Chapter 12 #3
As she chews, I whisper to her, “Everyone in this restaurant is looking at you. Everyone can see how beautiful you are, with your glowing skin and your hard nipples. Every man in here wants to suck on those nipples, even the gay ones.”
She chokes on a laugh.
“I’m the envy of every single fucker in here, my dirty girl.
They’re watching me feed you and knowing I’ll be fucking that mouth and that pussy and that ass later and they’re wishing they were me.
They’re swallowing hard thinking about how those tits taste, but the only mouth on you is going to be mine. ”
“Sir,” she mumbles.
“Eat, girl.” I feed her one of the mini sandwiches off my plate, leaving my fingers to tug and play with her lower lip as she chews. After she swallows, I push my fingers in between her teeth. “Suck off the crumbs.”
She does, eager, hungry draws against the pads of my fingers. I reward her obedience with a nuzzle and a nip on her ear.
“Logan wants to do a breeding scene after lunch,” I tell her, playing with her plush lower lip before feeding her a forkful of pulled pork.
“But I’m not interested in putting you in some soft breeding stall with cushions under your knees.
I’m going to harness my mare, make her spread her legs and take it while I breed her holes.
Think you can come while you’re bent double, girl? ”
“I never have, Sir.”
“Mmm.” Maybe I won’t bend her all the way over. “Do you have any tack, girl?”
She chews a second mouthful of pulled pork before she answers. “Yes, Sir. I’ve got hoof boots, a face harness, reins, a tail, and a horse mask here.”
I take it as a sign of how far I’ve come that I don’t feel a wash of jealousy at finding her already kitted-out for pony play, knowing that she must have done it with other Doms, probably some of whom are in this room. She hasn’t done it with me yet, and that’s what matters.
“And does my mare know any fancy steps in her hoof boots, or is she just a slutty little breeder?”
Bren’s shivering continuously under my hand.
Her camisole slips off one nipple and sags to her waist. Her breasts are perfect pears, golden and pink.
I pull on her nape until her back arches and I can lean over and taste her.
Suckling on her nipples, while I continue to pull on her neck, draws a soft cry out of her.
Her thighs clench, muscles shifting under the yoga pants she’s wearing.
I trail my mouth back up to her ear. “Now, if my filthy little filly had been a good girl and not sassed her owner about the food being better than the orgasms he gives her, she could be having one right now. Instead, my mare’s going to have to suffer for an hour or two until her food goes down and her owner can put her in a proper position to be bred. Answer my question, slutty mare.”
She flushes even more deeply, which I didn’t think was possible.
“I— I know how to walk and trot on them, Sir, and I can dance a little.”
“Mmm, then after lunch, you’ll go get changed into your tack and show me your paces.
Leave off the mask. I want to be able to check my mare’s teeth.
” I’m not a fan of masks and they didn’t figure into Bren’s fantasies, so I don’t feel any need to include one.
“And if my saucy mare gets any ideas about biting her owner, I’ll put her in a Jennings gag for the rest of day.
Just think of how embarrassed my dirty mare will be if she has to go for drinks with her friends wearing a gag? ”
Bren bends over toward the table. “Please, Sir, I’m going to come,” she whispers.
“No, you’re not.” I pick up a butter knife and press the dull edge into her nipple. She jolts and lets out a little squeal of surprise at the touch of the cold metal. Across the table, Logan and Harry chuckle darkly. “Behave yourself, my slutty mare. No creaming yourself at the lunch table.”
“Sir, please. Please, I’m asking permission.”
“Which you don’t have.” I flick the camisole off her other nipple and snap the butter knife against it with my thumb, eliciting a bigger jolt and a louder squeal.
“Now we’re going to finish lunch, and then I’ll hose down my dirty filly before she puts on her tack.
A little cold water will keep those orgasms at bay, won’t it? ”
“Yes, Sir,” she pants.
Although Bren begs me for orgasms, she rarely begs for anything else, particularly not an end to her torment. The only time I can remember was when I was breaking her pussy with the dragon dildo. Otherwise, despite her sass, she’s more than happy to take what I dish out. My sweet, sweet slut.
I let her cool off a little while I feed her the rest of what’s on her plate and eat what’s on mine.
