I had tried calling her half a dozen times, but the phone was never answered. I tried people from the munch I knew, but none of my friends knew any of her friends. The only contact I had was a Facebook friend request.
I accepted it as it came with a personal message about her owing me a drink for the wine I bought her at Battersea. That was obviously a trigger to send me a massage. That told me Miranda was now retired and taking a long-overdue holiday.
However, if I were a friend, she would contact me when she returned, and if I clicked the link below, it would set a reminder for her. I clicked it and didn’t hear a thing until now.
She had said she was going on a trip but had been no more specific than that. More and more, I was sure she was my mystery voice.
Nothing much had been said, but I thought she might be into some real kinky stuff. All our conversations were pretty much her asking questions and me answering. She had a real talent for getting me to open up. I’m not good at talking to women; Miranda just peeled me off and laid me bare.
Then she asked me if I ever wanted to play the role of ponyboy. Strictly between you and me, dear reader, a little bit of wee came out. Without her knowing, I managed to get a photo or two of her with my phone. It was not all perviness; photography is a hobby of mine. The best photo I got of her and me as her pony has been my computer screen saver since I took it.
Thinking about it, I had said a lot about myself but had received very little information back. She had one small glass of white wine and then said she had to go as she was travelling tomorrow.
I walked her to her car, and I got a good view of her lacy red knickers, suspenders, and stocking tops as she climbed into her 5-litre supercharged Jaguar XF. Wow. On the passenger seat lay a riding crop. Not a toy with a silly little hand-shaped paddle on the end. The kind of thing a jockey would use on a bastard of a racehorse with a mind of its own.
One little bit of information she let slip was that she owned half a horse. Her and an old friend, Miranda, owned the horse, but her friend owned the land where the horse was stabled. They shared all the costs–food, vet bills, etc.
Was this just a part of her riding kit? Is your horse stubborn?” I asked. Oh no, he is a lamb. She picked up the crop and looked over it as she flexed it between her hands. She gave me the sweetest smile and said this was for an altogether different type of stallion. I grunted and very nearly made a mess in my underpants.
She dropped me off at my shitty little flat; her car was worth more than my home.
The intercom squealed, “Shit!” I exclaimed. I pulled on my jeans and a T-shirt and answered. “Hello, let me in, please.” Despite the please, it was an order. She did not shout; it was not rude, but an order none the less.
I wanted to give her a piece of my mind, but my finger pressed the door release button. I heard her heels on the stairs as I opened my door. She walked into my little world as if she owned it.
She dropped a holdall onto the floor, unbuttoned and slipped off her full-length leather coat, and handed it to me. I cried out in real pain as my dick instantly sprang to attention.
It felt as though every point in the tube had pierced my circumcised nob. The very understandable reaction from my best friend was provoked by the way she was dressed.
A cherry red latex corset that just covered the nipple line, the narrowest waist I have ever seen flare onto her hips, then her divine arse. Ended in eight suspenders holding up black stockings and a pair of boots with needle-thin, glittering metal stiletto heels that had to be very near six inches. A pair of frilly black knickers that looked a little out of place, but I felt it best not to comment.
I must have looked a little surprised as she pointed out that the sleeve of her toy was a very soft silicone rubber and would allow me a little movement, but the spikes would prevent any nonsense.
She asked me if I had any questions, and I said, “Does this belt come off?” Playing the game well, she then changed tracks and said, “I don’t understand, belt! You distinctly told me you had not touched it.”
She held the silence for two or three minutes. Despite the obvious bulges in my jeans, I could not bring myself to admit I had locked myself into her chastity belt.
“So we add telling lies to your sins! Show me,” she eventually said. I was frozen. “Strip!” She commanded in that undeniable voice of hers. I dropped my jeans. “And the rest.” I took my T-shirt off, and my trainers followed. “That’s better; to answer your question, yes, it does, but only when I see a need to take it off. It needs another key and the knowledge of where to put it.” I don’t really see a need now.
“I have the knowledge, but as you distinctly told me you hadn’t touched the belt, I left the magnetic key in my safe at home.”
Ohh
“You wanted a date?”
“Err, yes”.
“Do you still want a date?”
“Err, yes”
Is “Err, yes” the only thing you can say?
