SADDLED FOR LIFE
I'm not really writing this. I'm only thinking it. I'll never write anything again. It's amazing how clear and accurate my memory has become since all I have is my memory, devoid of being able to write things down. I chose this destiny for myself. But once chosen, it took on a life all its own, totally beyond my control. I chose to become a slave, a face-sitting slave, I thought. It became more than that and I'm not so sure that it's what I want. Sometimes, I'm sure it's not. What I want doesn't matter anymore. I'm what the women here decide I am.
It's a small community up in the mountains. The law there is sparse and it doesn't matter anyway because they elect their law from among themselves. Among the people in charge of this small community, there are plenty of very affluent ones who have made sure that even the wildlife management people assigned to the area share their interests. When I signed on for this, I didn't fully understand that there was no going back. I know now. Too bad it doesn't do me any good now.
When I arrived, I was asked several questions mostly designed to ascertain that I had told no one where I was going and that I couldn't be traced beyond the city my flight arrived in (having been picked up at the airport by people who worked here). One tends to be very secretive about these sorts of interests. I had intended to spend the summer here. I was told they could end it at any time if they found me unsatisfactory.
I thought I would be a face-sitting slave for the summer. But once they were certain that nobody knew where I was, I was taken out to the large yard behind the main house. In the yard, several women hosed me down and then shaved my chest, stomach, legs, pubes and balls. My body from the neck down was clean shaven as was my face. Then they pierced the skin of each of my balls at the back of them. My arms were restrained during this incredibly painful process. A strange-looking "yoke" was then run through the two thick folds of pierced skin and locked snugly around my balls. It brought my balls up into a neatly bound package. It was not tight or painful. It would not prevent me from walking. It was just snug. Then my cock was pierced at several strategic points and rings were inserted through the piercings. A plastic penis shaped device was placed over my penis. The device had sets of holes in it that allowed the rings to be put through them and snapped closed. The plastic sheathe was thereby sealed over my cock. It had rough studs on the inside. There was no way I could rub my cock against anything in an attempt to masturbate. It would be agonizingly painful. A metal bar extended back from the yoke, connected to it, going under my crotch. In back, a handlebar shaped piece of metal extended across the bar. Manacles were welded to the handlebars. My hands were then locked into the manacles. I stood naked and humiliated.
As I stood there, wondering what in the world any of this had to do with face-sitting, the leader or forewoman, an attractive woman of Asian descent named Grace, walked up to me. She had two assistants who were carrying a device that I can only describe as kind of a chair and kind of a saddle. I wish I was better at describing complex contraptions. It was shaped like a horse saddle except that the back part was very high, as high as that of a chair. There was an opening towards the back, a circular opening. Now, hopefully, I can convey this accurately. Half of the circle was in the seat part, towards the back of the seat and half of the circle was in the back-rest. The two assistants lifted the saddle contraption high and then lowered it over my head. I was facing forwards with the saddle surrounding me. On the underside of the saddle, there was padding and it was shaped to fit over my shoulders. There was a complex series of straps that went under my arms, around my torso and so on. The saddle was secured to my head. The straps were designed so that my shoulders and back carried the weight. If I fell, the weight would not touch my neck. I could see straight ahead and a little bit to the sides. Obviously, I could not see down nor could I turn my head and look back.
“What’s going on?” I stammered. “What is all this?”
Grace stepped into view and smiled.
“I know,” she said. “You thought you’d be lying on your back in a bed being face-sat. Around here, we do things a little differently. We feel that men should be doing the appropriately named menial labor while at the same time providing for the sexual needs of women. So we’ve come up with a way you can do both at the same time.”
