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I hung suspended in the metal flogging frame, my wrists held in the top corners beneath the cross bar by sturdy leather restrainers. At the base of the frame my widespread ankles were similarly bound. The height of the frame meant that my toes were just touching the smoothly cut lawn beneath me. The frame had braces at the base extending to two small wheels on each side, which made the entire contraption portable.
I had been placed into this position of bondage on the first full morning of my month’s holiday at Aunty Pat’s secluded Arizona spread. After breakfast, which I had consumed in the nude while Aunty Pat and the 30-year-old Anita had worn provocative little bikinis, Anita had made me drag the frame out from the large, four-car garage adjoining the luxury home.
When the raven-haired beauty had me attached to the frame she had gone into the house and returned with a bowl of warm water, a shaving brush, safety razor and scissors. Now, hanging in the wonderfully dry Arizona heat, I had been shaved of body hair from my armpits, around my nipples, from my thighs and calves. Anita had also shaved all the pubic hair from my scrotal sac and my stiff 8-inch cock, while cutting the bush on my pubic bone back to a really short crew cut.
The bikinied woman had then lathered the front of my body liberally with suntan lotion and left me hanging there. Some 30 minutes later she re-emerged from the house to turn the frame around so the sun’s rays now beat on my back, which also received a coating of lotion. “Another half an hour and you’ll be ready for madam,” Anita informed me, stroking my cock gently before leaving me alone again.
Finally, my Aunty Pat stepped out onto the lawn and moved in front of my helpless, naked body. The lush-breasted 38-year-old was again dressed to arouse and I felt my cock stirring as I gazed at her.
On her head a broad-brimmed black leather sombrero sheltered her face from the sun. A black latex bolero jacket, which was buttonless and consequently could not be closed across her lushness, hardly covered her 40-inch breasts. Her midriff was bare, her pussy lips clearly visible. On her feet were knee-high black leather riding boots, on her hands shiny black leather gloves.
Aunty Pat plonked my scuffed Nike trainers and a pair of white sox on the grass, then dropped what looked like stirrups and a rubber bit and reins beside them. “Let’s get you out of that uncomfortable position, darling, you look exhausted,” she said, expressing exactly what I felt. I stretched my arms and legs when I was finally freed to remove the numbness. “Trainers and sox on,” I was instructed.
The next thing I knew, as I was still bending tying my laces, Aunty Pat draped the leather strap attached to the stirrup across the top of my back and placed the red rubber bit with its reins in my mouth. “Squat,” she instructed, and I went into a sort of baseball catcher’s crouch.
Aunty Pat then carefully straddled my upper back, slipping first one booted foot into a stirrup, then the other. I felt her weight press down on me and I felt a dampness just below the nape of my neck. She was, I was delighted to feel, aroused! “Now get up, slowly!” she ordered me. Slowly I rose to my full height, my body straining as I bore Pat’s weight, my hands clasping the leather at her booted casino oyna feet to aid in maintaining my balance. I swayed slightly, then steadied myself.
Digging her heels gently but firmly into my upper hips, Aunty Pat called out “Walk on”, and I took my first steps as her human pony. A regular gym worker, although no muscle-bound body builder, I soon found that by careful stepping I could transport her.
Soon we were quite some way from the house and then, to my horror, I saw Aunty Pat was steering me towards two young women – I took them to be in their early 20s – who were working on a cactus garden area well away from the property. I shook my head in the reins, violently, but Aunty Pat laughed at me.
“Don’t worry, Rick,” she said, soothingly. “My hired Latino help – Conchita and Pepina, by the way – are devout lesbians. They’re far more interested in me than they will be in you.”
Despite this I felt my penis start to stir as we neared the ladies, who were both clad in brief leather shorts and black leather bras which pushed their small, firm breasts into high uplift. When Pat reined me to a halt she chatted with the girls, issuing instructions for their chores on the property that day.
