Wednesday 15 February 2012

The Hotel part two (By Paladin)


Lyssa moves easily underneath me and her long boots whisper across the carpet. As we reach the entrance to the bedroom I smoothly draw her dark hair back. Her head rises but she tries to press on. Smiling I draw her head around to the right and flick the crop across her upper thigh. With a squeal of fright she turns quickly and comes around to face the bedroom.

I barely need to draw her hair back this time. She comes to a complete stop. I give her enough time for her eyes to adjust to darkened room beyond. “You will carry me obediently and smoothly across the room Pony. Most importantly you will carry me slowly.”

I release her hair and lean forward. I know her eyes are watching the crop held lightly in my other hand. I run the handle down her neck, across her chest and slide the crop down the bodice of her corset. Lyssa trembles the whole time and her nervous fear is as thrilling as her submission.

I place one hand between her shoulder blades, close my eyes and lightly touch her thighs with my heels.

I can sense the darkness around me as we move into the bedroom proper. With each step she takes over the carpet I can feel the play of her back muscles. They ripple, stretch and press the delicate skin of her back against the roughness of my hand. Her hips sway and roll under me and the curve of her spine is pressed against my groin.

Each steady, slow, step sends sparks up and down my spine. In the darkness I’ve never been more aware of Lyssa's body moving underneath mine. Her breathing is soft unlike the pounding in my chest and she seems to carry me so easily that I suddenly wish I could be heavier. So heavy, that I could hear her sob with the effort of every hard fought for movement.

I squeeze her waist with my legs and push myself deeper into her back until she gives a soft moan. I ease off the pressure and calm my breathing.

Lyssa comes to a halt and I can hear her breathing is a little quicker, not from effort I know but from anticipation.

I open my eyes almost reluctantly and take up her hair again. It feels softer than it did before. I reach around and ever so slowly draw the crop free.


Standing I open the door into the hallway that leads down the length of the hotel. On this floor there are only two suites in the front. The rest of the space is occupied with a wide landing for conference guests to gather and an exclusive dining lounge.

The lounge also has another little secret that as yet Lyssa was unaware of.

I mounted Lyssa and gathered her hair.

“How far are you going to ride me Master?”

I reached back and gave her backside a firm slap with the crop. She leapt forward, moving quickly and clearly understanding that I was not going to tolerate her stepping out of her role as my pony-slave.

Another slap and Lyssa reached her fastest stride. I rocked back and forwards, loving the feel of this girl giving her all.

The making of a Pony - Part 3 (By Henry)

She walked along with him, confused in her feelings.  Part of her wanted to run away back home where it was safe and she would be rid of these strange new feelings; while the greater desire was to stay by his side in the hopes that an opportunity to “test the waters” availed itself. 
Within the park were playgrounds for the small children, and as they passed one of the playgrounds some children were giving each other piggy-back rides while a few others were playing “horse” and giving “horsie rides” on all-fours rides with each other.  She studied their activity intently.  For the first time in her adult life she wondered how it might feel if a man, certainly not any man but possibly this man who was with her, were to sit on her back and ride her- with her on her hands and knees.  She flushed with sudden desire and also with embarrassment at the thought.  She could not ask that of this man, the impropriety was too great. Possibly however, she could goad him into permitting her to carry him “piggy-back”, maybe that was within reach.   
“The children seem to be having a lot of fun”, she said, not particularly to him, but as a general statement. 
“They certainly do; As a kid I remember giving and getting piggy back rides too”, he responded. 
Too far of a reach to just offer him a ride flat-out she thought.  “I had a few brothers who thought I was their personal horse and demanded rides all the time”, she said.  There was some truth to that statement she rationalized... it wasn’t a complete fabrication. 
“Just Brothers, no Sisters?”, he asked.
“Just Brothers, and they could be really rough on the only girl in the family.  This girl learned quickly that among a bunch of brothers you couldn’t act like a girl; They were always trying to get the better of me”.
“and how did they succeed?”, he asked… making a mental note that it would REALLY be a bad idea  to try something with this girl that wouldn’t be appreciated.
“Not well at all, I was too strong for them; but I did humor my younger brother with a piggy-back ride now and then” was her reply, skillfully redirecting the conversation back toward where she wanted it to go.
“Being younger, he was probably easy to carry” he responded.
There was her opening she thought, and she seized the moment.  “Not any harder to carry than you would be” she stated as she stopped and looked at him with a devilish smile.
“Is that an offer?” he asked, returning her invitation with his own advance.
 With that she turned, bent slightly at the waist, placed her arms out to catch his legs, and bending her knees she stooped down so he could mount her.  “Get on and we’ll see”, was her reply.
She took his weight easily as she knew she would; he felt lighter than the bags of livestock feed she had routinely carried back home, and he was a far more cooperative burden: with his arms around her shoulders and upper chest and his torso partially lying across her back; his legs resting easily on her forearms.  She thrilled at this opportunity to carry him.  It would be quite a while before she grew tired and she resolved to carry him as long as she could or until he objected. The moments grew to minutes, and the minutes to scores of minutes; still the delight in holding his weight and having him close against her remained unabated.  She reveled at the feeling of him pressing up against her and she loved the feeling of his arms around her.  His voice was now close and soft at her ear, his breath upon her shoulder;  he occasionally drew her hair away and kissed the nape of her neck.  It was too close, too intimate a feeling and she was not prepared for it and she was nearly overwhelmed by it.  If a simple piggy-back carry could do this to her, what might other types of carrying hold in store?