She stepped around where I could not see her. Suddenly, I felt a sharp kick to the backs of my knees, dropping me to the ground in a kneeling position. She stepped to the front, turned and set in the saddle. She was wearing tight jeans. I was staring straight ahead at her ass as she wiggled back. Her tightly-clad ass was pressed to my face. I could feel her weight coming down on my shoulders and on my chest. The ‘straps’ as I call them are a complex system of levers, balance and counter-balance, that I cannot accurately describe but they work. Her ass was not completely sealing me in. I was getting air. It was not quite as much as I would have liked but it was enough. She was not smothering me.
“Okay,” she said, “I’m going to put my feet on the ground and lift up. It will take a lot of my weight off of you. Now, get your feet under you and stand up.”
It took tremendous effort but I did it.
“In time, you’ll be able to do that with my full weight on you,” she said. “Now, in case you have not figured it out, we turn men into both face-sitting slaves and pony-boys. We call them saddle-boys. You aren’t going to lie in some bed here. You will be useful on two levels. Were you just a pony-boy, I’d use reins to guide you. But you are a saddle-boy. So I will use my ass to guide you.”
Grace eased back and caught my nose between her shapely ass-cheeks. She turned slightly, forcing my head to the right a little.
“It’s quite simple,” she said. “Whatever direction your face is aimed, that is the direction you move in. Oh, and by the way, don’t even consider doing something stupid like dumping me out of this chair. If you fall backwards, the back of the saddle/ chair is heavily padded. I won’t get hurt but you’ll fall on your manacled hands. If you fall to either side, the saddle is designed in such a way that your shoulder will hit first and not land on my leg. You’ll probably get hurt far worse than me and then we’ll kill you. If you fall forward, I will just land on my feet. But I’m sure you won’t try anything that foolish anyway.”
Grace shifted, forcing my head to the right and I slowly and carefully took a step in that direction. She twisted again and I moved more to the right. I was highly aroused by her beautiful ass dominating my face. But I was scared. I couldn’t see where I was going.
“Don’t just take one step,” she said. “I’ll guide you. Your head is shoved up my ass where it belongs and I’ll do the steering.”
She pushed my head and I took another step to the right and then another. She shifted back to the center and I slowly walked forwards. She gave a slight tug to left or right as we moved. Once in a while, she pushed her ass straight back into my face and I took this as a signal to stop. She guided me around some object or other. Occasionally, I stumbled over some small object. Twice, I stumbled and fell forwards. She merely hopped to the ground, landing easily on her feet. She said nothing, offered no punishment and set down before having me lift her up. Clearly, she accepted accidents as part of the training.
“Lift your knees high,” she said. “Prance when you walk. Those high steps will make you less likely to stumble. Starting tomorrow, I’ll ride bare-assed. You’ll be able to feel the direction I want to go much more easily with your tongue up my ass. Better guidance and more fun for me,” she laughed.
I was led into a stall in the stable past rows of restrained saddle boys. I was taken into a stall. Grace hopped down. My ankles were manacled to the floor at either side of the stall, spreading my legs wide. A wide leather belt hung from the ceiling by a rope. Grace strapped it around me. It covered most of my waist. There was a small wooden platform protruding from the stall door near the top. She had me lean forward and rest my forehead on the platform so it supported the weight of the saddle. Without another word, she climbed over the door and left.
There I was, legs spread wide, leaning forward at the waist, yoked and hands manacled behind me, head sealed into a saddle/ chair device, naked and shaved in a stall in a stable. I was scared shitless.
Later, I was to find out that I had made an unintentional joke. I was many things now, but "shitless" sure wasn't one of them. That first night, I hadn't quite grasped the situation. As time wore on, I kept expecting they'd free me soon. It crossed my mind that this was just a big joke, an initiation. But it started getting dark soon. It stayed dark for a long time. I realized that, by taking the weight off my legs, the harness took my weight. At night, it was starting to get a little chilly in here. I was cold. The stench in here was bad. There were insects buzzing about, landing and biting me. I shook and moaned but they just landed and stuck me, gorging on the miniscule amounts of blood they could take. I was soon a mass of insect bites. I needed to piss. I realized that the only way to do it was right here. Later, I had to take a shit and again had to do it right there in the stall. Of course, these activities only attracted more insects. The absolute worst part was that I couldn't sleep in this strange position that I wasn’t used to. They couldn't seriously expect me to spend my nights like this for any length of time. This had to be just the "boot camp."