As she spoke to one, the other walked behind, surveying my sweating body. Coming around to face me, the girl told Aunty Pat: “E ‘as a nice arse, meestriss.” Pat laughed: “You and Conchita do a good job this week, and I may let you flog it later!” The other one, Pepina, obviously, sniggered. “No, meestriss, we would be too ‘ard on him, not gentle like you!”
Aunty Pat waved a gloved hand and I walked from the girls work station, acutely aware that my cock was swaying stiffly, betraying my interest in their near-naked charms. “Don’t worry, darling,” Pat informed me, as we drew away, “I won’t let them have you.”
As soon as we were out of earshot, Aunty Pat informed me: “They used to work in a domination dungeon I own in Los Angeles but they had to come out to the desert after their attentions on one of my clients attracted a complaint to the police. There’s no way I’d let you be seen to by them – they’d tear your arse to pieces!” My hard-on had disappeared.
Further down the dusty, sandy track Aunty Pat had chosen I felt her start to sign from her position above me, then she flicked the reins and cried “Faster, darling, faster, I’m coming!” I moved into a trot, heaving and straining, sweating beneath my burden until I felt aunt’s thighs contract around my neck as she shuddered to her climax.
Aunty Pat then dismounted and walked beside me for some way, stroking my cock before making me squat. On the ride back to the house I was once more urged into a trot when aunty felt another orgasm nearing – this time not at all far from the Latino women, who I now noticed had removed their leather bras, their small brown breasts gleaming in the strong sunlight.
Back at the house, Aunty Pat dismounted, remove the gear from me and ordered: “Shoes and sox off and into the pool for laps – but don’t start till Anita and I get there!” I waited, standing by the edge at the top end of the pool, its water shimmering in the light. I was sweating and eager to start swimming.
Some 10 minutes after arriving poolside, I was relieved to hear the sound of two pairs of high heels clopping across the concrete slot oyna path leading around the lawn to the pool. Aunty Pat and Anita – who that morning I had been told to address as Miss Anita – had arrived.
Both wore black stilettos, and both were nude saved for baseball caps, shading their eyes from the sun. Both appeared to be fans of the Arizona Diamonbacks, I noted. With some apprehension,I also noted that both were carrying short leather crops.
Aunty Pat walked over to stand beside me, while Miss Anita went round to the far end of the pool and stood, hands on hips, feet a foot or so apart. “Get to the edge, hands up clasped behind your head,” snapped aunty. I stepped forward. “There’s your target, when you get there, out of the pool and worship at Miss Anita’s pussy. When she tells you to stop, back on your feet, facing me. Understood?” I nodded: “Yes aunty.”
Suddenly the crop stung against my buttocks and I toppled forward into the water and free-styled my way to the end, clambered out and pressed my tongue against Miss Anita’s dark-haired minge. For the first time the previous evening, I tasted her sweet snatch but just as I was starting to enjoy myself, the bronzed beauty snapped: “Up!” I stood, displaying an erection, and turned to face back down the pool. There stood my aunty, hands on hips, in an identical pose to Anita’s.
Again my buttocks were thwacked by a crop and I splashed back into the water. Completing the lap, I struggled from the warm water and began to perform adoration at Aunty Pat’s pussy, tasting her wetness and the wonderful tangy taste of her sex juices. “Up!” came the command and I was set off back down the pool by another cut of the crop.
I had completed about 10 laps each way, when I became aware that the two topless Latino ladies had arrived and were amused spectators, leaning on garden hoes as they watched my pool discipline. Finally, after some 40 laps – 20 each way – I was allowed to stop splashing back and forth. I was panting from my exertions and my buttocks were stinging. Aunty Pat kissed me on the mouth: “Excellent, now get downstairs and wait for me!”
By “downstairs” I had no doubt whatsoever that Aunty Pat had intended me to wait for her in what she termed “the games room”, and as I walked off I saw Aunty Pat talking to the two gardeners. I couldn’t hear their conversation but a peal of laughter from the two younger ladies convinced me that I had been the subject of their mirth.
