Saraya's Bet - Chapter 1

On re-reading this, I noticed that I kind of borrowed an idea from Kanashii. Sorry, Lady K! But it's too much a part of the story to remove.
Here it is, re-published.

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It was early evening in the Brazilian countryside and the atmosphere was hot and buzzing. The town parade, a yearly festival the entire region looked forward to, was tonight. The big farmstead of Cavalo Preto was already half in party swing even just getting ready; the women were already dressed up for the night and many of the men were ready too. Noise, talk, banter, music, the sounds of horses and the smell of them and their leather and of smoke, all blended into a loud and festive atmosphere.

One of the riders, Miguel, a boisterous larrikin and well known fellow of the region, aged nearly forty, was warming up a large black Friesian horse of striking appearance, trying to get him into a rhythmic trot-dance; the horse was side stepping and snorting and dancing at all of the noise. Many of the horses going in the parade later would be rearing and bucking and there would be much laughter as their riders tried to get them under control (or fell off!)

Some of the guys and a few younger women sat on the fence around the little paddock, watching and calling out advice and jeering at their friend.
"He should throw your butt back where it belongs" jeered one older teenager. This caused much laughter around the ring.
"Yeah, that would be fun," called out one young woman's voice, strong and derisive and not entirely joking. "It's not like that's real horse dancing, anyways. I've seen my six year old nephew do it better!"
"Saraya!" hissed another girl, trying to shush her.
Miguel laughed, a deep rich laugh and turned the big Friesian to face the young woman who had baited him. "Really?" he said, apparently unpreturbed. He reined the big black horse and with a touch of his spurs, made it rear in front of her.
Saraya tossed her long dark hair and glared at him. "You do not impress me! The younger kids perhaps, but not anyone with half a brain! I agree with the boy - the horse should throw your butt in the dirt!"
"Saraya, you should not have had wine, it has made you mad, you know his family could call in your daddy's debt...!" hissed the other girl next to her. But too late.
Miguel's eyes darkened in his swarthy face, then they lightened and he let out a hearty laugh. "Maybe you can get what you want in both ways," he said with a grin. "Want to get rid of your debt, little girl?"
Saraya's eyes flashed with anger at being called "little girl", she was fully eighteen and thought very highly of herself, and was very short-tempered and stubborn as well. And she loathed this man for being part of the gambling scam that had gotten her family into debt.
"I am just as much adult as you are, probably more, and would welcome any chance to get rid of this debt which my family should never have been subjected to in the first place," she hissed.
"If you could win free of the debt by seeing me get thrown in the dirt as you apparently wish, my lovely, would you?"
"And just how would that be possible?" Saraya said with a sneer.
"Honey, you get to throw me in this dirt yourself, right here and now!"

All of the males who were watching laughed.
Saraya did not. "Is that another joke? Or do you mean it? I throw you, you wipe out the debt? As simple as that?"
"I mean every word," said Miguel with a grin. "You get down on all fours and I sit on your back. If you can throw me, as I know you wish to, I shall wipe out the debt. Everyone here has heard my words, so I can't go back on it."
"Saraya, don't!" hissed the other girl next to her.
But Saraya wasn't listening, she was loyal to her family and this sounded easy. She was stronger than she looked, and she was not some dumb horse, it should be easy to throw this annoying man off her back and wipe clear a debt that her family should never have been subjected to. The two glasses of wine she'd had earlier lent fire to her blood as she nodded.
"Then I accept! I shall enjoy making a fool of you!"
Miguel's black eyes flashed with amusement and fire and he held out his hand. Solemnly the dark-haired girl shook it.

"What about if she loses, Uncle Miguel?" laughed a sixteen year old boy from elsewhere on the fence.
"I'll tell about that in a moment, but I won't add to the debt too much," Miguel said with a smile. "I am always magnanimous in victory. I certainly won't ask her to make love with me, it would be like making love with a viper!"
"As if I would ever accept such an outdated, abusive proposal!"  Saraya snapped in response.

Miguel laughed. "You're about to be a lot closer to me than you would like," he said. "Get down off that fence, horsie girl. Time for our little ride." He handed the reins of his horse to one of the other guys.
Saraya blushed, realising that she would indeed have to let this hated man ride on her back in front of everyone. That was embarrassing. But it was the only way. She tossed her dark hair and threw off her little jacket, leaving her in denim shorts and a fitted t-shirt, and jumped down from the fence.
"It will be fun to see you in the dirt," she spat and slithered down into an all fours position, waiting.

Miguel surveyed her. She was one of the most gorgeous girls in the region - if not for her constant viper tongue and misplaced superiority and complete lack of warmth or humour, which had kept the boys away from her. Her body was firm and lithe, slender where it mattered, but curvy and ripe in all the right areas, and her thighs and shoulders looked strong like a dancer's. She looked rather wonderful on all fours, her back had an inviting, natural downward arch which also made her firm behind look even lovelier and more round, and he smiled at the anticipation of riding her.
He swung his quirt through the empty air as he stood beside her, making her jump. Then he swung one foot over - realising he still had his spurs on, and amused at the thought - and sat carefully down astride her back.

Her back bent a little under him and he lifted his feet up straight away, letting her feel his full weight, enjoying the feeling of him pressing into her, so close, fitting into the curve of her back, his legs around her, somehow the feeling was very intimate. The onlookers were laughing and yelling out amusing advice, but his blood was suddenly pounding in his veins at just how good this felt.

He was a strong and fit man, not overweight but definitely not feather light at 175lbs, and he could tell she could really feel it and that it wasn't as easy as she had perhaps thought, her breathing quickening as she held his full weight. He made no move to make it easier, his feet off the floor and his knees around her, and he gave an experimental little bounce. Her back flexed and rebounded a little under him.

"Well little mare, now you get to try to throw me, and if you manage it, I wipe all the debts. If not, I get to ride you instead of my big Friesian in the parade, an' you still owe me..."
Even distracted by the tough job of carrying his weight, Saraya blushed beetroot red at the thought. It would be utterly humiliating, everyone in the streets would be laughing at her and cheering him, she'd be a total laughingstock. She had to throw him!!