“Err no”
Miranda laughed at me. It wasn’t a nasty laugh; it was quite sympathetic. You’ve gone all little boy on me. I honestly didn’t know this was coming today until the courier sent me a text that it had been delivered. Delivery wasn’t promised yet, but it was two weeks early. This is a wonderful opportunity for both of us, if you have the bottle to go through with it.
“At the last munch meeting, no, sorry, I was away then; at the one before, I asked if you would get involved in pony play. I’m asking you again?”
“Yes, I think so.” When?”
“If I said a month from now, what would you say?”
“I don’t know what’s expected of me.”
“You don’t need to know; you just need to follow my direction and obey.”
“Err”
“Stop! No more with the err; it’s very annoying. And a few more Yes, Mistress replies are in order. She produced the crop that I had seen on her passenger seat. She flexed it again and treated me to the same smile she gave me after I had ogled her stocking tops.
So, boy, what would you say?
Yes, Mistress.
If I said next week, what would you say?
I resisted the urge to prevaricate, “Yes, mistress.”
So I take it I won’t have to whip you to make you come to The Other Pony Club’s premier race of the season this afternoon, then.
Err I Err
Just for a second, the mask slipped, and she spat out in a diamond-hard Glaswegent accent, “Listen, sunshine, you’re pushing it,” then back to her nice home county ladies cut glass accent. Your next Err gets you six on the bum with this–the one after 12, the one after that 24, you get the picture.
What happens if I mess it all up?
In short, I doubt you can, unless you can run faster around corners than my 4-legged pony and tip me out of my sulky. Seriously, my current two-legged pony is, to be honest, too old. I’m frightened he is going to collapse on the first lap these days. I could never enjoy using my carriage whip on him, so I have had to put him out to pasture.
It’s not about winning; there is only ever one winner these days, but I’ve taken part every year for 24 years. I want to make it 25.
There is a word that does not come very easily to me. Will you do this for me, please?
OK
“OK,” she said, leaning forward and giving the ring on the chastity belt a sharp tug. “Shouldn’t that be yes, mistress? It will be a privilege to serve you in any way I can.
“I yelped.” I’m circumcised, so the obedience pins went straight into my most sensitive bits. “Yes, mistress, please, mistress, I would love to mistress. It will be a privilege to serve you in any way I can, mistress.
“That’s better, pet. Come on, then, get dressed; we have a couple of hours to get there. We can have a bit of fun on the way.”
Out in the street in front of my flat was a horsebox, not a huge one, built on a Mercedes seven-and-a-half-don’t chassis. Miranda went to the back, where there was a single door. I was invited in; I need to get you ready. At the back, just over a metre of the length of the truck compartment was partitioned off. Hanging from the ceiling were a pair of expensive suspension cuffs.
If you let me put the cuffs on you, I will take the belt off.
Really, I wasn’t sure I trusted her.
Girl Guides Honour, she said, “Besides, you can’t race in that; I would like to run you out wearing it, but it’s just not practical. I like to test men, not damage them. Well, not too much. I got that same sweet smile again.
I held the grip bars in the cuffs and let her fasten the buckles.
I’m going to have to keep myself in check with you, pet. You are so easy to manipulate. She went over to the side of the truck and pressed a button. I heard an electric winch wiring away as the suspension ropes tightened and I was slowly lifted off my feet.
Now tell the truth; I will know if you lie again, and don’t forget that there is only one punishment for lying. She was flexing the crop again. Can you guess what that is?
The crop mistress
Yes, pet the crop. Can you guess how many?
Three mistresses.
Miranda laughed out loud. Oh, no, no, no. Try again. If you don’t guess correctly, I’m going to double it.
Six mistresses. It’s still a long way out. A long way out. One more guess, but before you guess, let’s take this nasty belt of yours off.
You said you didn’t have the other key.
Did I? I must have forgotten that I had thought to myself, “This boy is a dirty pervert. There is no way he won’t try it on, so I better bring the one and only key for the double lock with me. Look, pet; it’s the only key; look where it is.
She had a chain around her neck. On the end of the chain was an ingot pendant. No, sweety, she said, reading my thoughts. It’s not a silver ingot. It’s a magnetic strip key. I have to be very careful, though. If I put anything in the keypad aria that isn’t absolutely in the right place, it moves the lock plate into a position it will never return to. I can be so clumsy sometimes.
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