Reins

story continued from part two Part 3: The Pony Girls Play Some More “You should try it on” I physically jumped at the unexpected voice. I turned round to see Elizabeth standing in the half-open doorway to my office. A doorway I should have latched securely rather than just closing it. I was holding the heavyweight leather harness that she had seen in use at least twice. On both occasions it had been wrapped and buckled tightly about my muscular lover. Or rather he had been tightly wrapped and buckled into it. It was never intended to be a simple toy. Once inside it and all those gleaming buckles and dark leather straps were fastened you were it’s prisoner until such time as you were released. I was very firmly the dominant in our relationship, but something about it spoke to a deep, submissive side of me that I hated to admit existed. Yes, damn my soul, as it hung there wafting the smell of fresh leather to my nose I was getting turned on. As I held it up the straps were curving themselves towards me as if both inviting me while reaching out to entrap me. ...

There is a surprise winner to a bet on Super Bowl LII. This is a VERY mild story about two women who work as section heads in the same office and attend a Super Bowl weekend business retreat together. I had a totally different story outlined and ready for this year’s Super Bowl, but the game ended up being a very low scoring, almost boring game. My story idea wasn’t going to work, but I was intent on keeping with a Losing story every other year, so I started over and made the game itself a rather minor part of the story. Actually, that is almost the way it has become for the game. The hoopla and commercials and everything else surrounding the game has become larger than the game itself. ...

story continued from part one Part 2: The Pony Girls Strike Again She caught up with me in an unguarded moment while I was lost in thought. I was looking at her stallion. Her real stallion. A huge, dark brown beast of a horse standing quietly in his stall. He was harnessed in a specially made dark leather harness of especially sturdy straps to tame the wilful beast. A sturdy leather harness that made me go weak at the knees. Straps thicker and stronger than she needed for any of her other horses because he was a strong beast and given to be uncontrollable. ...

Amber pulled on a sports top and Capri-length spandex leggings, then slipped her feet into jogging shoes before tying her orangish-red hair into a ponytail. A bitter smile crossed her face. How ironic, she thought—a ponytail. Then, like the five other young women in the stable, she left her stall for the parking garage. In the next room were half-a-dozen sulkies. She positioned herself in front of hers—Number 4-and waited for the male workers to harness and bridle her. ...

“Here she is,” said the exasperated director, peering out the stable door. He glanced at his watch as a tall, dark-haired woman stepped out of her car. “She’s almost two hours late, the stupid bitch. And I wanted her to wear a dress or skirt, NOT fucking JEANS!” The film crew jumped up and readied the lights and video cameras. They were going to have to work fast if they were going to get enough footage for a feature-length film. ...

I had been in command of the forward garrison for only the last few weeks, having been rushed in with the sudden demise of my predecessor, a man infamous for his maltreatment of the neighboring tribes women. I was a distant cousin to the ruling Duke and in this aged castle with my new young wife because nobody else wanted this remote posting. Indeed if he had cared more about the region he would have committed more resources to it’s defense. The tribes in question obviously had a grievance with my predecessor and his men, and perhaps it was even justified, but their probing raids into the surrounding villages and the taking of some of the local women for their sport had to stop. ...

(story continues from The Secrets of Shackleton Grange 2) Chapter 3: Horse Play After what seemed like several hours, during which Cathy had no option but to remain in immovable stasis, the sound of several sets of feet approaching slowly but surely built in volume, until they sounded as if they were just outside the door. The turning of the key in the lock, then the creaking of the ancient wood, was swiftly followed by the unmistakable tones of Dolores’ voice permeating through the layers of latex. ...