When we’re both finished, I release her from the honor blindfold so she can watch me tip out a little of the hot pepper sauce, rub it between my fingers, reach down the front of the yoga pants she’s wearing, and paint her clit with it.
She squirms on her chair, but I think that’s more from me stroking her clit than because of the heat.
It will take a moment for the burn to sink in.
While she’s squirming, I tip more hot sauce on my finger and rub each of her nipples with it.
She looks at me curiously. It takes a while for capsicum to work on tissue that’s not mucus membrane like the mouth, throat, and pussy, but she’ll be feeling it in a few minutes, particularly after repeated applications.
While everyone drinking coffee and tea, or in Emily’s case, a banana milkshake, I keep painting my dirty girl’s nipples and clit with pepper sauce.
It hits her hard after five minutes, the burn biting deeper and deeper, until she’s writhing in her chair, gripping the seat with white-knuckled fingers to prevent herself from rubbing off the burn.
Her face is so crimson its purple, dotted with sweat; her breath comes in delightful little hisses. Each breath makes my cock pulse.
“Is my filthy filly ready for her hose-down?” I murmur in her ear.
Bren nods frantically and my cock jumps at her predicament. No one really wants a cold shower. Even in the middle of the summer, they’re barely pleasant. But she knows cold water will soothe the burn, which has to be something she wants, probably more desperately with every passing minute.
Just to prolong her delicious agony, I make another pass over her nipple and clit with the hot sauce.
“Sir, please,” she hisses.
“Ah, have I finally gotten you to beg, girl? Is that yellow I hear?”
“No, Sir.” She sets her jaw and huffs out a breath through her nose. My salty-sweet, stubborn sammie.
“Well then, I think we should let your lunch digest a little more before I hit you with the cold water. I don’t want to upset my filly’s delicate tummy.”
“My stomach’s cast damn iron,” Bren grumbles. “Sir.”
“Is that your way of saying, ‘please, Sir, I’d like the cold hose now’?”
I hear her teeth grind. That makes me chuckle as I lean in to nip her ear.
“Was that a ‘yes, Sir,’ girl?”
Her teeth grind so loudly I bet Logan and Harry can hear her.
“Yes, Sir.”
I slap her thigh. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
Brenna’s expression when I offer her my hand and help her out of her chair is pure murder. It makes me roar with delight.
Watching Bren trot on her hoof-boots, tail swishing against her calves, nipple clamps jingling, makes a pulse thunder in my cock that drowns out the rat-tat-tat of her hooves.
Dots of water still glisten on Bren’s glossy, colorful hide.
The room’s warm, and the water I hosed her down with was warm, too, because no matter how sassy she can be, Bren doesn’t deserve a cold shower.
After I washed her and we collected her tack, Logan led us upstairs into a large, open dungeon with several stocks and pillories bolted to the hardwood floor.
We passed a long line of kinksters still waiting at the entrance to the Stables and I’m glad we didn’t have to join that line.
There’s something to be said for Logan’s VIP status at the club.
I settle on a lounger next to Logan, stretching out my legs and crossing my ankles.
That relieves a little of the constriction of my pants across my groin.
I’ve already shed the jacket I wore to lunch and now I roll up the sleeves of my shirt, movements Brenna’s eyes track.
Lazily, I pick up a longe whip from the club-provided selection and crack it in the air a hand’s width from Bren’s ass.
She flinches at the noise and stops trotting to stare at me.
“Chin up, shoulders back, my filly. I didn’t say you could stop.”
She throws her shoulders back and starts trotting in place again.
Beside me, Logan chuckles. He’s got Emily face-down over the lounger while he works a tail-plug into her ass.
She’s squirming and whimpering, and I gather the plug is bigger than she’s used to.
Her pink hooves beat on the floor out of synch with Bren’s steady trotting.
“How many stripes should our little mares get if they break form?” he asks me conversationally over the squelching of the plug.
“Mmm, at least three. I think I have a talented filly here. Look at her trot.”
Logan glances at Bren and grins.
“Very talented.”
Bren starts to smile before her head snaps around at the sound of the gallery door opening. Good girl that she is, she doesn’t stop trotting. I praise her and stroke her shoulder as I rise and walk past her to greet the people who have entered.