…………..

The children, some giving and some taking rides, had his attention also.  How he longed to ride this beautiful girl beside him… but how to approach the subject?  Certainly not now, possibly later that evening.  Surely he would find a way after several dates and when he did, he longed for her to be receptive to it.
He was a-tune to her initial mention of a piggy-back ride and the innuendo that it inferred.  Piggy-back rides weren’t his forte’, but a chance to have this beautiful girl carry him in such a manner would not be refused, still his intuition told him he was dreaming if he thought such an offer was in the offing; therefore, her offer to carry him caught him totally off guard.  He struggled with the realization of what was being offered, and barely managed his response.  That she would actually offer him this ride and then prepare herself to receive him was incognizable, but there she was, patiently waiting for him to ride her.
He mounted her back with trepidation and gently but firmly placed his arms around her shoulders and upper chest.  She took his legs and lifted him to her back, lightly jostling him a few times until she had adjusted his weight to her liking.
“There’s not much of you is there?” she had stated with a giggle.
“That’s right, pick on the skinny guy, I guess that means you can carry me all the way back to the parking lot?”, He challenged.
“And you think I can’t?”, she responded with her own challenge.
“I never said that, I suspect that if you choose, you probably can”, came his reply.
And with that, they had both set an unspoken goal for her, though the parking lot was quite a distance away.
To say that he enjoyed the ride back would be an understatement.  She moved freely and easily under him, and pressed up against her; he loved the feeling of her body moving under him.  He cherished her voice, her manner, the feel of her, the smell of her, the way she was soft to his touch, the way she carried him along: exuding confidence.  He loved to caress her, hold her, kiss her.  She was getting to him and he willingly surrendered to those  feelings.
The parking lot was finally, and regrettably, attained.  She had carried him for nearly twenty minutes and the task did not appear to be difficult for her.  He was amazed at her strength and he longed to pony ride her.  Though this piggy back ride wasn’t pony riding, it wasn’t that far off; especially when he had such a beautiful, competent girl carrying him.  He thought of the pony rides that, a few moments ago, had seemed so far from a reality and that suddenly, seemed much closer.  If only this had been a pony ride back to the parking lot his bliss would be complete.  He reasoned that, though pony riding this girl was still a far cry from a reality; the prospect of riding her in that way had just loomed much closer.

Monday 13 February 2012

The Hotel part one (By Paladin)

The soft leather of the deeply sprung chair did little to calm the rapid pounding of adrenalin through my body. I’m fidgeting despite being in the largest most sumptuously appointed hotel room I’ve ever been in. I try to relax and appear casual but even the view of the harbour’s lights through the French doors that lead out onto the balcony can’t distract me. In our second meeting Alyssa and I agreed to bring a surprise for each other. Alyssa had promised me mine first.