Somehow, I managed to fall asleep for a few minutes here and there. I had no way of telling time, but it was early summer. So when it started getting light out, I knew it was around five in the morning. Stable-girls were working their way through the stable. I heard one walk to my stall and stop in front of it. Two hands grabbed the saddle and lifted me to a standing position. The door opened. A figure clad in jeans with a shapely butt entered the stall. She unhooked my ankles from their manacles and undid the harness. Then she gave me a hard shot across the ass with a riding crop.
"Kneel," she ordered.
She set in the saddle and worked her ass back into my face. My eyes were riveted to her ass. She looked back and down over her soft shoulder and saw where my eyes were. She smiled but not really at me. Her attitude was that I was a lowly animal, not worthy of communicating with, not even silently. She just wanted to affirm that I was aroused.
She looked to be just over eighteen or nineteen years old, a little younger than I was. Somehow, being controlled like this by a woman close to my age, even younger, was more humiliating than being controlled by a woman who was considerably older than me.
She gave me some water to drink and then some sort of gruel to eat. Then she allowed me some more water.
Once I was out in the yard, a woman walked up and attached a painful clamp to each of my nipples. I cried out at this because they bit deeply into my nipples. Tears ran down my face and I whimpered, begging her to remove the clamps. But I was ignored. Neither my pain nor my moaning was of any relevance. There was a chain running between the nipple-clamps. A horseshoe (talk about adding insult to agony) hung from the chain, stretching my nipples. I stood sobbing in pain. Then I was dragged over to the side of the ranch-house and the saddle-chair was removed. A woman stood there with an electric razor. She blitzed my long hair, shaving all of it except for a long narrow strip that started at the top center of my head and ran back from there. This would be my mane. Then the saddle-chair was strapped back over my head. A groom, a gorgeous blond young woman, began rubbing oil all over my body until it glistened with an oily sheen that accentuated my muscles. I was left standing there until a woman walked up to me. She was also blond, probably in her mid-thirties and average-looking. She was carrying a series of small black pouches. She quickly fit one over my balls. The rim was elastic and snugly hugged my balls. A long tube ran from the pouch and there was a bulb at the other end of the tube. The woman gave one squeeze to the tube and the pouch tightened around my balls. She strung the tube through my crotch and behind me. Another groom ran a ring through the plastic tube over my cock then she took a very light cowbell and hooked it to the ring. She also pierced my navel. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, a young girl of eighteen walked up to me wearing only cutoff jeans and a tight halter top, accentuating her very mature figure and ample breasts. She smiled at the other woman.
"If you'd be so kind, Paula?" she said.
"Of course,” Paula said.
She bent me over. Then she grabbed my ass and spread my cheeks. The girl then started working the thick object she had been carrying into my ass. It was a dildo. She pushed it ever deeper into my ass until it finally penetrated my rectum, the wide head popping into my anal splinter. Horse hairs had been connected to the other end of the dildo, the end that was sticking out of my ass. I had been given a horse tail. My cock was erect because of this intrusion. It was a painful erection pressed against the studs in the plastic sheathe. It was trying to lift up in spite of the bell and ringing it in the process. I had also needed to take a shit really bad after eating that meal, but had hoped to have a minute alone to do it. Now, with this thing in me, I couldn't. Worse yet, bad joke though it may be, it was painfully pushing in my stool.