He wound one hand tightly in her long black hair, tightened his knees and thighs around her ribs enough to make her gasp, then brought his quirt down on her shorts-clad buttocks with a loud whack. Saraya yelped and lurched upward in a half rear, pulled and goaded both at once. Miguel leaned forward and dug his spurs into her thighs, not hard enough to cause damage, but enough to make her gasp and propel herself forward!

Whoops and catcalls sounded from the onlookers as the girl started bucking and lurching under him, trying to throw him off her back!
She soon discovered that simply bucking her back up and down was just producing an energetic undulating movement, which was very easy to ride. He clamped his legs around her and the quirt came down again, and she span, trying to make her body do what she'd thought she would be able to do, trying to leap and turn and buck in circles like the rodeo broncs. But his weight hampered her far more than she'd thought and he moved with her, making it near impossible to throw him, even when he wobbled he managed to stay on and regain control. His spurs jabbed her again, once, twice, almost as if to taunt her. The onlookers laughed.

Desperate not to lose, breathless, humiliated and embarrassed, Saraya slowed down and tried to make her brain think rather than just blindly reacting. What else could she do??
She tried rearing over backwards; this was stymied by Miguel throwing his weight forward against her upper back and shoulders so that she fell back to all fours instead and nearly went down. Then she tried charging forward as fast as she could - a very fast crawl, she didn't even think to try cantering - and then she stopped suddenly and dropped the front half of her body.
This almost, ALMOST worked. The man's weight shot forward along her back... but he managed to stop himself coming off and hauled himself back into position astride her.
Saraya bucked half heartedly a few times more, then stood still, panting, totally out of breath, her limbs trembling after the wild exertion with the weight of a grown man on her back. It had only taken minutes but she had no energy left, her muscles burned and her body longed to have the weight gone.
Miguel sat upright astride her, used her hair to pull her head up and back, and raised his whip hand victoriously into the air, to the whoops and cheers of the onlookers.

A Chance Encounter Revisited Chp 2 by Paladin

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She began moving a little more quickly than before, a kind of jolting bouncy movement. I made no effort to stop myself from bouncing up and then landing solidly on her back. I loved the feeling of my butt dropping into the curve and feeling her struggle to steady herself and to keep moving. Without warning her gait changed, from a bouncy, scrabbling she began to move more smoothly. Her canter was a slow rolling motion that gave me a pleasurable little slide up then down her spine.

I wrapped my legs around her waist to feel her stomach muscles push against me and let her carry on until she slowed naturally. My ponygirl came to a halt, her head dropped, her arms trembled and her breathing was fast. I put my feet on the ground and began bouncing softly in the centre of her back. She gasped and struggled to stay upright. Laughing I lifted my feet back up off the ground and then draped my legs over her shoulders. I leant back and rested my hands on her backside.

“Now try rocking slowly backwards and forwards,” I instructed.

I felt her shift her hands forward, stretching a little under me. She rocked very slowly forward, dipping down a little as she did so. Then back onto her haunches so that if my hands hadn’t been firmly pressed to her backside I might have tipped off. I let her do this a few times then told her to stop.  “Can you see my legs?”

I felt her head turn to look, “Yes,” she replied. I could hear the effects of the recent physical exertion in her voice and felt a thrill pass through me. This was the point where riding a girl became more than just a physical pleasure.  “Kiss each calf,” I ordered. She paused but then I felt her lips press against my skin. Her head turned and she repeated the kiss on the other leg. I slung my legs back over and was once more sitting astride her. I gathered up her long hair and turned her head back towards the water. I tapped her thighs firmly with my heels and she set off. I deliberately rode her into the shallows, not stopping as the water swirled around her hands and knees. I reined her in just as the water lapped against her elbows and thighs.

I leant forward, “how does that feel?”

“Fricken cold,” she laughed.

“Stay still,” I instructed her.

“Why?” she started to ask and then squealed as a larger wave swept forward, sweeping across her chest, stomach and upper thighs. She reacted by struggling under me, bucking and twisting. I rode her, controlling her head and curbing her movements until she was again still. “Back up onto the beach!” She obeyed instantly, carrying me smoothly as if she’d never thought of resisting. Once up onto the smooth white sand I reined her to a halt. She was tired now. I could feel it in her movements and in the deeper curve of her back while she waited for my next command. I allowed my full weight to sit deep into her back then pulled her head sharply up. I could see a trickle of sea-water run down her throat to join the drops outlining her full curves.

“Now pony you’re going to close your eyes and we’ll see how much you’ve learnt.” I waited until her eyes closed and then released her head. I lightly touched my heels to her thighs and she moved forward. Light touches to her hair had her moving in a long figure eight. I shifted my weight backwards and she came to a halt.

“Arch your back, now dip as deeply as you can. Do it again but this time as slowly as possible.” She obeyed as best she could pushing my whole weight up and then gradually back down. At the lowest point I made her stop. I moved up onto her hips and let myself slide down her back. She collapsed to the sand with an “oof.”

“Up!” I ordered and repeated the whole process. She collapsed again. This time I turned her over and straddled her stomach. “Bucking now!” She bounced me up and down on her stomach until her butt it the sand and stayed there. I moved up until I was sitting just below her chest. She breathed deeply and I enjoyed the view. “Now we’ll try again.” I got up and watched as she rolled over and got onto all fours. I straddled her back and she slowly pushed me up then dropped down. I moved to her hips and slid heavily down. Her arms shook valiantly but again collapsed.

Without a word from me she turned over. I stepped over her then positioned her arms to best suit me before lowering myself onto her chest, my shins pinning her arms down. Before I could order her she began to slowly buck, her soft curves pushing up against my backside, her wet bikini top soaking through my shorts.  She stopped but I could still feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed deeply.

I slid forward until my thighs framed her face. “Do you know what you have to do now?”

She looked up at me with bright green eyes, then smiled and nodded. I wasn’t sure if the motion was deliberate but as her chin moved up and down me I was fairly certain it was. She turned her head as kissed my inner thigh then turned her head and kissed the other. 