The hotel suite is divided into a separate lounge, bedroom and kitchen area. From where I’m sitting the doors leading into the bedroom are like a theatre wings. They frame the darkness beyond.

A velvet-gloved hand reaches out of the darkness and the lights around me lower. A shiver of excitement nearly takes me out of my seat. The hand gestures again and Patti Smith’s soft sensual tones drift through the softly lit room.

“Take me now baby here as I am
Pull me close, try and understand
Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe
Love is a banquet on which we feed”

My mouth is dry as a shadow dances slow and drifts like smoke through the darkened room. Slow and teasing the shadow moves towards me. The beat rises and my pulse moves with it.

“Come on now try and understand
The way I feel when I'm in your hands
Take my hand come undercover
They can't hurt you now,
Can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now”

The soft lights pick up the gleam of silver thread against royal blue material. My heart lurches as I realize Lyssa is wearing a fluted corset that accentuates her hourglass figure. Tall boots reach up over her knees and around her throat a silver bead drips from a velvet choker. Her dark hair is loose and flows wild as night over her bare shoulders. Wisps draw my eyes over her deep cleavage.

“Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to lust
Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to us”

She has a wicked smile and there’s a light in her eyes that spells pure trouble. Lyssa sways, her hands pressed against her thighs. “Well?” she murmurs.

“It’s…,’ I don’t have the words and she knows it.

Alyssa turns away and I notice her choice of lingerie clings tightly to all her curves. She looks back over her shoulder at me and that wicked smile reappears. “If you want to ride me you are going to have to catch me!”

I’m frozen long enough for her to slip into the darkness of the bedroom. The hunt is on.

I move quietly after her and pause. I can hear her breathing sharp and fast, clearly she’s as excited as I am. We both move, circling closer towards each other. Somewhere in the room she bumps into a piece of furniture and giggles. For all her playfulness Alyssa isn’t planning to submit easily though. This is a challenge and if she can she intends to win.

I sense her close and turn catching her tight in my arms. For a moment we’re pressed close, then we’re tumbling to the floor.
Lyssa is strong and determined and in the dark her quickness is an advantage. As we roll across the deep carpet I find myself flat on my back with her lying across me. She pushes forward and delicate, soft skin swells against my face. She has a wicked chuckle to match her smile.

I brace one leg and throw myself over and on top of her. Lyssa squeals in dismay and for a moment her arms remain locked around the back of my neck. As much as I enjoy being buried in her ample charms I want to win. I catch her elbows and push her arms forward and down to the carpet. She struggles but the weight of my upper body pressing down keeps her arms firmly pinned as I straddle her.

As I sit up on her stomach I can feel the firmness of her muscles and the ribbing of the corset beneath me. Lyssa bucks but I balance too well for that. She tries several more times then collapses. We haven’t spoken since the hunt began.

I run my hands up the sides of her body, over her breasts, along her arms to pin her wrists again. Then slowly I slide up her stomach, enjoying her rapid breathing. I pause, sitting on her lower ribs and Lyssa wriggles beneath me. If she thinks I’m done with her she’s mistaken. I move forward on to her breasts. My shins pin her arms down now.

Lyssa moans as my weight bears down.

I let her wrists go and straighten. She bucks without warning. Straining upwards, twisting and nearly unseating me, nearly.
When her fight subsides again I slide forward until her chin is pressed against my groin and my thighs frame her face.

“Submit,” I whisper.

In response her legs whip up, intending to cross my chest and fling me backwards. Unfortunately the stiffness of the corset defeats her and I’m able to grab her legs and lean forward, folding her up.

Lyssa growls and I feel her legs tense but she’s trapped.

“Submit.” I let her legs go and they drop to the floor.

Lyssa groans and the motion of her jaw against my groin is very distracting. “What will you do to me if I submit?” She sounds so innocent and uncertain.

“If you submit you get your surprise,’ I tease her and I can imagine her pouting.

She huffs, “I submit master, now can I have my surprise?”