I entered the cool basement beneath the house and stepped into the “games room”. I had no idea how long my aunt would take to get down there, but I knew I should appear ready for her arrival. I thought for a moment and then decided on what I hoped would be taken as a suitable posture of submission. Kneeling in the centre of the room, with my knees a couple of feet apart, my feet behind me touching, I put my hands behind me and clasped my ankles.
Luckily, I did not have long to wait. The door to the room swung open and in marched my two beautiful dominas. “Aha, it looks like Rick has been reading all the correct slave training manuals,” smiled Aunty Pat, as she saw my pose.
“Or reading too many femdom magazines!” laughed her friend.
As I looked at the two women, my penis started its by now familiar upwards surge at the sight of them. canlı casino siteleri Pat had chosen a black latex quarter-cup brassiere, her 40-inch globes thrusting out in mouth-watering uplift. Black leather boots which came half way up her lovely brown thighs completed her attire.
The 30-year-old had selected a sheer black bra which had cut-out sections at the center of each cup, her nipples brown and erect in the air-conditioned torture chamber. On her hips a similarly sheer pair of black panties had a cut away section which revealed her raven-haired mons and pussy lips. She wore black stilettos.
“Up you get, Rick,” said my aunt and as I climbed to my feet, she instructed: “Anita, get him hooked up. He’s been my pony this morning, now I want to see if he can prance!”
Anita went to a rack on the wall and produced two leather cuffs, which she strapped around my wrists. A leather cuff was then clipped around my throat. She then made me put my wrists beside the throat choker and attached the D-rings set in the cuffs into metal rings on the choker.
“Now fetch me a buggy whip, darling,” said Pat. Anita handed her a long slender, stiff whip, which must have been all of five feet long. It tapered to a cruel, thin tip.
“Right Rick,” smiled my aunt, “stand to attention, feet together. Now I’m going to stand to your left. When I flick this little persuader against your backside, you will lift your right leg until your thigh is horizontal to the floor. I will then walk around to your right side and the next stroke means you lower your right leg and raise your left. Simple, eh?”
I nodded: “I understand, aunty.” Whether it was “simple” or not I had my doubts. “Good,” said Aunty Pat, “then we’ll begin.”
Standing well away from me, Aunty Pat swooshed the buggy whip through the air and it cut into my buttocks. I lifted my right thigh and tried to maintain a perfect balance. Then Anita snapped: “Point your foot down daintily to the floor, Rick!”
I complied. Aunty walked around behind me and when she was level, flicked the whip against my tush once more. As I lowered my right leg and started to raise my left Anita sprang into verbal command mode again: “Faster, Rick, we don’t have all day!”
Aunty Pat strolled in front of me and when she was immediately in front of me she traced the tip of the buggy whip against my cock and balls. I tried to suppress a giggle and swayed slightly. “Steady, boy,” she lectured, “you don’t want to know what I do to prancing ponies who over-balance!”
And so aunty’s diabolical little “game” went on, crack, balance, crack, change legs, balance, tickle of whip against genitals. Soon I was sweating freely from the discipline. Then, when I hoped for a respite, Aunty Pat handed the buggy whip to her partner in punishment: “Here you are Nita, you have a go, while I observe his technique more closely.”
Anita took over my correction, if anything striking me slightly harder with the whip than my aunt.
At last, after what seemed like ages, but in reality could only have been a quarter of an hour or so, they finished with me.
Aunty Pat unhooked my wrists from the throat collar and kissed me lingeringly on the mouth, her lovely breasts pressing thrillingly against my heaving chest. “Wonderful, Rick, I think we’ll make a lovely little pony out of you yet!”
Then she announced: “Time for lunch I think. Then we’ll teach you the pose flogging game!”
Lunch I was looking forward to. Pose flogging? I wasn’t too sure about that!
To be continued…
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