I was led over to a wagon that I would be pulling that day. There were pony boys being connected to carts, buggies, wagons, plows, etc. There were four of us lined up side by side in front of a large hay wagon. Two poles extended out to either side of us. A crosspiece ran between them. We were placed with our asses a few inches in front of the crosspiece. Four chains were looped around the crosspiece. Then the other ends were wrapped around the bar running between our legs and padlocked into place. Clearly, we had to grab the crosspiece with our manacled hands and pull, otherwise the chain would yank our balls. Somehow, I didn’t think our balls and scrotums could survive pulling the weight of that wagon. If our arms cramped up or our hands got too numb to hold on, we'd be in serious trouble. We were each kicked in the backs of the knees, signaling us to kneel. Four women, all bare-assed, stepped in front of us. I recognized Grace as the one that was in front of me. I did not see her face. I was beginning to recognize female asses as the key feature of who someone was. Perhaps she was riding me because it was my first day and she always broke in the new boys. I did not ask. In addition to our riders, I could feel that another woman had mounted the wagon behind us. When the path was clear of other horses, Grace said, "Okay, we’re clear. Let’s make these dumb animals work for their oats."
"Giddyup, horses!" she yelled.
Grace leaned forwards, causing me to instinctively stumble and move forewards. We started to pull the wagon.
"I said, 'Giddyup,' and I meant with all you've got!" she said.
She pushed her ass back into my face, her lovely ass right now being the last thing I wanted as it cut off my breathing. My eyes snapped wide open and, along with my fellow horses, I leapt forward.
"You’re lagging,” Grace said. “You’re slowing the others down. If you want to breathe, you'd better run as fast as you can, you sorry nag."
I ran as fast as I could and she relented for the moment, letting me breathe. She guided me by turning her hips. She would twist my head to the left for a left turn, twisting it as far as she wanted me to turn and to the right for a right angle. I felt that my neck would snap if I tried to resist.
When she wanted us to speed up, she would lean forwards. When she wanted us to turn sharply and quickly, she'd turn her ass and hips fast and painfully, pushing hard on my nose. She'd lean back to slow us down. When she wanted us to stop fast, she’d rise up and drop hard in the seat, jolting our necks and shoulders. Of course, I always had to get my tongue and nose inserted into her ass crack as soon as I could and keep them there. No talking was allowed and breathing was difficult, especially while running.
She ran us out to the haying field. We didn't have it too bad at first. We stopped frequently so that the field hands could load the wagon with the stacks of hay that the bailer had left strewn in the field. But the wagon kept getting heavier and heavier. We were digging our “hooves” into the ground, pulling it, our arms straining. The ground was soft and it was a major effort to pull the wagon. A little more smothering to remind us of our places though and we redoubled our efforts that we thought were at their maximum. All this time, mosquitoes were biting us, particularly our unprotected flanks. But we were helpless to do anything and even attempting to take the time to do anything about it was met with lovely ass-cheeks cutting off our air. But we finally dragged our heavy-laden wagon clear of the field, through the back yard and into the gravel driveway.
Even though we were wearing boots shaped like horse’s hooves, we still stumbled over some of the rocks in the driveway. We staggered and whimpered in pain from the weight but were told to run without breaking pace. We were run past the ranch-house and forced to turn right onto a dirt and gravel road. It wasn't a hundred yards before we reached a steep hill that we had to go up. Even though climbing while pulling the wagon and supporting a woman on our shoulders was already exhausting enough were we able to properly breathe, we still had to keep our noses wedged into their asses and, likewise, our tongues. Breathing was not easy. Worse yet, any attempt to free our tongues or noses or slow down our pace was met with smothering while the woman on the wagon whipped our backs and asses making us keep running. Crying and gasping, we dug our feet into the ground and strained with all our strength to haul the wagon fast enough to please our mistresses. We made it. It took the inspiration of ass-whipping and smothering but we made it.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see that there were some cabins on this road, obviously inhabited by the women who ran this place. More than a few came out to watch us run by. In my position, I could only catch glimpses of them. I was vaguely aware that we were on a dirt road and that there was woods and cabins here and there to either side. But mostly my world view was Grace’s lovely ass. It was my guide, my goddess and my humiliation. It's difficult to believe that we could have any capacity for sexual arousal amidst all this torment. Perhaps most men couldn't. But we were drawn here to begin with because we found the idea of such treatment arousing- to a point. The fact that this point had long been reached and passed didn't prevent us from feeling a tortured desire. The humiliating and helpless situation we were in enhanced it in some ways.