I stand up and draw her to her feet. I can tell she’s surprised even without seeing her expression. I lead her quietly into the other room. Near the French doors I’ve placed a well-padded leather ottoman.

“Sit down.”

Lyssa looked suspiciously at the ottoman, then she nods thinking she understands. She sits, “would you like me to lie down master? Maybe you’d like me to lie down on my front?”

She turns and lies over the ottoman. Her knees rest comfortably on the carpet, her hands reach the carpet easily as well.

Smiling I straddle her back and run my hands over her shoulders and down her arms.

“That’s nice master,” Lyssa sighs.

Reaching beneath the seat I take a tie from a bathrobe and loop it around one wrist, then around the leg of the seat. I do the same to the other hand.
Without saying a word I reverse my position and run my hands across her backside and down each thigh. Alyssa giggles and wriggles under me. I tie each of her legs as I did for her wrists.

I dismount and walk over to the chair where I had so impatiently waited. Lyssa tried to watch my reflection but I kept my back to her as I took my surprise out of its hiding place. I kept it hidden as I walked back over to her and remount her back.

The reflection in the French doors is marvelous. I catch her hair and pull her head up sharply. “Who’s your master?”

“You are my master,” she gasps.

I move my other hand quickly and a whirr fills the air. Lyssa goes very still. I flick my wrist and this time the passage of my surprise clips the side of the ottoman. Lyssa flinches from the sound. Her back rises under me but the ties pull her straight back down.

She gasps as I allow the soft nubuck leather of my riding crop to trail teasingly across her back.

I run the crop over her backside, “and what are you?”

I can feel her tremble as the crop trickles down her arms. “I’m your pony slave master.”

“Are you slave?” Before she can answer I slap the crop against the side of the ottoman. Lyssa jumps, actually moving the ottoman a fraction. She remains firmly tied though.

Reaching back I give her backside the lightest of slaps with the crop. It’s more of a noise than any impact but Lyssa's reaction is instant. She bucks and twists throwing herself against me. It’s incredible feeling all her power helpless beneath me.

When she calms I dismount and untie her. Alyssa moves off the ottoman but even without me telling her she remains on all fours. I place the crop under her chin and very gently raise her eyes to mine. “Do you like my surprise pony?”

She can’t conceal the shiver that ripples through her body.

I remount her and let my full weight sink into her back. I can feel the slight tension in her and it’s thrilling. The crop is something new. I know she trusts me not to hurt her with it but she also knows I will use it to dominate her with.

I gather her hair in one hand and tap her thighs with my heels. 

The making of a Pony - Part 2 (By Henry)

For their first date he had chosen a park and suggested they walk together so they could get to know each other a bit more before going to dinner that evening.  She was very agreeable to that; she knew that you can’t get to know someone well at a movie or in a noisy club;  getting out of the house and in the open air with this interesting guy would be very agreeable.  He was peaking her interest, and she was really wanting an opportunity to get to know more about him, an afternoon in the park could provide that opportunity.
They walked and talked.  They talked of many things: where they worked, what their interests were; they both enjoyed the intimacy of their meeting.  As they walked he would occasionally touched her: touch her back, her arm, he took her hand.  The attention he lavished upon her was enjoyed and appreciated.  Their mood would change from  solemn to frivolity and back again and during one of the frivolous moments, he had kidded her and laughing, she had pushed him away in jest.  She was shocked at how easily she had moved him, was he really that light?  She found an opportunity to do it again, to see if she had just caught him off balance but no, that was not so; and the knowledge of this she found strangely delightful.  A group of mixed feelings began flooding her consciousness; did she want this man?, want him for her very own?, to have him?; not as in sex… at least not yet... but in what other ways?  She was surprised when she realized that she had a desire to pick him up and carry him.  Why was she thinking this way?  Did she think of him as one of her dolls back when she was a child?  This would not do; she was a woman and he a man; still he was turning out to be an interesting guy and his slight build compared to hers made her think it might be fun to carry him.  She was certain it would be easy for her to do so.  This was an entirely new feeling to her; one that she had not experienced with other men before.  She suppressed the desire, but as they walked along it kept re-surfacing.  The epiphany  finally came to her: women don’t lift and carry men because usually they can’t, not because there was something inherently wrong or evil with it.  In her situation and with him, this would not be a limiting factor and she decided that if an opportunity availed itself to try out this new revelation, she might use the opportunity to see how he would react.