“Do you think I’ve ridden you properly now?” I asked.

She frowned, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Umm because you’ve ridden me until I collapsed and then you sat on me and I had to kiss your thighs.”

“That’s a very good answer,” she smiled at that. “But it’s not the right answer.” I got up and watched as she sat up.

“Why isn’t it the right answer?”

“I’ll show you,” I replied. I snapped my fingers and pointed. She sighed and moved onto her hands and knees. Taking a chance I placed my right foot on her back between her shoulder blades and slowly pushed downwards. She resisted at first but then allowed herself to be forced down until her lips touched my other foot. She kissed it hesitantly but when she tried to rise I held her there.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“Obey me,” I told her. I waited and then felt her lips again. After a moment I felt her tongue touch the top of my foot. “That’s fantastic,” I whispered. Encouraged she became more adventurous licking the length of my foot then kissing and flicking her tongue against my skin.

I lifted my right foot off her back but her head stayed down and quickly transferred her lips and tongue. I caught her hair and lifted her head to look at me. “What do you want?” I demanded.

She looked up at me and smiled, “I want to obey you,” she said. I felt fire rush along my nerves.

 “Why do you want to obey me?” I asked my voice growing hoarse with excitement.

“Because I want you to ride me. I want to be your pony girl.”

“What do you want me to be?”

She rocked forward until she was again on all fours. Her back curved enticingly, inviting me to mount but I waited. She looked up and smiled at me. “I want you to be my rider. I want your weight on my back, your hands in my hair and your heels against my thighs. I want you to sit on me when I fail.” Her smile grew more wicked, “and I want to feel how excited you are when I’m kissing and licking your body.”

I mounted her quickly, dropping my weight down onto the delicious curve of her magnificent back. She dipped under my weight and then bounced me playfully up and down. I caught her hair in my hand and pulled her head back. I ran my fingers lightly down her jaw, tracing her throat and then across her breasts. She trembled under me. “Now my bikini ponygirl, now I’m going to ride you!”

A Chance Encounter Revisited, by Paladin (Chp 1)

A Chance Encounter Revisited Chp 1

“Are you here to surf or just to perv?”

I pushed myself up onto one elbow and shaded my eyes to better see the young woman standing about a metre away.  She was athletically built with sea-drenched, blond hair sending interesting drops of water running down her shoulders to slip across sun bronzed curves. Her sky blue bikini accentuated her soft curves and tantalising muscle tone.

Aware of my scrutiny she reacted by placing her hands on her hips in a challenging way rather than getting embarrassed. I smiled, “I’m here to have some time out, read and relax. Perving at surfer girls is just a bonus.”

She grinned at that and pushed a loose strand of hair off her face. “It’s a bit early for you family types to be turning up to this beach. We normally get this section to ourselves for a good month or so.”

“Family types eh? Shouldn’t you be in a classroom somewhere?”

“Uni’s been out for a couple of weeks now,” she replied.

“Well that’s what happens when us old, family types forget our glasses.” I laughed and she relaxed a bit more. Mentally I compared her to the young red-head I ridden a couple of months earlier in a hotel. The surfer girl was a bit taller, not as toned but with more curves. Her hair streamed down her back and the thought of it gripped tightly in my hand made me smile.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked with the kind of grin that let me know what she was assuming.

“Something very different from what you would be guessing.” I told her. “Nothing dangerous,” I added with a laugh. 

“Coke,” I offered her a can from my chilly bin. She looked it over carefully then sat down.

“Doesn’t look like it’s been tampered with so I doubt I’ll wake up in the boot of your station wagon.”

I roared with laughter. “It’s a sports car so no boot and it’s a convertible so I couldn’t even tie you to the roof. Sorry but it looks like calories are about the worst that I can do.”

She smiled and took a long drink while I looked along the empty beach. “You don’t surf alone do you?”

She rolled her eyes, “I’m a big girl now dad and I’ve been surfing this beach since I was 10.” She looked at me a bit more intently, “so if you’re not planning on drugging me and selling me off into slavery what are you planning to do?”

I shrugged, “clearly I didn’t plan well enough ahead when it comes to the whole abduction/slavery thing but I did bring a book and I did leave my phone behind.”

“Boring,” she decided. “You must be able to have more fun than that?”

I sat up further and made eye contact, “I can have a lot more fun than that but…,” I let the silence gather, knowing she would fill it.

“But what?” she raised a cheeky eyebrow.

“But my idea of fun requires a very specific type of personality.”

“I don’t get it,” she took another drink.

“Well most people would say they look for someone attractive, like yourself,” she smiled at that. “But I look for inner strength. For someone who seeks a challenge, and who wants to push their understanding of themselves. A person with a spark of difference.”

She bit her lip and looked a little nervous. “I’m not sure if that’s me,” she said.

I shrugged, “maybe, maybe not. Clearly though your very independent and willing to take challenges. I met a girl about your age a couple of months ago she kind of stumbled into the situation but it fired up her competitive nature.” I smiled at the memory. “In the end she loved the experience and I doubt she’s forgotten it.”

She rocked forward onto her knees, moving closer to me. I tried very hard not to let my gaze wander down to her bikini top. “Tell me what it is.”

“Ponyplay.”

She frowned, obviously not sure what I meant.

“I enjoy riding women like they’re ponies.”

“You mean like on all fours?”

“Yes the girl is on all fours and I sit on their back and ride them.”

“Weird.” She glanced over her shoulder as if imagining me sitting on her back. “Why do you like that?”

“I love the feel of a woman’s back under me. The way their backs curve down from the hips then up under me rising to their shoulders. The movement of muscles against me as they walk or canter. I love the sounds my ponies make as they first take the strain of my weight settling on them and the gasps as I urge them on when they start to tire. Then there’s the trembling in their limbs as they reach the edges of their stamina but have to continue. For some riders that’s more than enough. Most of all though I love the battle for submission.”

I sat back and drank some of my coke to give her time to absorb what I’d said. Time to make her excuses and leave if she now wanted to. She stayed so I continued.