Finally, after a run of what must have been a good five miles, we reached a small village. There was a creek crossing the road and we literally whinnied in shock as our bruised, bloody and battered feet struck the cold water. Oh, how we longed to kneel and dip our dry, aching throats into that cool water, to ease the pain in our tortured, swollen tongues. Just to feel the water soothing away the heat from our sweltering, sweat-drenched bodies would have been a mercy beyond
description. When Grace called a halt once we crossed the river, my hopes flared. She and the other three dismounted and filled their canteens. They splashed the cold water on their faces. They peeled off their shirts and drenched themselves. Walking up in front of us, their bodies glistening with water as ours were glistening with hot, steamy oil, they all drank their fill of the cool, refreshing water. Then Grace said, "Well, that's enough for me. We can get more on the way back."
She then turned her canteen upsidedown and let the water run out into the dirt right in front of us. The others did the same. Except Grace added an extra touch. She ran the water over her breasts and then jiggled them in front of our faces before laughing and kicking me to my knees, having tortured us with two overwhelming desires at the same time. I couldn't even moan as I extended my tongue and felt it and my nose engulfed. I was a broken saddleboy. I was desperately thirsty beyond any thirst I'd ever known before. My cock was hard and the bell hanging from it was jingling. I was desperate with desires. But I was beaten. I knew I would just do what they told me without resistance. I was a tame horse, spirit broken. Of course, that didn't mean they were done with me. I think it was at that moment that I truly realized the situation: they were never going to let me go.
Fortunately, while they were merciless, they were also realistic. They knew when we were on the verge of physical collapse. They ran us to a farm supply business in the village. We were reined in and the hay was loaded onto waiting trucks for a trip far away. We were released from the wagon, then led over to a water trough. We stooped and drank. The women pulled our heads up and pulled us away long before our thirsts were satisfied. They knew we would get sick if we drank too much and they intended to run us hard regardless. Again we were kicked to our knees. The woman sat in the chairs, sat on our faces.
“Ten minute break, ladies,” Grace said. She snuggled her ass back into my face to get comfy. She kicked me in the stomach with her heel. “Up, beast,” she ordered. We all stood up and the women used their ass muscles to maneuver us so we stood in a circle with the women facing each other. They chatted away, as if they were in a parlor sitting in comfortable chairs, while we stood shaking with trembling muscles, sweating and suffocating beneath them. I realized this was my world now, my life and future. One of the women said that this was where males should be, with woman lifted high, surveying the world from the heavens as their male seats strained beneath them. But, except for that one comment, the conversations had nothing to do with us. We were both beasts of burden and furniture to them, nothing more.
We were then turned and forced to begin trotting back to the stable five miles away. We passed many other teams of saddleboys still headed to the village. Our burden was far lighter on the way back, of course, but that only meant that we were expected to run extremely fast. What we were expected to do, we did! We had no choice. The trip to the village had taken about three hours and the trip back under two. Counting preparations in the morning, this would put it about an hour before noon although it was difficult to be sure. At the stable, we were allowed to drink from the water trough. Grace and the others left to get lunch. Four other women immediately took their places. They checked our boots, taking them off and shaking out any pebbles that might have gotten in. It was a short relief as they put them right back onto us. The lead woman, probably in her forties, said, "These boys are well-lathered. There's nothing that turns me on more than a sweaty, frustrated saddleboy.”
If we thought that implied any relief for us, we were sadly mistaken. The woman turned and deeply french-kissed one of the other women. We couldn't help but moan and try to thrust at the air, a difficult task "yoked" and "pouched" as we were. The woman then added her special addition. She removed the bells and then hooked our plastic sheathes to our navel rings so our cocks were sticking straight up. Then they all climbed aboard the wagon and the woman ran us to the haying field again.