……….

He had suggested an afternoon in the park together because he wanted to get to know this girl better.  Going to a movie or a noisy club, where they might sit side by side or dance without communicating wasn’t going to move their relationship along and he was very interested in getting to know this girl a lot better.  He had assumed a girl that jogged for exercise would relish an afternoon in the park and he was not incorrect in that assumption; especially when he discovered that she grew-up in the country.
He could not get over how beautiful this girl appeared and how she excited him.  When with her, he felt like a giddy school-boy.  As they walked, he took every opportunity to show her how interested he was in her.  He didn’t want to apply the “full court press” and push this girl toward a relationship before she was ready, but he wanted to leave no doubt in her mind that he was interested in her, very interested.
He refrained from taking “liberties” with her.  A gentleman does not treat a lady in that way, especially a woman he respects.  With this girl, “liberties” probably would not be appreciated and she was a big enough and powerful enough girl to make him regret it, had she a mind to.  He was cautious but attentive with this girl, offering any advances only when he was sure they would be willingly and eagerly reciprocated.  He was not a guy who took a girl out to “grope” her and see “ how far she would go”.  He wanted her to be comfortable with him and return his affection with her own.  From her manner, he could tell that he had her interest, it was just hard for him to assess how much.
Even with all this, he longed to back her up against a wall, press his body into hers, and kiss her amorously.  Even more, he wanted to guide her down onto her hands and knees, sit astride her back, and ride her.  He was not foolish enough to believe she would be receptive to either, at least not yet. 

