she asked him. ‘Now you’re stretched to my liking.’

He groaned as she raked her nails over his stem, then groaned more when she squeezed his balls in her hand.

The sounds from his throat were unintelligible until she had released his balls.

‘Glorious,’ he murmured.

Even now, she knew he would appreciate her abusing him that little bit more until she judged him ready for her own purposes.

‘That’s not good enough!’ she said, and took the final two pieces of harness from the hook on the wall.

These pieces were thin, almost thong-like. Briefly she wondered what horse they were used for – a lightweight one by the looks of it. Not that it mattered. What mattered was her performance on this most auspicious night.

She tried not to look into the darkness, yet effort was needed to concentrate her eyes and her actions on Auberon alone.

With a wicked, catlike grin, she threaded the fine strips of leather through his legs, one piece at a time so that his testes were pushed towards the centre immediately behind his cock. They bulged there, round and shiny like overblown balloons.

Auberon was in ecstasy. His head was thrown back, his eyes were closed and a series of appreciative moans escaped from his throat.

The ends of the leather she crossed over his chest, then she looped them over his shoulders so his balls and penis were bunched in one mighty mound of flesh that lunged to greater size as the man revelled in his sweet restraint. After that, she passed the end of each thong through each ring – that hung like bangles behind his balls – and fastened them securely.

Observant enough in daylight to know where everything was kept, Penny took two items from the custom-built metal shelf against the wall. One was a simple riding crop, the other a lunging whip.

Now it was easy not to look into the blackness. Everything, they say, gets easier with practice, and in this case it was certainly true.

Bondage had been something that she and Mark had got
up
to when desires and emotions were too far beyond the normal level of tension. Even so, she had been enthralled by it, experiencing more powerful releases than straightforward sex could ever satisfy.

With professional efficiency, she cracked the whip then smiled with glee as she saw the reaction on Auberon’s face. The fear of pain that flashed there she knew to be only pretence. Deep down, beneath that terrified facade, she knew his body was aching for pain, longing for the thin strip of leather that would raise redness over the taut hardness of his flesh.

Her eyes dropped to his trapped cock. It lurched, reared with bottled-up excitement and, just for a moment, she thought he might shoot his load before she was ready for him to do so.

There was delight in her own action. Much as this man wanted her to pleasure him, she also had her own satisfaction to think about. No matter. First, she would deal with him, whip him to a trembling mass. Then she would take him purely for her own pleasure.

His trembling loins shivered as she walked around him. She trailed her fingers from the hard shoulder muscles down to his round cheeks. She teased each one, tracing lines, each one terminating in the tight cleft between. Instinctively his buttocks squeezed like they had earlier when her finger had probed at his puckered anus.

The fingers travelled on around his pelvis to his throbbing member. She saw it rear; saw it jerk as if it could take flight if set free. But it would not be set free. It was trapped pinched between two bonds of leather.

Sharply her fingernails traced more circles around the bulbous head of his cock. Her eyes opened wide. Never could she have believed that such exquisite pain could spur one to greater things, to a greater size. With enjoyment and without protest, she entered his world and took pleasure in the sublime pain she saw
fit
to endow. Amid pleasurable murmurs she hissed through her clenched teeth as she drew her nails down over his stem. Surprised at her own reactions she watched with interest as the veins of his neck stood in sharp relief against his skin. A moment later he threw his head back and howled at the rafters.

This was pure delight, pure power. Thoughtfully her fingers dipped into the slippery mixture that was brimming through the length of her labia. So far this little act had been all his. She had given him a lot; he had given her little.

In time with her rapid breath her breasts heaved as power mingled with sexual excitement.

Again she cracked her whip. She heard his sharp intake of breath and sensed his apprehension as he attempted to gauge her timing.

Stretching his throat again he threw his head back and let out a yell as the fine end of the lunging whip curved over his buttocks. She saw them tense, fold one in upon the other as if he were holding something in between. She smiled. She was beginning to enjoy this, and her imagination was beginning to work overtime.

The whip rose and fell again. His cry was a rich mix of pain and delight.

Breathless, her breasts pouting to the point of ecstasy, she dropped her arm to her side, then reached out to run her hand over the quivering behind. Hot flesh trembled beneath her palm, and tight cheeks closed over the nub of her probing thumb as it dived and teased the prim ring in between. It excited her, and made her stomach tighten and her clitoris rise in rapture from its sheath of dewy petals.

‘More,’ she heard him breathe. ‘Give me more.’

Unable to resist the lure of the stretched torso, she ran her hand from his armpit, over his ribs, and on to his hip, then across his stomach. She clenched her fist so her fingers formed a talon.
He
screamed soft and low as the claw ran from navel to phallic stem, pinching at his glistening glans, before digging into the soft flesh that hung beneath.

‘I’ll give you more,’ she growled, now unable to stop herself from entering the full spirit of the scene. ‘Just wait and I’ll give you more.’

The whip stung again and again across his bunched shoulders, his arched back, his round behind, the shuddering muscles of his thighs and calves.

She changed position, altered her aim so the whip fell in a long curl of leather across his heaving chest and stretched stomach, lightly kissing his jutting penis as it landed with stinging accuracy over his thighs. His knees bent slightly. Sweat glistened on the abused muscles.

But now her throat was dry and her sex soaking. Penny knew her own body well enough to know when its just desserts were due. Her aim had been strong and true, and now his flesh was glowing nicely with the searing heat of perfect pain. The sight of his cock, leaping up and down with each new dealing of sublime ecstasy, was too much for her to bear. She had to have him. At the same time, she had to satisfy his own more specialised pleasure.

The head of the lunging whip was thick, not as thick as his penis, but thick enough. Imagination rich in original thought took over as she eyed his twitching buttocks and the handle of the whip. Her mind was made up.

‘Now it’s my turn. There’s nothing for you to do but go along with it.’