I felt terror and disbelief. They couldn't seriously expect us to make that run again on the same day. They just couldn't! It would be- what? Impossible? No! I realized the reality of the situation. It wasn't literally impossible. We would be in agony worse than anything we'd ever experienced, but it wasn't physically impossible. They enjoyed our agony. We were beasts of burden, nothing more. If there was any possibility of doing it, how much effort and pain it caused was irrelevant! We did it again. I don't know how. Yes, I do. We did it because there was simply no choice.
When we crossed the river, we were stopped. All of our riders shed their clothes and dove into the river for a moment. Then they walked toward us, the lead woman with a tanned, curvaceous figure and large jiggling breasts. She sensuously combed her hair back. We saddleboys were literally prancing in place and chomping at our own painful bits in frustration.
Months went by like this. One day, a blond woman who looked to be in her early forties though still attractive walked up to me with two other women. One of the women looked to be in her early twenties and the other around eighteen or nineteen. The other two were obviously related to this woman, probably her daughters. Grace accompanied them. There was an exchange of money and then the older woman who I later heard was named
We reached their home and they looked me over. The older daughter, I later heard her called Tina, said, “He’s muscular but not as solid as some of them. But he eventually will be.”
“That’s why he’s cheap,”
The other girl, I later learned her name was Michelle, said, “His cock is nice and hard. He must be so frustrated. I wonder how well-trained his tongue is? Not to mention, I wonder how well-trained his nose is? Even the ones that have trained tongues usually have not been trained to properly use their noses. It’s an art most women don’t know how to properly train saddleboys in.”
She said the word almost as one word, ‘himit.’
She made me kneel in a small porch then left me for the night.
All this talk about being kept this was permanently had me terrified. In the stall, I did everything I could do to get lose, even knowing it was hopeless. Tina, blond like her mother, walked onto the porch. I knelt helplessly. She took what I can only describe as a double-headed dildo and stuffed one end deep into my mouth. Then she removed the posture collar and lifted the saddle off of me. She pushed me so I fell onto my back and then put the chair over me. She sat on my face and eased the dildo into her pussy. My moans of frustration were like whinnies. She road my face until she was fully satisfied, sitting on and using me. Her smell and her cries of pleasure drove me insane. She rose off the dildo when she was fully satisfied. I lay there trembling. Then, leaving the dildo in my mouth, she turned and walked out as I stared at her shapely ass, aching with desperate desires.
A while later, Michelle walked out. She giggled at the sight of the dildo still in my mouth.
“Mom’s going to be mad,” she laughed. “She doesn’t like it when people don’t put their equipment away.”
Then she removed the dildo.
She helped me to my knees. She slid her pants off and sat down, snuggling her shapily, naked cheeks into my face and just sitting there reading. Almost an hour went by. She said nothing. I was so aroused and yet so tired, desperately needing sleep. Once in a while, she would shift in the chair, sliding her sweet cheeks across my face and forcing me to adjust to get my tongue and nose back into her crack.
“Start licking,” she purred after an hour of silence. She had to say it again before I was even sure she had said it.
I began licking at her ass crack and her lovely cheeks.
“You’re a saddleboy,” she said. “You ran well today. You obey well.”
She rubbed her ass into my face. I was relaxing. There were emotions starting to flood out because of the physical contact with an attractive young woman. She was showing affection. I burst into tears.
“You’re a good saddleboy,” she purred.
I moaned in pleasure, trying to express my gratitude. This was the closest to human contact I had experienced since this started. Then I felt her standing up. She leaned me down so I was on my back and sat with her pussy right on my face. I instinctively started licking and slurping at her wet pussy. She started sliding and grinding wet on my face. I groaned and twisted in my restraints. This was bizarre. The desire to satisfy her by burying my face in her pussy and ass went beyond any desires I had ever felt. As much as I needed sexual relief, not granted in all the time I had been here, this went deeper, straight to my soul.