Friday 10 February 2012

The making of a Pony - By Henry

Part One


*************

The image that stared back at her from the mirror emanated the confidence  of a girl who years ago,  had resolved to be satisfied with her appearance.  Had the almighty given her the ability, at a younger age she undoubtedly would have chosen to look vastly different, but with time she had learned that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” and she no longer gazed wistfully at the tall thin girls with the supposed “perfect” figures. 
Even if she had been born in an earlier time, when the standard of female beauty was a more full figured girl, she still would have been considered a robustly built, strong, sturdy girl.  Currently, with New York fashion defining beauty as tall, shapeless, anorexialy thin women with oversize breasts; her form was so far removed from this standard that she would naturally be referred to in most circles as “unattractive”; some would even refer to her as “fat”, though she knew that was incorrect: there was very little fat on her body.  Had she grown up in the city where she currently lived, she might now have a build that was somewhat more slight than that which she currently possessed.  Growing up in the country, where the livestock needed tended and fed and many strenuous chores required daily attention, had given her a robust physique, a physique which her body naturally tended toward anyway.   She wasn’t overly tall.  At five foot ten inches she near the height of many men; and though she was a big, impressively strong  girl; at least she wasn’t perceived as a giant when she stood next to the average man.
The man she was meeting today though a few inches shorter than herself, was still within a “tolerable” range she had rationalized to herself.  She had taken to running as a way to keep in shape, now that her daily routine was remiss of the exercise she used to naturally get back home. On her normal route and routine she had probably jogged past him many times and she couldn’t remember exactly when she started to take notice of him.  She had only become aware of him because he seemed to always take note of her as she passed.  This puzzled her at first because he seemed to be a most unlikely match for her; for as strong and sturdy as she was, he was the diametric opposite: thin and wiry with a light frame; almost frail in appearance when compared to her.  He had stopped her not long ago and asked her to meet him for coffee. 
That brief meeting had already occurred; sort of a “pre-date on neutral ground” as he had described it with a laugh “to determine if they could tolerate being near each other for a longer meeting”; and at the conclusion of this “pre-date” and by mutual consent, they had decided that a “real date” was in order.  This guy was clever, and he had wit and humor, and it might prove to be interesting to spend some time with him; still he was a far cry from the big, gorgeous, “hunk” that she dreamed about meeting and hopefully marrying some day.  None the less, there was something about him that fascinated her.  He was built so differently from the type of man she had been thinking about that the fact that she was even interested in dating him puzzled her.  There was something else about him that interested her, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on too… well, at any rate,  she knew she would get to know this guy a little better and spend some time with him.  Men weren’t exactly beating her door down to date her,  and being a pragmatic girl, she figured that a date or two with this guy had to be better than sitting at home forever, waiting for “Mr. Right”.
…………………
He had to admit to himself that he looked forward with eager anticipation to his daily visit with the client on the far side of the industrial campus.  On the days when the weather even remotely allowed, he chose to walk the distance as opposed to drive; after all, the distance was only a mile and getting out into the open air was a welcomed change from the close-in office environment. As much as he enjoyed the outing though, he knew he wasn’t fooling himself; at least ever since he had spotted “her” that day, jogging down the same path he took.  Since that day he had attempted to synchronize his walk so that she would pass him somewhere on the path. 
What had started out as a innocent walk in the fresh air had turned into iterative attempts to catch a glimpse of her .  And why would he not want to?  She was the most impressive, beautiful woman he had seen in quite a while.  In a world where feminine beauty had been turned “upside down”, here was a girl that epitomized everything that he sought in his definition of a “beautiful girl”.  She had a gorgeous, round face and a flawless complexion; she had dazzling blue eyes and long jet-black hair: a combination that isn’t seen every day; but that wasn’t what attracted him to her.  What really caught his attention was her physique.  Here was a big, strong, powerfully built girl who seemed to be very at ease with herself.  She didn’t have the rippling muscles of a weight lifter (he wasn’t really into that), but she certainly wasn’t fat;  she had “all the right curves” in “all the right places” and he couldn’t help but be attracted to her.  He wasn’t a big guy himself, but he knew what he admired in women.
As she ran along she moved with a sure, easy stride, as if she could just go running along indefinitely.  At first, she hadn’t appeared to notice him and that didn’t surprise him.  Why should she?  His physique was the extreme opposite of hers.  At five foot eight inches but only one hundred twenty five pounds, he had been the root of endless ridicule to the jocks in High School. Jeers of “skinny” and “bean pole” followed him down the halls when he was in school.  Here in the office the people exhibited a bit more maturity, the women were smiling and kind, but few had been interested in dating him.  He couldn’t help how he looked;  he was the result of his genetics. Had he known that the same girls that ridiculed him for his slight build in High School would, in twenty years as their husbands put on endless pound after pound, admire him for his physique; he would have undoubtedly felt better about himself.  Had he known that at 40 years of age he would finally fill out as he should have in High School and weigh a respectable 145 lbs., staying at that weight for the rest of his life , he might have had a better feeling regarding his build; but all that was in the unforeseeable future.
On this day, all of that was out of his mind as she came around the curve and approached him. He couldn’t help but watch her as she ran toward him, such a beautiful woman needed to be admired.  A few weeks ago she had finally caught his stare, but she took it for the friendly smile for which it was intended and she had instinctively retuned a smile of her own.  He didn’t read anything into this, it was common to return a smile from a complete stranger with a smile yourself, that was in the culture.  Still, since that day, she had not failed to acknowledge him when they passed, and his smile was always returned with the same; nothing to read into this, just a pretty girl showing politeness to a stranger. 
This day however, would be different.  He wasn’t a school boy anymore and he chided himself for acting and thinking like one.  What was the worst thing that could happen?  She would reject him.  He’d been rejected before and probably would be again.  “Stop being so foolish about this”, he told himself;  so as she approached he crossed in front of her and motioned for her to stop.  He heard his voice ask her to join him for coffee at an appointed place and time, and he heard her reply to the affirmative. 
As they say in baseball, ”You don’t get hits if you don’t swing at the ball”.  Well, he had “bunted to first”, as they say.  It remained to be seen just how far this endeavor might go.
He was waiting at the coffee shop when she arrived.  She ordered her coffee and then sat across from him at the table in the cafe.  She was such an impressive girl;  he longed to pony ride her;  it had been in the for-front of his thoughts ever since he had  first seen her.  She was a girl built for riding;  of this he was convinced.  Her strong back, tapering down from her shoulders to a thinner but not that thin waist would be a delight to sit upon; and her strong shoulders, arms, hips, and thighs could carry him effortlessly and endlessly, for long enjoyable rides.  Convincing her to consent to the riding would be his dilemma.  He could hardly “wrestle her down” and sit on her “in the fun of the moment” as has he had done with a few other women.  That had worked before, but this girl probably outweighed him by a third of his own weight, and all of that appeared to be muscle.  He would lose a wrestling match with her were he to try and  he couldn’t count on her to  let him win;  she didn’t appear to be the kind of girl that would submit in that way.  No, she would need to be persuaded that she wanted him to ride her, but how could that be accomplished?
All that being said, she was a pleasing girl and a bright conversationalist.  Even without the riding, she had a certain appeal that attracted him to her.  He definitely wanted to meet with her again; he would figure out the “riding” later.

