Young Molly, 18 years old, wakes up to find herself strapped face down to the back of a horse, her wrists wrapped around its neck and bound together by rope.
The horse isn't moving. It just stands there, breathing, occasionally letting out a snort.
Somebody else nearby is moving though.
"Don't get many thieves 'round here." a feminine voice speaks from somewhere behind her.
"Wha..?" groans Molly, lifting her head off the horse's warm neck and trying to get a look around. She is outside, the afternoon sun radiating down onto her back through her rough cotton shirt. In the not-too-far distance, pine trees form a thicket and then a forest.
"Caught you tryin' to make off with my horse here." the voice says, followed by the sound of dry pine needles snapping under boots as the unseen person gets closer.
Molly tries to shift herself off the horse's back, but her ankles appear to be tied together as well, underneath its belly. "I wasn't gonna.." she protests, turning her head to look to the other side, where the voice came from.
The woman is standing by the horse's side, watching her with undecided interest. Molly sees that she is holding a fairly long leather whip coiled in one hand, and her breathing instantly speeds up. The woman notices it and smirks as she extends a hand towards Molly's face.
"'Fraid that I'll whip you?" she asks, taking hold of one of Molly's braids and letting the brown hair slip through her fingers.
"Please.." shivers Molly, her brown eyes pleading with the dark green ones of the woman.
The woman's hand moves on back to touch the girl's shoulder, then slips down her back slowly.
"You tried to take my horse." she speaks. "That's gonna count for something."
Her hand slides down the young girl's spine, pressing the warm fabric onto her skin.
"I was only gonna borrow it." protests Molly anxiously, as the hand reaches the end of her shirt, yet proceeds to slip further back, over the bareness of her lower back. A jolt of unexpected pleasure courses up Molly's spine as the hand firmly runs over and past her coccyx. "M-Ma'm?" she half-whispers.
The woman answers sternly: "You go take my horse's back.. I just may take yours."
And with that, her hand moves down into the back of the young girl's trousers. A gasp escapes Molly's lips when she feels the woman's fingers dip into the parting of her bottom.
"P-Please.." Molly tries again. But her plea continues to be ignored, and the middle two of the woman's fingers run deep between her buttocks, slipping further back, then dipping downward as they reach their destination. "Don't.." groans Molly, as the pair of fingers, slow as honey, locate her sphincter and start to rub lazy circles over it. The muscle contracts reflexively, which marks the first time that Molly sees the woman give a hint of a smile.
"Why so tight, honey?" she mocks.