Spanked and Fucked in a Stable by a Stranger

  • 5 months ago
  • 22 min read
  • 1,236 Aufrufe

Six Sundays in a row his brooding gaze has scorched from the twilight shadows of the ménage. Black eyes narrowed, expression sulky, he’s visually devoured my body with a fierce intensity as I’ve struggled to maintain my cool, professional image.
Standing alone as he was, away from the more sociable parents, I initially assumed he was concentrating on his daughter’s dressage skills, but before long I realized it was me, her tutor, he was fixating on each week for a full hour and a half.
Now, as I turn my back to watch the trotting ride, I can feel his greedy gaze devouring my jodhpur-encased rear. This knowledge thrills me and I roll my hips for his enjoyment. I sashay—just a little—as I move through the barky mulch explaining the fineries of smooth transitions. I appreciate his attention, really I do.
I have a spare riding crop stuck into my left boot. It leaves my hands free for adjusting stirrups, tightening girths and gesturing to the letters around the school and is a quirky habit I’ve always had. As I’m stepping toward his daughter the slightly pliable rod slaps against my thigh. It flicks backward and forward in time with my pace like a musician’s metronome. “Here you go, Emily,” I say, whipping it out and handing it up to her. “You need to get used to holding a crop even if you’re not going to use it.” I smile at the pretty teen as she nods and adjusts it into the grip of her reins.
I throw a glance at her father. His attention hits me full on, steady and unwavering and drinking me up like a man dying of thirst. My knees weaken, my ears buzz and my chest tightens. In my otherwise formal, asexual world of dressage he’s a refreshing dose of pure, unadulterated testosterone. He looks positively wild. A barely contained stallion cooperating with his tamer—just.
I wish I’d brought a crate to sit on. Each week he affects my blood flow more and more, reduces my concentration and sends my highly regarded teaching skills into a scatter of nerves. He’s so tall, so broad and so damn handsome.
Today he’s wrapped in a dense, black winter coat, one gloved hand shoved deep into his pockets whilst the other circles a mug of steaming liquid. Maybe I just imagine him watching me each week. I’ve never even heard him speak. I only know he breathes because of the plume of cold air steaming around his head like a bad boy’s halo. Excitement churns through me at the thought of just how bad someone like him could be. What would happen if the hunger pouring from his eyes demanded to be satisfied? What would happen if I were the one to satisfy it? I clear my dry throat and return to explaining the next exercise, try my hardest to focus whilst wrapped in thoughts of sating his appetite.

The final lesson of the day draws to an end and I instruct my six riders to dismount. They lead their horses into the chill of the winter evening, past the dark hay barn and into the long row of amber-lit stalls. As forecast it’s starting to snow and big, determined flakes float through the weak lights of the yard and settle on the straw-littered cobbles.
It will take thirty minutes for the juniors to untack their ponies, buckle New Zealand rugs and give the saddles a soaping. It’s a clever ploy to add stable management to the end of the last lesson. The helpers do what’s essentially my job and their waiting parents pay for the privilege. I’ve added a free coffee machine in the viewing area and no one seems to have cottoned on to my devious, but never the less, entrepreneurial idea.
I decide to make the most of this free time and head into the cavernous barn to load nets for the liveries. The sweet scent of hay fills my nose like a wave of incense and I pause at the entrance to let my eyes adjust to the inky darkness. Teens have been playing in here again, mounds of bales have been arranged to form a staggered wall and what looks like a tall castle turret. I smile. It’s what they should be doing, who cares if it’s not the neatest barn in the world.
My feet are silent as I move to a half-used bale and bend to unhook its tight orange string. It’s awkward and with my butt in the air I fumble in the darkness, struggling to release the sharp cord of knots.
Suddenly I’m aware of a long, thin pressure on my left buttock. Firm and solid it presses against the give of my flesh.
My breath snatches. I know exactly what it is.
It’s my own crop!
I don’t bother to straighten. Instead I twist my torso and see a silhouette standing at my left shoulder. A man with broad, square shoulders and a mop of wayward curls towers next to me. I should be indignant at the personal, inappropriate touch from someone I don’t know, but instead I feel a sudden knot of pleasure rock through my body. After all, I’ve been fantasizing about this bloke for weeks.
The chilled skin on my buttock soars to hypersensitivity as the crop continues to exert a confident pressure. A deep roll of excited anticipation lurches in my stomach. He’s so close, only feet away. Lining my crop up against me and touching me intimately but at the same time distantly.
He says nothing—neither do I.
After a moment of bending before him I shift my backside a fraction, the smallest twitch of a movement, just to see what he’ll do.
The pressure releases, there’s a brief hiss in the cold air and then a sting sears through my jodhpurs and onto the delicate skin of my butt. A shard of lightening, a second of sweet torture. It heats my cold flesh and buzzes my pain receptors to life.
A squeak of shock escapes my lips. I can’t believe he did what I wanted him to do—I didn’t even know I wanted him to do it. I curl my hands into the string I was struggling with. He hit me, he’s never even spoken to me but he’s so self-assured he’s gone straight for a kinky, sharp spank. My head floods with excitement. It’s been a long time since I felt something new.
I let the heat travel and pool between my thighs, and to my surprise it swells my hidden folds and a pleasurable hum settles

Mehr anzeigen
75%
ABOUT
WEITERGEBEN
Written by Lily Harlem
Hochgeladen May 10, 2021
Notes He's the object of my fantasies so when he sneaks up behind me in a dark stable I can't resist letting him ride me hard.
AddTo content hare