“When I first ride a pony girl she tries to carry me not realising that that’s not a true pony ride. After a while she begins to feel my commands, my heels on her thighs, my hand on her backside and my grip on her hair and she starts to follow them but inwardly she still feels that she is in control. Then I begin to truly ride her.”

The surfer girl was watching me intently now, her can of coke forgotten.

“Once my pony girl is pushed beyond the point where she would normally stop, when she is physically challenged to the edge of her stamina that’s when she begins to realise that I am riding her and she is no longer ‘carrying’ me. Then every shift of my body, every change of position or a simple word becomes all she thinks about.”

“So then she’s submitted to you,” she said.

“Nearly,” I replied. “True submission comes when she struggles for every step and her backs bows deeply under me but she craves every command I give her. Some have begged me to ride them even as their arms are collapsing.”

“What about the girl a couple of months ago?”

“She was physically very strong and fought longer than most can and she was also very strong willed. To show that she’d truly submitted to me she had to beg me to let her submit before I allowed it.” I savoured the memory of my red haired pony girl glistening with perspiration as she collapsed to the roof-top mats. She’d rolled onto her back so that I could straddle her heaving chest and she had punctuated each of her pleas for mercy with a soft kiss or touch of her tongue to my inner thighs.

 “I’m not even sure if I could hold you’re weight,” she said a little hesitantly.

“Would you like to try? If it’s too hard you only have to say so and we’ll stop.”

“How do we start?” she asked.

“Alright lets find a nice smooth patch of sand.” I led her to a space free of any sticks or shells. “Now kneel down then move onto all fours.”

She dropped to her knees and then rocked forward onto all fours. I waited while she settled her hands. “Should I hold my back really tight and arched?” She asked.

“No that’s not necessary, just keep your back in it’s normal position and as I lower my weight here,” I put my hand on the lovely curve of her back,  “just tighten your muscles until you feel comfortable holding me up.”

I admired the lovely shape she made before stepping over her. I placed one hand between her shoulder blades and felt her shiver with anticipation. I lowered myself slowly, until I was just resting on her back. “I’m gong to keep lowering my weight now, okay?” She nodded and I sat down, more and more until I lifted my feet off the ground and all my weight was resting in the lovely natural saddle of her back.

“How does that feel?” I asked.

“Nowhere near as hard as I thought. Did I make a sound when you first sat on me?”

I smiled, she was already challenging herself, measuring her performance against my earlier description. “I’ll tell you later,” I answered. “Do you think you can move?”

She responded by taking a few small steps forward then stopped. “How was that?’

“Pretty impressive actually. If you’re feeling brave lets try something a little harder?”

“Okay. Are you actually enjoying this?’

“Shhh,” I gathered her long hair up into my right hand then gave her thighs a light tap with my heels. She moved forward slowly then as I tugged gently on her hair she turned right, then back to the left. Before I could pull back on her hair she stopped. “Alright?” I asked.

“Sorry I thought you wanted me to stop.”

“That’s okay. Lets try something else. How high can you arch your back?”

She pushed me up high and then dropped back down. I laughed loving the feel of the curve of her back as I slid back down into it. Instinctively she did it again, “I’m bucking like a horse,” she said with a laugh. As she dipped I pulled her head back more firmly. Her back curved ever more under me and she let out a delightful gasp. I let my blond rein slip through my fingers and tapped her thighs. She moved at an even pace allowing me to thoroughly enjoy the feel of her body under mine. 

I gently guided her so that we moved steadily towards the shore. As the sand grew firmer I gave her backside a little smack. My surfer ponygirl squealed but moved faster. I reined her in as the first wave lapped against her hands.

“Buck,” I instructed her. She hesitated then bounced me vigorously up and down. When she stopped I could feel her ribs expanding against my calves as she breathed deeply.

“This gets tiring pretty quickly doesn’t it?” She asked me.

I stayed sitting comfortably on her back.

“Am I still carrying you or are you riding me now?” She asked when I didn’t respond.

“You’ve done amazingly well to carry me so far and I think you’d make an incredible ponygirl. You’re strong, powerful and spirited.”

“And I look great in a bikini,” she added.

“You do look great in a bikini,” I agreed. “But, no I’m not riding you yet. Do you want me to?”

She paused thinking about it.

Curious I gathered up her hair again and drummed my heels against her thighs. She moved quickly, splashing through the shallows. “Well I guess that answers that question,” I commented.

She splashed through the shallows without answering. It was a beautiful day on a magnificent beach and under me was an untried ponygirl. I guided her back up onto the firmer sand. “Alright ponygirl we’re going to try a canter and then I’m going to ride you properly. Giddy-up!”

Hay-Barn Ponygirl - Story by Paladin

Hay-Barn Ponygirl

Sasha tumbled, shrieking with laughter, down on to the thick bedding of hay. She drew her legs up in a simple attempt to save herself. I pinned her wrists and then grinning at her helplessness I swung my leg over her knees and slid onto her body. I could feel her thighs against my back as I pushed back and sat up astride her stomach. Sasha poked her tongue out at me and gave a light buck. I moved a little further up her stomach so my knees could pin her arms down.

Once I had her pinned I sat fully up and placed my hands on my hips. “One,” I started counting. Sasha bounced me lightly up and down while trying unsuccessfully to free her arms. By the time I’d counted to seven I could feel her stomach muscles shifting under me as her legs rocked helplessly from side to side. “Ten!”

I released her arms and smiled as she pouted. 

This had all started after a summer shower had sent us sprinting into the hay barn. Sasha had grumpily shaken drops of water out of her hair. “Look at me I’m nearly soaked,” she’d growled. She noticed that most of my attention had been caught by the sheen of water across the top of her cleavage. She’d undone a button on her little red checkered shirt. “See something you like,” she’d teased.

I’d reached for her but she’d slipped free with a giggle. “If you want to get me out of this wet top you’re going to have to wrestle me out of it,” she’d challenged.

After a short chase through the barn we’d ended with me sitting very comfortably on her stomach enjoying the rise and fall of her chest brought on by the wrestling match. 

