The golden sun slants through the barn windows, dancing in the air thickly scented with the sweet hay and tang of leather. I peel off my jeans and shirt, slowly undo the long black tail of my braid. My hands caress the leather and a quiver runs through me. I stretch a bit, letting my body become warm and flexible before I slowly relax my muscles letting the slick coolness of the anal plug slide into me; I shiver as the attached horses tail slides across my thighs tickling my flesh.
I slip on stockings and then my tall black boots, the ones fitted with metal on the soles for a definite clopping sound as I walk. Just as I finish lacing them on my mistress's shadow falls into the room. I look up – my breathe catching a bit as it always does at the pale sylph like beauty of her, her cap of pale blond silvery blond curls ruffled by the breeze slipping in the open barn door.
She helps me into my snug and hard leather body harness; lacing it tightly enough that imperfect posture is simply not an option. I look down at the proud thrust of my breasts with the stainless rings through the hardened coral tips of my nipples. I get a sense of her playful mood today when she clips little silver bells on each nipple ring.
I shift impatiently from foot to foot feeling the base of my tail shift with in me. A sharp slap to my flanks reminds me that anxiousness will not get me where I wish to be any faster. My mistress fetches my bit and bridle, carefully fitting the bit into my mouth, making sure just the simple wearing of it causes no discomfort. The sharp tang of metal against my tongue warms slowly to body temperature.
I feel so deliciously naked next to her. The soft flannel covering her breasts and the roughness of her jeans on her delicate and small legs. The horses tail catches the breeze tickling my thighs and making me twitch, another smart slap on my flanks and a gentle tug on the bridle brings me back to the absolute stillness she prefers.
She hooks the bridle to my tack, her hands playfully setting the bells on my nipples into a cascade of fairy bells. She tugs on my tail making sure my buttocks are firmly holding the plug in place. She slips a small crop off its hook on the wall and leads me out into the yard for my exercise. The first gentle crack of the crop against my buttocks begins me circling the yard, the bridle being let out slowly as I prance in circles for my mistress. The extra weight of my shoes almost guarantees that my form is not what she would wish.
Increasingly harsher flicks of her crop along my flank reminds me to lift my knees. The hardest stripes fall across my buttocks to remind to keep my back straight or to slow me down or speed me up. When I forget to bounce enough to shake the bells the merciless little crop swings up to sting my hardened nipples, making them torturously aroused. She demands perfection from me, in form, in movement and in sound. The clop of my shoes a deep undertone to the fairy tinkle of the bells.
Soon under the heat of the sun the sweat of my labor mixes with the musk of my desire; I breathe both in with the sweetness of the hay. My mistress knows this and the severity of her small crop increases as the ability of my body drops off. My labors have brought a delicate sheen to her skin and I hope warmth to her blood. Finally- she calls a halt.
