The young lovers cuddled under the blanket, hands busy arousing, caressing and teasing each other. She was wearing a replica of an antebellum gown, complete with silk frills on the scoop-necked bodice and a tight corset giving her a wasp-like waist. It fit her submissive nature perfectly: her breasts rested on bone-hard braces, the nipples uncovered and showing lots of cleavage; a firm tightly laced fit at her waist and a full skirt that allowed the evening breezes to curl around her naked hips. Her short, naturally blonde hair was hidden beneath a shoulder-length auburn wig, the soft hairs tickling her bare shoulders. She felt like a character from another time and place, riding with her lover, her guide, her mentor, to… where? Someplace of his choosing for certain, to do whatever he demanded of her, she knew that. She craved the erotic adventures he conjured up for her. She closed her eyes as his hands found her center under the blanket and his fingers curled up into the wet core of her, stroking her, and she purred like a contented cat.
Her lover/guide/master sat beside her, dressed formally in a turn-of-the-century tuxedo, a large carnation in his lapel. She thought he looked so handsome in black, so strong and commanding, especially carrying his silver tipped walking stick. A stick she was sure would be used for much more than walking. She clenched her cheeks momentarily in anticipation. She moaned when his thumb grazed across her clit and his middle finger dipped lower and probed at her anus. She braced her hands at her sides and lifted slightly off the leather seat of the carriage to facilitate his access. She was immediately rewarded as his thick finger popped past her protective muscle and she whimpered. He smiled as she settled down onto his hand and moaned softly.
The driver of the horse-carriage ignored the rustling of clothing. He'd grown immune to the sounds and scents of lovers after years of guiding them through the dark evening streets of Atlanta. He had long ago learned to cease his tour-guide descriptions when they stopped asking questions. He had often thought to put a small sign on the back of his leather perch, 'enjoy, but clean up afterwards' or another 'don't leave your tracks on my blankets' but he never did. Usually the couples that got so carried away were embarrassed and often generous in their tips and he always kept a spare clean blanket under his seat so the next customers wouldn't have to use soiled covers.
It had looked like a slow night. There were few tourists were and none looking for an open horse and buggy ride through Atlanta's parks on a cool Fall evening with clouds that threatened rain. He'd been ready to head back to the stable and let his mare rest quietly in her stall until tomorrow when he got a call from the dispatcher on his cell phone. Some doctor and his wife wanted to get some pictures under a bright moon in a quiet, secluded part of one of the city's best-kept secrets, Grant Park. It was a hidden jewel with 108 acres of trees and grass less than a mile from the center of the hotel district. The driver had agreed and arrived at their hotel on Peachtree Street in a few minutes. Half an hour later they were crossing a wide, mostly empty bridge over the freeway traveling towards the former Olympic stadium. The driver knew the neighborhood well, the stables were just north of it, though most customers rarely asked to go this far away from their hotels. Most just wanted a quick half hour ride so they could tell their friends back home they'd done it.
This couple was different. The man, formally dressed, carrying a physician's leather satchel and a walking stick had been quite explicit. He wanted someplace they could take personal photographs and not be disturbed. He paid double the going rate for two hours in advance.
"Driver," the young man in the back said breathlessly. "How far is it to the park?"
"About two blocks, Sir," the driver turned his head and smiled back. The woman's dress had been pushed down holding her elbows snug to her ribs, exposing her breasts which rested on the whale bone shelf of a Victorian bustier, the nipples erect in the cool night air, her waist cinched tighly, her hands pressed flat onto the leather seat beside her hips, her eyes downcast. This pair was different, he knew from the beginning. He'd wondered when they first got in his cab, if the woman was only wearing the thin dark silk dress. In spite of the old style gown, by the way her body had moved so smoothly under it, the way the skirt had clung to her ass when she walked, he'd thought she was naked under it. He'd been imagining what she looked like as he left the hotel and let the mare slowly walk the route she'd taken for three years through the small inner city neighborhoods; short trips though Fairly-Poplar and the recently renovated offices now lofts. The mare was used to turning north on Peachtree but instead he headed south towards the Underground Atlanta complex. The mare had objected when he didn't let her turn east towards the stable, but a light snap of his thin whip on her hindquarters silenced her snorts and she settled into her usual calm gait.
His eyes dropped to the woman's exposed nipples again. She smiled and made no effort to cover her body. How far would they go, he wondered?
"Doesn't she have wonderful tits?" the man asked.