“Now that I’m pinned what are you going to do?” she asked with a naughty glint in her eyes.

I slowly began unbuttoning the rest of her shirt. I quickly realised that she had a cute baby-doll t-shirt on underneath.

“Guess you’re going to have to try and pin me again aren’t you?” she laughed.

I shook my head and stood up. Sasha slipped out of her shirt and quickly stood up with a squeal of laughter she threw a handful of hay at me and raced away. 

I chased her until I had her cornered on some hay bales. Susan tried to tackle me and we rolled down a slippery mound of hay until we came to a stop with me half lying on top of her. I took one of her top’s spaghetti thin straps and slipped it off her shoulder.

“Hey!” She protested, “you haven’t pinned me yet.”

I laughed and straddled her. I sat myself comfortably in the middle of her stomach and just to rub it in I rested my hands on my thighs. “One,” she bucked forcefully under me.

“Two,” and Sasha bucked again.

“Three,” and this time she just lay quietly under me. “Not good enough,” I told her. “Three,” I said again and Sasha bucked lifting me up high. She continued to buck as I counted.

I grinned enjoying the feeling of her stomach muscles pushing against my backside, lifting me up in the air. On Ten she continued to hold me up. I remained as still as I could and slowly counted at twenty she dropped back to the ground with a puff of exhaled air. 

“Enjoy that?” Sasha asked with a big grin.

“Almost as much as I’ll enjoy that top of yours coming off.”

She laughed, “and what will you do then?”

I leant back against her thighs as if considering.

“I suppose I could give you a little pony ride,” Sasha suggested. “Just a short one though.”

I laughed and slid back until I was sitting right against her thighs then I placed my hands on her waist, “put your hands above your head.” She did and I slowly slid my hands forward, rolling her top up. As my hands slid up over her chest she giggled and wriggled. 

I leant forward and pinned her arms again then kissed down from her lips along her throat and down across her chest until her breathing sped up.

“Do you want your pony ride now?” Sasha suggested.

I stood up and Sasha got to her knees. “I think you should get out of those damp clothes,” she said and then followed that up by helping me out of them.

The feel of her warm skin against mine as I sat carefully into the gentle curve of her back was incredibly exciting. I caught up her hair and smacked her butt. Sasha yelped but moved forward. I tried to turn her using her hair but she shook her head. “Just let me carry you,” she said.

She shuffled in a slow circle in the hay. The movement of her hips translating to a gentle motion through her back. I tried to direct her again but she stubbornly continued on her own course.

“Hold on a moment,” I said and jumped off. I was back before she could get up and quickly mounted her back. This time I settled my weight without waiting for her and I felt Sasha’s back curve under me before she straightened up.

“Right little pony it’s obviously time to break you in and show you whose the Master here.”

“I’m only giving you a short ride,” Sasha protested.

I flicked the riding crop I’d grabbed against the seat of her jean shorts. She yelped and moved but I was ready for it and curbed the movement by drawing her head back.

I ignored her protest, “now pony you’re going to carry me where I want to go and you’ll do it as fast or slow as I want. Now giddy up!” I smacked her a little harder with the crop and she obeyed straight away.

I rode her in a straight line then drew her head to the left. Another smack of the crop ended her resistance and when I turned her again she did exactly as she was told. 

I pulled her head back and Sasha stopped. “When you’re ready to submit to me that’s when the ride stops pony.” I told her, “now lower your back, lower!” The crop cracked and I sank deep into her back. “Now up as high as you can go.” She arched like a cat.

“Lets try rearing.” This took a few tries to get right but eventually I was able to get her to walk then rear up. I reined her in again.

“What now?” Sasha groaned. “This was just supposed to be a short ride.”

“Well you know how to shorten it,” I told her.

“Okay I submit you’re the best.”

I didn’t get off, “Say I’m the best wrestler”

“Yes you’re the best wrestler,” she answered.

“And you’re my slave.”

“What, no way.”

I swiped her butt with the crop.

“I’m your slave,” she wailed, “now can you please get off?”

“Now can you please get off what?”

“Now can you please get off Master.” She quickly replied.

I dismounted but told her to stay where she was. I knelt down in front of Sasha and she looked up at me while still on all fours. I ran my hands down her shoulders, down the middle of her back and then back up along her sides. 

“I gave you a good ride Master,” she said.

“Yes you did in the end but you lost the wrestling match and then tried to take control and slaves shouldn’t have control should they?”

“No Master,” Sasha whispered.

“Time to show me how well you can submit,” I told her. “You can start by licking and kissing.”

Sasha’s tongue slid gently up and down, first on one side then the other. Her hair tickled my skin as her head turned. She began to kiss and lick in combination and her soft murmurs of enjoyment sent a bolt of adrenaline through my body.

Looking down on Sasha while she was on all fours made me want to dominate her as I had while riding her. I picked up the crop and rested it on her butt, she paused but when nothing happened she went back to licking and kissing. I slowly trailed the crop up her spine, loving the way she tensed as I did it. 

I rolled the crop around her ribs, over her stomach and then traced it across a breast. As the crop came up her shoulder she paused again. I placed the crop on the top of Sasha’s head, “time to submit some more,” I whispered and slowly pushed her head down.

Sasha’s lips and mouth closed around me and I felt her tongue move like a wave against me. 

I pressed down a little more with the crop, “deeper, slave,” I commanded. Sasha’s head rose up then back down but I still wasn’t done dominating her. I slapped the crop down on her backside, “giddyup pony.”

I heard a muffled squeak but her head moved more quickly and my breathing responded. I tugged on her hair, “whoa girl, slow now.” 

Sasha obeyed. I couldn’t believe it! Not only had I made her obey me while riding her on all fours but now I had control over her as she submitted to me on all fours. I plied the crop twice and she sped up faster than before, one tug of the hair and she slowed, placing the crop on her head made her head dip deeper her lips sliding further down.  

I placed my free hand on the middle of her back so that she was taking some of my weight. The excitement was growing too much to control. I snapped the crop on her backside and felt the pressure of Sasha’s mouth increase. Another smack and she moved from a trot to a canter. 