“Oh this feels soooo good,” she purred.
She continued riding my face, enjoying the feeling. Then she moved forwards so her ass was on my face and I heard the hum of a vibrator and her gasps and moans.
“Lap my ass, boy. Get that tongue and that nose in there saddleboy,” she said.
She rode my face, getting off on my wet tongue in her ass as I was lost in the sensations of being totally dominated beneath her. She looked down and gave me a look I will never forget, a look that said, ‘I can do anything I want with you. I have absolute power over you and will enjoy your agony or be nice to you as I wish to.’
Michelle used my face to her heart’s content, enjoying several delicious orgasms. I whimpered hearing her cries of female pleasure and they drove me to lap even harder and faster.
“Poor baby,” she laughed. “Do you even remember what it feels like to be human?”
Then she rose, patted my head and said, “Well, nighty-night, sweet-face. Sleep well.”
She grinned at me and walked into the house. I don’t think I slept for five minutes the entire night.
The next morning, Tina and Michelle washed me and got the saddle-chair back on me when
As Michelle stepped back,
I was running on shaky legs.
If I thought I knew what being ass-trained meant,
I was an obedient animal by the time we reached the town and she reined me in at the pony boy stables. She left me standing there for probably over an hour while she went into the main offices connected to the stables. When she came out, she smiled, “Good boy.” She walked me over to a watering trough. She only pulled my head up when I lost control and tried to drink too much too fast. It would have made me sick. She took some grainy food and held her hand to my mouth. I ate out of her hand. She then stroked my hair and whispered, “Just a little water now, boy.” I drank slowly and stopped when she tugged up lightly on me. I badly wanted more but it would have made it worse for me when I had to run again.
She patted my head again.
“Oh, good boy,” she said. “My saddleboy is a fast learner. That’s good.”
Tears ran from my eyes and I pressed my head to her shoulder. To my surprise, she allowed it and kept patting me. But I realized that this, except for the crying, was ‘trained beast’ behavior.
“Okay, good boy,” she whispered. “We need to get going now.”
Then she mounted my face again. She walked me to the edge of town. My eyes absorbed the shape of her ass, waist and hips. She was probably twenty-five years older than me or more but she was still shapely was nice to me when I obeyed and pleased her. She was strict and she would not hesitate to do whatever needed to be done to train me and I would be punished severely if I disobeyed. But she was truly treating me as a beast and a chair, a him/ it, her him/ it. This was different than almost everyone else. She was officially my owner and I realized that, in my mind and emotions, she was becoming my owner. On the way home, I started running all-out. She leaned back.
“Don’t exhaust yourself,” she said. “We have a five mile trip ahead.”
I had never before been held back for running too fast. Then she leaned forwards when I started going too slow. She stopped me and hopped down, walking in front of me as I stared at her ass even though I was free to look at my surroundings. She spoke to me in a way that showed she understood I was capable of comprehending words.
“Quit trying to think. Quit trying to make choices. Just obey my ass. I own you. Just accept it. Give in and trust me.”
I graoned ‘yes’. She patted my stomach and said, “Good boy.”
The rest of the trip I was staring at her ass and walking directly towards it even though she was now walking in front of me. My eyes never left her ass.
When we got back to the house, Michelle was waiting.
“We now own a saddleboy,”
“Aw,” Michelle laughed, “I was going to call him ‘sweet-face’ but ‘Moon-face’ is appropriate too.”
She stepped close to where I knelt and rubbed her lovely cheeks into my face.
“Oh, Moon-face, we’re going to have lots of fun.”
On that note,
Michelle walked away grinning like a cruel cat at the knowledge of what she was doing to me, how she was worrying me. I was understanding the endless cycle my life was going to be. But the truth is that