"Yes, Sir," the driver acknowledged the obvious truth. He tried to ignore the strain in his loins, the urge to adjust his stiffening cock. He cursed his wife for ignoring hi s needs for a week, or had it been two, he could barely remember the last time she'd volunteered to satisfy him. He wondered what the young girl's nipples would feel like between his lips, if she'd moan or not.
"When we get to the Park you may get to see the rest of her. How calm is your horse?" the man asked.
The driver reined in the horse and stopped the carriage in the half-lit space between two antique street lamps in front of recently built replica of an old townhouse a few blocks off Capital Avenue and the fast moving cars. "Look," he said with a smile. "There are regular police patrols through this neighborhood. Tourist protection on bicycles and cops in cars too, you understand? Are you ready to spend half your night at the precinct house explaining yourselves to voyeuristic cops?"
"She enjoys the risk," the male passenger said simply and pulled the blanket aside exposing her lower body. She sat there practically naked, the dress bunched at her waist, her knees apart, wearing only a pair of thin-strapped high-heeled shoes. Even in the moonlight he could see that her sex was shaved, the flesh dark and slick. A glint of streetlight reflected off something shiny between her legs. The male smiled and cupped his hand beneath the closest breast, his thumb flicking across the turgid dark nipple." The woman took a deep breath, proudly thrusting her chest out, her eyes half closed and he pinched a nipple. She whimpered slightly when he twisted the flesh roughly but her hands stayed glued to the leather seat. "See how responsive she is?" the man asked the driver who nodded silently. "Go ahead, ask him," the man said.
The driver, confused, thought he was asking him but before he could open his mouth, the woman slid to her knees and lifted her eyes to look up at the driver. "May I sit astride your mare and have my photograph taken in the park?" The driver nodded affirmatively. He'd agreed to take the couple to the park for photos. "May I suck your cock afterwards, Sir?" she asked politely.
"What?"
"You heard her," the man leaned forward, whispered something in the woman's ear, then pulled the dress up her arms and covered her. "Now if you'll please get us to the Park, Sir, we have some work to do first."
"Of course, sir," the driver turned and snapped the thin whip twice across the mare's rump again and she immediately set off on a trot, her steel covered hooves echoing on the pavement as they hurried past restored Victorian homes nestled under tall centuries-old oaks and magnolias. They entered the Park though a side entrance past what had originally been a horse-watering fountain, now filled with colorful seasonal flowers. The driver was familiar with the Park although he rarely drove his carriage through it. It was the home of the city's zoo, as well as one of the police precincts. He had played baseball as a young man in the park and knew his way around it. He followed the interior roads that were closed to motorized vehicles into the center of the park, urged the mare to pull the carriage over the curb and skirted around a barred entrance and climbed to the highest part of the park and came to a halt on a crest overlooking the amphitheater. It was a very secluded portion of the park, surrounded by tall oaks and pines that filtered the moonlight onto the grass.
"This will do nicely," the man said from the back of the carriage. He helped his woman down to the ground and walked her around to stand beside the mare, which was happily munching on the grass. He took a small digital camera from his leather satchel and began taking pictures of her and the horse. The driver sat quietly on his perch, holding the reins loosely, but the mare was content and not likely to move suddenly.
The woman turned and faced the driver and her lover loosened the tight lacing at her back, releasing the gown and it slowly slid down her body until it was a dark soft puddle at her feet. More photographs of her corseted body as she stroked the mare's neck and pressed her breasts against the mare's warm hard body. Her hips were bare, her buttocks firm and round, her breasts exposed, the nipples erect and the dark areola puckered in the cool night air. The man posed her, turning her this way and that, placing her legs and feet carefully, arranging her then capturing her shape and form with his camera in the moonlight.
"Would you help her get astride the horse?" the man asked the driver.
He climbed down and made a brace of his hands. She slowly raised one foot, placed it carefully in his hand and waited. The driver wondered why she hesitated, but his thoughts were more on the texture of the smooth skin and the conical shape of her breasts. He could stand like this as long as she wanted to. He glanced down at the junction of her thighs and her torso and could see the small ring that pierced her clitoral hood. The woman smiled and gently placed her hand on his shoulder and slowly lifted her body until she was standing, her sex close enough to his face that he could detect the scent of her sex and see that her lips were full and dark and wet. She slowly raised one leg and curled it over the mare's back, then gently settled onto the mare, her legs hanging down at her sides. The mare snorted once at the unfamiliar presence of something on her back, then shivered and returned to eating the grass.