“Faster now pony,” I whispered. I don’t know if she heard me but when I dropped the crop once more Sasha moved from a canter to a full gallop.

The world seemed to go white. The physical pleasure mixed with the exquisite pleasure of dominating Sasha combined.

When I could finally think again I put my hand on her head holding her in place until I was ready for my slave to stop. My breathing slowed and I allowed her head to rise again. I stood up and sat easily on her back. Sasha didn’t even protest, she merely waited on all fours ready to obey me. 

Now that pony,” I told her, “was a great short ride.”

In tangents to her orbit - Story by Unferth

… in tangents to her orbit…

They said this sort of morning happened about five hundred years: the full moon setting in a blue- green western sky just as the sun painted the east orange. It was as if the world, suspended in space between the two of them, stood poised at a fulcrum at the start of spring. The croaking call of a distant ptarmigan, mingled with the continuous chatter of the stream and its tributaries as they tumbled together down the mountainside, seemed to be conjuring light from the night. He wondered if the bird, or one of its ancestors, had carried the berries up here: in the valley below the stream vanished into a mass of blackthorn, foaming white with blossom. He walked briskly down towards it, anxious to keep warm.

There were tracks amongst the bushes: perhaps red deer hid here, or ate the leaves in the summer. The path led him in, amongst the sickly-sweet scent of the bushes with their white froth of buds and flowers, which hid from his sight the young river. But the streams’ song seemed louder as he walked. He followed the track as it plunged unexpectedly down a muddy gully between scarps of rock into a halflight that still waited the dawn.

Then he saw why the stream seemed loud. The water poured over a lip of grey limestone, glowing gold in the first rays of the rising sun, and then falling as a mass of white, surging and frothing in the plunge pool below. Despite the cold he stopped. His journey, started in the cold predawn light an hour ago, could wait for a moment in such a place.

The boulders strewn at the edge of the pool were cold: carved into smooth flowing curves by years of frost and flowing stream, and tattooed by the fossils of shells from prehistoric seas. This one – half in, half out of the water – curved inwards like a bone, with a mat of brown-dry ferns overhanging the pool. It seemed natural to kick his boots off, sit with one leg either side and refresh his feet in the ice-cold stream and suddenly, she was alive: sporting, frolicking in the foam, the stream surging around her arms and her thighs, her back ice-slippery with streamwater. She sprang from stone to stone, not seeming to notice his weight, then splashed deeper, beneath the waterfall, the cold of the water, fresh from the snows above, stabbing him like a knife. His hands fumbled for hair – soft hair now, and not the harshness of dead vegetation - trying to keep his balance against the power of the falling water and the ferocity of her frisking in the waves. Then she turned to the deeper water, towards the outlet of the plunge pool, standing up so her stone-hard, cold muscular body pressed cold against him, yet his fingers felt her flesh burn from her exertion. She dropped again to her hands and knees to play in the sandy shallows at the far side of the pool, then suddenly twisted round, and galloped – there was no other word – back beneath the force of the waterfall, writhing in the whirling water until he lost his balance, and lay breathless in the cold river…

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There was no breeze to disturb the summer heat in the valley. He’d been hoping this last couple of hours - as he’d walked, the forested hillside to his left had grown less - that his journey was at last taking him out of the mountains. But another horizon, more wood-wreathed peaks, had appeared beyond; beyond, he assumed another valley with another river, and the sun continued to rise higher in the sky, its brightness penetrating even the tall pines to bake the forest floor.

So it must have been nigh-on noon when he arrived at this other river. There had been streams to cross before, sometimes cut deep into the soil before now: usually a jump, sometimes to a convenient rock or islet in the middle of a stream. But the river that came down from the left was almost as wide as the one he was following – perhaps seven or ten paces to the other side. He followed it down the hillside, hoping there would be an easier crossing at the confluence. The pines gave way to blackthorn bushes: interlaced branches, full leafed and laden with green berries. Here, at least, was shade. And then the bushes gave way to bright, burning sunshine, and, at the end of an emerald green sliver of grass, the merging of the two rivers.

He walked out, into the sunshine, between the brown, limpid pools of the two rivers, and then jumped down onto the sandy continuation of the crest between them. The river that blocked his way here was narrow, but deep. He would have to wade. The wet sand gave slightly as he sat astride the ridge to roll up his leggings and take off his boots. This movement was not of the sand – although her goosebumped flesh beneath his palms still had the texture of the sand. The current seemed blessedly cool as she slipped into the muscle of water formed at the meeting of the flows. She turned to the right, stood up in the main current of the river so that the flesh of her back pressed against him; he gripped her hips tightly with his thighs, and his hands slipped under her arms to her breasts. Swift and smooth, she cut a swathe through a mat of floating pine needles, leaving them bobbing and dancing in her wake before crossing to the shallows at the far side of the tributary river, and returning to her hands and knees, and waited one with the damp sandbank again, for him to dismount. He hesitated one moment, indented the ridge of sand with his fingertips, expecting it to spring back again like flesh….

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A month ago these woods would have been perfumed. Perfumed with honeysuckle, and glowing emerald green with oak leaves. Now they smelled of the musk of the waning of the year: yet they still glowed: glowed with the bronze of oak leaves, flickering in the failing sunlight as the breeze disturbed the branches, or scrunching under his boots. The honeysuckle berries glowed too: he knew better than to eat those, but there’d been plenty of haw and sloe to sustain him as he journeyed. The hunger of spring was well behind him in this fruitful autumn.

The sun, too, was falling into a mass of colour. Soon it would be dark, and he’d have to find a place to light his fire, and to make his bivouac for the night. Ahead of him the valley – already broad and shallow became yet wider. Wraiths of mist rose ahead of him, glowing gold and red as they caught the setting sun’s rays.