Thursday 9 February 2012

Beneath the ruins of Adiranthe - Part 6b

Eleria sulked along silently through lit corridors and long hallways, flanked by four of the chalky-skinned, misshapen Goblins, keeping a careful eye on the route they took and any distinguishing features she saw. She noted that they too could move in silence when they wanted.

She wondered what would happen today. Hopefully it would amuse her host to have her clean floors or armour or something like that, still 'subservient', but she could keep her focus and handle him laughing at her without becoming enraged if she tried, she thought.

She was also scanning for hiding places. An improbable idea went through her brain - knock out the food-goblin, leave it locked in her "cell", move from hiding spot to hiding spot until she found a way out. But then there was the problem of the magical barrier, which she would need Kardan's "ward stone" to bypass. That would mean... probably stealing the magical pendant from around Kardan's neck.
Unless the loose stone in her little room led to anything...

The Goblins herded her into... what looked to be, or have been, a soldiers or workers mess hall. Several buckets of warm water sat on the very messy floor next to the very messy table.
Eleria glowered. She heard the odd almost coughing sound that was the goblins' laughter. But part of her was relieved. She released a breath, realising that she'd been holding it and that her heart rate had been up.

She was left alone, but with two of the creatures standing guard outside in the hallway. She considered her chances against them, but decided that it would be too risky, better to try one of the other two options first, tonight or tomorrow morning.
"I should just kick these over and refuse to be his scullery maid," she said aloud. Then she sighed and got to it. Might as well not invite more punishment just yet.

Stay calm, Eleria told herself as she cleaned the mess of Goblin-food, dirt and worse off the table and floor. Let him wonder what was going on in her head, not let him bait her.
The work at least gave her something to do other than think, and she ignored the little voice in her head that laughed at her saying she was acting like a good little slave girl, and instead threw herself into the task, feeling her sore muscles protest and then warm up as she scrubbed and washed.
However, her vigor meant that the cleaning was all finished sooner than she would have thought, and she sat on one of the chairs, wondering what next.
She waited... and waited. Eventually she stood up and began to pace the floor, her treacherous mind beginning again to replay the scenes from yesterday. The unspoken question of what might happen with the rest of today burned higher in her mind. Would he...?

"Arrgh!" She threw one of the buckets to the ground in frustration, making a noisy clatter. The Goblins peered around the door, but seeing her then just turn and pace the floor once more, they made no comment and went back to their watch.
A few more moments passed, in tension. Eleria sat down to rest.

Heavy footsteps approached, just outside the door! She sat up straight, her mouth going dry, her skin prickling, the blood pounding through her veins in reaction, despite her earlier promises to herself that she would remain calm and aloof and deal with him with a cool head. Adrenaline pulsed through her, a deep pulse clicking through her veins.
She heard him hiss commands to the Goblins in their own strange language for a moment. Then the door thudded open! She jumped to her feet, staring at him defiantly, wild eyed.


