My name is "Pet,"
He makes me wet,
Bent over knee,
Bare hand to flesh.
His fingers fill my precious rose,
He pulls my hair and makes me moan,
And teases me for my pleasure,
Slowly strumming with patient measure.
He is my kind Sir,
And I his willing Pet,
Alas, his love I'll never forget.
*****************
I pull up her sheer white panties and cover her bum. She sighs as I stop servicing her and admire the light pink marks my hands have left and the aroma of her sex as it lingers in the air. I know she is not satisfied. Maybe I will give her release later, maybe I won't. She will remain nondescript except for the limited details I believe you need to know...
I call her "Pet" but she is really my wife. An above average hourglass appearance and conservative woman by nature, in her late 40s to early 50s. On meeting her you would never know she is my willing submissive. She could be your local banker, lawyer, teacher, librarian, Sunday church going pillar of the community or whatever else you fancy. You would never know her true preferences. That is good for her because she chooses to keep her privacy. Behind the closed doors of our home she gives herself over to me, not as a slut but as a true partner, trusting me to care for her in exchange of her unconditional devotion. It is a deep and loving relationship and we would have it no other way.
"Pet," I start, "get up. We are going shopping this afternoon." Pet stands and I take in her appearance this morning. Always dressed in high heels and a dress, as I demand it, she pushes down her clothes to straighten them out and looks at me.
I know her thoughts, "Shopping for me and you today," I happily tell her. Pet smiles.
The convertible rolls down the road like a race horse, engine firing at full throttle. We are a good looking, well dressed couple out for a weekend ride, and jet across the desert valley in the summer sun to a town forty miles away. The combination of Pet's fire engine red lips and nails, and, dark sunglasses give her a deceiving air of bitchiness as we roll across the landscape, the wind blowing back her hair. Her appearance empowers and intoxicates her. I let her play the role as she ignores hungry young men as they pass by, taunting them with looks of indifference to their existence as they glance over hoping to get her attention.
We pull off the highway and traverse a canyon road to a small town just to the west until we reach our first stop. Pet looks at me as we pull up to a store named "The Surrey" and asks, "Here?" wondering why we have stopped at a place that looks like a bad cross between an art gallery and an antique curio shop.
"Come on, it is an interesting little place," I reply leaving her guessing.
A young woman in her mid twenties greets us from behind the counter. Pet roams the store curious for what little gems she might find. I indulge her curiosity for a few minutes until I see her getting bored.
"This way I tell her," leading her around a partition wall to the back of the store where the real purpose of the establishment lies, its walls lined with saddles, boots, jodhpurs, bridles and other equestrian needs.
"You need a new pair," I tell her pointing to the jodhpurs, "I found the perfect ones for you."
The owner remembers me and holds up a finger indicating he will be right back. A few moments later he returns with a custom made pair and hands them over.
"She can try them on if you like. The dressing room is over there," he says pointing to the door on the far wall.
"Lets see how they look," I tell Pet.
As we proceed, I stop to admire a wicker basket filled with riding crops and pick one out."Look at this one, what do you think?" I ask.
Pet has a mortified look on her face at first and then realizes nobody knows the true meaning of my question, assuming she understands it herself. My adorable minx steps up her pace to the dressing room, choosing to not answer me.
The dressing room has a chair and three changing stalls. It is empty and Pet disappears into a stall to put on the jodhpurs. I sit waiting for her return, fondling the crop, feeling the stiff handle, smelling the new leather, it melts into the palm of my hand and exudes pure power as I playfully tap and rub the flap against the palm of my hand.
Pet comes out to show me how the garment fits, a smile on her face, "They are just perfect," she exclaims with grateful joy.
"I'm glad," I say taking in how the pants tightly caress her form, "Now turn around so I can see how they fit in the back." Pet gleefully turns so I can see her lovely round ass caressed by the cream colored pants. Then I imagine her wearing her riding boots and hat and my lust begins to boil as thoughts of having her momentarily push aside all other reason.
Pet turns to look at me wondering why I've run silent and I shake my reverie.
"This is a nice crop. Do you like it?" I ask handing it over for her inspection.
"It is nice... well balanced.. light to carry, yet stiff to get the steed's attention," she observes as she hands the crop back.
"Turn around again," I tell her and she indulges me as she peers over her shoulder, "and drop the pants from your bum."
"Here?" she asks, "What if somebody walks in? The clerk? And, the owner is out there too you know...."
"Pet?" I say, an eyebrow raised intoning she should not question me. I like testing Pet. Pet complies and I place the flap of the crop on her flesh and she waits in silence. I raise the crop and hold it in mid air. To Pet it must seem like an eternity.