Here was a stand of bushes, overhanging the river bank, and ripe with fruit. He picked his way around, enjoying the tartness of the berries as he followed the edge of the stand into the wood, and then back, down and round where the mists rose from the river. The river seemed wider, the opposite bank invisible in the fog, as if his journeying with the river had brought him to the edge of a lake. Perhaps tomorrow he’d see how big it was: in any case, tomorrow he’d continue his journey round the perimeter, whether that took an hour or a month.

Just downstream of the bushes an oak tree had fallen. He found himself wondering what storm could have brought it down; the trunk, supported in the river by four branches, seemed to be washed smooth, with detritus – grass, old leaves and twigs – from the storms of last week still clinging to it and to the twists of honeysuckle stalk. Yet the branches, well above the waterline, still held coppergold leaves. He could see them, still shining in the sun above the rivermist. He would sleep tonight in the scar left by the tree roots. He would harvest the straight blackthorn shoots for a shelter, and light fire – the first since the start of his journey – against the rising moistness in the air, and against the white light of the full moon.

But first he sat astride the fallen trunk, shuffled and leapfrogged along until he could peer into the river; perhaps there would be trout in the shadow of the branches that he could tickle for his supper. It was as if the sap still in her remembered the storm that brought her down: swaying and rocking from side to side, backwards and forwards. His hands fumbled for the honeysuckle stem that twisted around her – not that he needed a bridle to stay seated: whatever wind had brought her down here, kept alive in her thoughts, she contained in her own strength. Nor did the bridle give him any control. Her memory of the storm dictated her movements. Even the mists swirled around her, pricking his skin, yet she stayed, anchored to the lakebank as she reared and plunged, sometimes out of the water, sometimes almost completely submerged, soaking him to the waist in the cold river. Her moving became increasingly violent, imagining, no doubt, the building up of the storm, until at last he could grip the smooth skin no more, and he found himself, still clinging to the honeysuckle, in the water beside her…

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Cold. The fire glowed still, all but dead, but still the only colour in this world of white. It had been a long enough job on this shortest of days to collect firewood amongst the salt-marshes. His hands still bled from the thorns. And he had not collected enough for warmth through this night. Snow, driven by an ice-cold wind, stung his flesh. He stood up. The sky was scattered with stars, like frozen shards of ice. The blowing snow was just spindrift, a thin layer of biting ice particles, swirling angrily in the gale, yet no more than waist- high, piling into drifts around any irregularity in the ground. Yet, standing up, he could see the dim shapes of the hills he had journeyed down, and the other way the sea, flickering with reflected starlight. Here his journey would stop.

He was glad of that. He’d already lost the river, which had split into a morass of creeks, mudbanks and tidal rivulets. Some were frozen, so the scrambling down and across, although exhausting was easy. But others, more frequent as he neared the sea and salt, had not been: he was filthy with stinking mud, and the shrieking laughter of the seagulls had accompanied each fall. He’d found himself wondering if he could trap and roast one over his fire.

The pond he’d bivouacked near had been frozen. The wind had whipped the ice clear of snow, except for one drift. Even as he watched, he could see it move as the wind blew its load of spindrift across the crest.

And so he mounted her pure-white back, and felt her anger surge within her. Not anger at him: anger at the cold that froze her so. She punched at the ice, ineffectually, then reared, brought both fist smashing onto, through, the ice of the pond. She surged forward, pounding the frozen surface. His feet and knees, soaked from her splashing, numbed as he pressed, as tight as he could into her waist: he tried to dig his fingers into the flesh of her shoulders, and saw with alarm the cuts to his hands, made as he gathered firewood earlier, open up and bleed. And still she moved into the water, pummelling, rearing and plunging to shatter the ice that bound the river. Her own fists were bleeding: the blood swirled in the water and splattered the snow as she advanced. He leaned forward, lying flat across her back, wrapping his legs around her, and gripping her wrists as they plunged again and again into the numbingly cold water. And suddenly she stopped.

He had never controlled her. Yet she stopped. Watched as the two bloods – his and hers mingled, then flowed under the ice in some current through the centre of the pond. Then she turned, and bore him gently back to the riverbank.

********

Adiranthe 13 - Final

Eleria smiled to herself at the rather inglorious picture her former captor made, forced to all fours, saddled and bridled and just waiting for her. Glaring, but what could he do about it? She held all the power and she knew it.

She stepped forward and took the reins, swung her leg over and sat down in the saddle. Just as she did so, Kardan did indeed try to move, she felt his strong muscles bunch under her in what would have been an attempt to throw her off backwards. But the magic prevented him. Oh, this was glorious!
"Bad pony," Eleria laughed, "I said stay still!" She smacked his backside hard. She felt his muscles gather again, but to no avail. He tried to curse her through the bit.

She slid her feet into the stirrups, settling her weight easily in the ornately tooled saddle, and took up just the right tension in the reins. It was almost like being astride a real pony, in a way that just a bare back horsey ride from a friend would not have been. In the saddle she was comfortable and secure, that and the bridle giving her total command. It put her utterly in control.
She could feel his greater strength waiting tensely beneath her, all restrained energy, wanting to get rid of her, but unable. Fun!

"Lets put some of that energy to good use!" Eleria sang, "forward, pony!" She jabbed the spurs against his thighs twice, lightly, mockingly, even though the verbal command would force him through the magic of the silk.
He began crawling forward under her! Somehow his obedience was surprising, even though she knew he literally had no other choice. She sat, feeling the gentle swaying movement through the saddle.

She reined him almost automatically as they neared the turn into the passageway, just as she would her real pony, Dapples. In other words, quite a gentle command, not force. Unfortunately the steed she was riding took no notice. So she used the reins to quite literally pull his head around. It wasn't that hard. And for good measure, she dug her right spur hard into his hip, causing his back half to instinctively move away from that leg even as his head was pulled around. Before he knew it, he was turning, under her control, without the silk having compelled him. He growled at her and tried to slow, and she laughed and forced him forward down the corridor. Between silk strips and spurs, he could literally not disobey.

"You might as well settle into a nice steady gait here," she told him. "There's a long way to go especially at your turtle like pace."