Kardan stopped in the doorway, seeing her primed and agitated, chest rising and falling visibly with her quickened breath, those eyes staring intensely into his. Something primal clicked inside of him at the sight. A rush of adrenaline went through him. The game was on!
"Come to me, pony," he teased with a smile, "play-time..."
Her eyes flashed and she threw her cleaning rag at him, followed by a bucket when he avoided the rag. He ducked, then laughed as she bolted past him in an attempt to make it out the door. He caught her around the waist and hauled her back.
"Uh uh..."
Anything else he might have said was lost as Eleria hooked a foot around behind his knee and hauled hard at his left arm, using her full weight, tripping them both so that they sprawled on the ground. She came down on top, and she scrambled to recover first, intending to drive the breath from him if she could.
But he recovered swiftly, grabbed her and rolled, driving her to the ground with a thud. She gasped and he slid up and planted his weight hard on her abdomen.
Her legs swept up high, and then around him, forcing him backwards.He grabbed at her legs. They rolled on the floor, struggling for dominance.

Adrenaline surged through her, lent her strength, sharpened her senses. She got half free, saw an opening, grabbed his dark hair and pulled, scissoring her legs tight around his chest and throat. A sharp thrill went through her, she'd managed to at least temporarily overwhelm her powerful opponent!
"Ouch!" he said in surprise, and laughed. He grabbed Eleria's legs and unfortunately for her was able to overpower her hold with the sheer strength of his arms, muscles standing out under the skin as he peeled her legs apart and away from his body.

Stunned at his strength, Eleria abandoned the attempt to push back against his arms and instead tried to slither and jerk her legs from his grasp, kicking and wriggling, instinct telling her to get free before she could attack again.
She felt a thrill again when she managed it and surged forward, scrambling on all fours, then managing to get back to her feet!

But her success was short lived. With an agility that belied his size, he sprang up and tackled her to the floor from behind, landing on top of her, slamming her wrists down.
Eleria gasped at the impact of her body under his on the rush-matted floor, then growled in frustration.
Kardan laughed, sat up so he could straddle her back as she lay prone, and grabbed her arms, drawing them back behind her in a way that put serious stretch and strain on her muscles, bending her under him, eliciting a gasp.

"Do you give?" he growled.
"Never!" Eleria wriggled and tried to shove upwards under him.
Kardan grinned, she was still fighting. He drew her trapped arms back further.
"Submit to me," he commanded. Eleria moaned but refused to speak.
Further still he pulled her arms back behind her. She gasped, high pitched.
"Submit!"
Goddess, was he going to pull her arms from their sockets??! She snarled and gave in.
"Have it your way," she hissed.
The pull on her arms eased just a little. "That's not very respectful," he teased. "Say my name."
"Goblin breath!"
He didn't bother answering that one, just re-tightened his grip until the thief-girl was gasping with the sharp discomfort and spoke through gritted teeth.
"Master," she hissed, grudgingly.
"Very good."
Kardan loosed her arms, raised himself just enough and turned her over, then sat astride her belly, sinking into her a little, pinning her arms. And looked down at her.
"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" he taunted. She looked up at him, breathing hard, refusing to speak. She pushed her belly up against his backside.
"Goblin breath," she whispered again, and suddenly she smiled a little, half glaring, half smiling. It was almost like an invitation to play.

"Naughty pony," he said, with a grin, and bounced a little on her stomach. She gasped but seemed to take the cue, bucking her backside and belly up and down. He pressed heavily into her, liking the feel of the movements.
Eleria wasn't done yet. She shoved hard and high, bridging her body under him, lifting him, and tried to push him off to the side. But Kardan managed to react quickly, defeating the dismount. For a long moment they struggled, Eleria fighting to dismount him, to catch his leg with hers to try and assist the attempts.
She nearly managed it a couple of times, giving her renewed energy and determination! But nearly was not the same as victory, and eventually Eleria lay quiet on the floor with her antagonist still sitting on her stomach.

Kardan slid his fingers through hers as they rested on the floor, locking her hands tight.
"Well, that was definitely what I'd call disobedience," he said with a dark, teasing smile, "what am I going to do with my pony slave now, hmmm?"
Her shiver could be felt clearly against his legs and backside as they pressed firmly against her.

*******

The end for now. Imagine a curtain coming down between this chapter and the one soon to be published. (The old Chapter Seven is no more.)