The Goblin King was, of course, not feeling very good about himself. Anger and humiliation warred within. To be defeated, robbed and ridden by this slip of a girl...! And worse, to have her make him obey her this way! The ignonimity! And yet, he knew he could not escape what was happening to him. What options did he have? To wait and see if he could catch her off guard when she was not using the silk to control him? perhaps throw her. She had lured him - he hated to admit it - into a false sense of security once before. So now he would pretend his obedience, and eventually she would give him an opportunity. He told himself that, as he carried his rider submissively through his own domain.
She wasn't that heavy, and of course he was stronger than she, but it was still hard work, he was breathing faster as he moved along, and she heard it.
"Aww, is this hard work?" Eleria said tauntingly. "Lets try a canter, shall we?" And Kardan found himself cantering awkwardly, more awkwardly than agile Eleria had, shuffle-jumping his hands forward, then his knees, then his hands, in an embarrassing parody of a canter. "Faster!" Eleria called, this was fun! Her spurs found his thighs again, once, twice, and poor Kardan was going all-out underneath her as she bounced lightly in the saddle. After only a short distance it robbed his breath quickly, and even through his trousers, his knees were beginning to feel sore. He didn't want to admit it but he would have loved to stop.

But she wouldn't let him! It wasn't until his breath was burning in his lungs that she finally pulled him up with the reins. She laughed to hear him panting under her. She lifted herself up a little in the stirrups, and bounced her weight on his back several times, letting him feel the impact of her weight right through his body, before forcing him on yet again, at a walk now, reveling in his breathlessness.
"Keep going, little pony," she mocked, "we're not even in the caves part yet!"

In a short while, she reined him firmly around into a different passage, this one didn't lead to the caves that would take them outside, but rather to an area where the Goblins resided.
As she had hoped, a Goblin came skittering along, and she reined her human steed to a halt. "Rear up!" she hissed, pulling hard on the reins, and he did, with her balanced easily in the saddle, then came back down again to all fours when she pushed her weight forward.
The Goblin stopped and its eyes practically boggled out of its mis-shapen, pallid head as it took in the scene.
"On your knees, filth!" commanded Eleria, and she took Kardan's magical necklace from where it hung round her neck, and held it up menacingly. The stunned beast fell to its knees, bewildered by the strange scene.
"I have defeated your master," she said, and it looked down at its sweaty, horse-bridled, humiliated King. Kardan glared at it and his muscles bunched, trying to grunt something through the bit at the goblin, but Eleria pulled his head back hard, ruining the attempt. She ordered the goblin, "You will bring my real horse, the dappled grey, out to the surface and wait for us there. If you do not, your miserable life will be worse than your master's here."
The goblin stammered and hesitated.
Eleria held up the necklace once more, as if to wield its powers. "Now!"
It ran.

Eleria sighed. "Being King is hard work," she said, relaxing in the saddle. "Now carry me to the surface, slave."
Growling unintelligibly through the bit, Kardan obeyed.

During the arduous trek through the halls, tunnels and caves, the Goblin King tried a couple of times to throw his rider. The first time, he tried lulling her into that false sense of security, acting tired and obedient, then when he thought her guard was down, attempted to throw himself into a bucking fit. Sadly for him, the command of the magic prevented him. The second time, he thought her distracted as she gazed at the weird, strange twisted beauty of the caves around her, but again, to no avail.

Finally they reached the area of cavern where the very first showdown between them had happened, where Kardan had lain in wait and held up his stone in the darkness and practically blinded her with magical light. By this time, the Goblin Breath was truly near exhaustion, his muscular frame trembling and wet with sweat; it  was quite a feat for anyone to carry a human weight that long.

"And thus it ends," Eleria said, half to herself and half to him, still in the saddle, as if he really were just her horse. "We have come full circle. This is where you meet adventurers who come to explore the supposedly empty Adiranthe, fight them and rob them... you are a thief too, really, aren't you, Goblin Breath? Shame you tried to enslave me. You weren't ever going to get away with that."

She dismounted him, and commanded the silk to keep him there on his hands and knees until nightfall. She removed first the saddle, then the bridle. He worked his jaw, relieving the ache that came from wearing it so long.

"Do not ever come back here, little pony slave," he growled at her. "I shall recover, and so will my magic, and you would not escape my wrath." The recovery part was true, for as well as the resources that lay beneath the ruins of Adiranthe, he still had the sorceress, whose powers he would use to enchant a new crystal to control the magics of the underground domain. "And you will always remember how I did indeed enslave you, and how you reacted to me, despite your fire."

"Ooh, the boy is trying to salvage his wounded pride," she taunted back, even though that last part had a small basis in truth. "Goodbye, Goblin Breath." And she walked away.

She found her way through the traps that she had come through to get here, having to tell herself to be careful; still high from her victory and a little shiver from the come down from adrenaline.
Finally she reached the surface, and held her hand to her eyes, shielding them from the unaccustomed sunlight, looking around.

She saw a pair of figures, one smaller than her, one bigger and much more solid and four legged. A pang went through her heart. Dapples! She rushed forward, and indeed, it was the goblin she had intimidated, with her dappled grey pony.
"Good. You are wise to have obeyed me," she told the goblin sternly when she reached them, one hand on the magical, crystal necklace round her neck. "Now go, and do not try to follow, or it will be the last thing you ever do."
The goblin bowed its head and scuttled back to whichever tunnel it had come from. She watched until it had disappeared.

She felt a firm nudge - ok, more like a head-butt - and warm breath on her shoulder, and turned. Dapples regarded her curiously with his dark, liquid eyes, as if to ask her what the hell was going on.
"Oh, Dapples, are you ok? Did they do anything to you?" She looked over her grey pony with concern, but he seemed fine. Overcome with emotion suddenly, the thief-girl threw her arms around her pony's neck, glad to have his solid warmth, glad for contact that did not involve battle.
The horse snorted, as if to show amusement at his owner's nonsense. Eleria laughed through her little wave of emotion. "Oh, Dapples, we're rich. You're going to live in horsey luxury." And not feeling like riding right now, she collected her gear and led her grey pony away from the ruins of Adiranthe, talking to the animal about the riches they had won.


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