Beast And Rider

Note: Story themes include pony play, whipping, masochism, BDSM, slight reluctance, and a nonhuman anthropomorphic character.

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"Now now. Straighten up," she ordered. She slipped the tip of her riding crop under my rear, giving a few light taps right where my thigh met my cheek. Tap tap. Not hard, but enough to sting just a little bit.

When she did that of course, I instantly stopped stood up straight, at the ready. My furry chest puffed out, my long tail swayed behind me, and my arms sat secured behind my back in the armbinder she had locked them in.

"Good boy!" she beamed. But she kept a close eye on me. Her praise in the moment could easily and quickly take a different turn if I did anything I wasn't supposed to.

I ran my tongue underneath the thick round bit that sat in my teeth. It was made out of some kind of synthetic, rubbery material, and gave slightly when I clenched onto it. Its thickness forced my jaw to sit open, yet the straps around my muzzle had been tightened to where I couldn't open my mouth any further than it was either. My jaw was essentially trapped in the position it was in, this sort of quarter-open position, with my sharp fangs showing, and the bit nestled right behind them for all to see.

I've been under her thumb for a while, now. It wasn't always this way. Not long ago, I had been free, unconstrained by anything. I could go where I wanted when I wanted, and do things at my leisure. Now, all of that has changed. When not kept locked away in my stall in her stables, most of my time is spent being directed around by her, or made to sit passively at her feet while kept on a leash. And I have to ask permission for

everything

now.

This should be the other way around, I often find myself thinking. I am clearly taller and stronger than she is. Lithe, yet more muscular, more so than most humans for that matter. Not to mention my beastly makeup gives me even more of an edge - my lion-like head with its muzzle full of sharp teeth, coat of brown fur, night vision, and prehensile paws with long, sharp claws on them.

Yes, I can stand upright and talk, like humans can, and function just the same as they, in a human-centric world no less. But at the end of the day, I'm a predator, the last thing in the world anyone would want to have to flee from in the dark - which makes it feel quite strange for someone an entire head shorter than me and with such a significant weight disadvantage to so deftly keep me under control and order me around.

The thing is that despite my numerous physical advantages, and how easy it would normally be for me to, well, overpower her, she had something I didn't. She knew how to work the system. She had resources. And above all, she was unafraid. And that's what led to this very lopsided situation. That's how I ended up captured, subdued, with her rather thick and intricate collar adorning my neck. Long story.

It's not that I didn't have a say in it, I did of course. Our arrangement came with some reasonable, mutually agreed upon limits. She is also, thankfully, not indifferent to my wants and needs by any stretch. Nonetheless, under her, I am still property. Chattel, even.

And her training was remarkably effective. In the beginning, after she had first captured me, got that collar around my neck, and secured her legal ownership of me, I was difficult. I protested frequently, was stubborn, refused to follow her directions, and did everything I could to find a way to escape. But she was patient and persistent, and she was determined to break me.

I remember at one point, she had secured my paws over my head, leather cuffs wrapped around my wrists, connected to a stationary vertical beam that was attached to the ceiling, forcing me to face away from her and leaving me unable to turn around. Afterwards, she slipped a large padded eye mask over my eyes, completely blinding me.

Everything she was doing, and would do, was permitted, per our arrangement. But that did little to quell the nervous sense of anticipation that had come over me. As I stood there exposed, with my paws bound overhead, I fidgeted in place some before eventually calming down. I kept my face pointed forward stoically, with my body still, bracing myself for what was next.

And then, it came. A loud crack from her whip, and a sharp lash right against my ass. I yowled and winced, writhing and squirming in place, clenching and unclenching my trapped fists, as the stinging pain penetrated my hide. She let me settle down a bit and stop thrashing before she cracked it again, causing me to yelp again and toss my body around in place, pulling against the cuffs that were keeping my paws secured.

Then, again, right on my ass cheek. Crack! My nose pointed up toward the ceiling as I moaned loudly, tail swishing around rapidly. A few tears streamed down my face, making my eye mask wet. She was, of course, indifferent to that, lifting the whip up and snapping it on my rear again, sending me into another thrashing fit where I wormed around in place. Because after all, she was allowed to do this, and I knew it.

As my jaw hung open and my eyes sat almost shut behind the mask, I stood there panting in between lashes, each one sending me squirming and jerking about, tensing all of my muscles and pulling helplessly against the cuffs around my wrists. For some time, I didn't realize that I was purring. And not from the pain either, necessarily.

Eventually at one point, the next lash was slow in coming. Rather than trying to wriggle away, I found myself slowly sticking my butt out towards her. Trying to tease another one out of her. She wasn't going to give me another one, was she? No, she was too soft. She didn't have it in her, she wouldn't follow through.

And then, in response to my little cue, she did. Another crack, the sharp, stinging sensation delivered to my backside. And I yowled again. Writhing and twisting in agony, trapped in place. Torn between the seething, blind frustration at my helpless inability to escape, to get away, to even see anything, and the inexplicable cravings for another, and another. And indeed, she delivered.

And after each one, I would slowly inch my butt out again towards her, daring her to do it again. Much to my chagrin, she was happy to indulge me. Crack! Followed by another thrashing fit.

The whipping was cathartic. It granted me a release I never realized I needed. I felt myself submitting more and more to her, to her authority, while worming around in place as the stinging pain pierced my hide.

It was agonizing, yet strangely soothing. I relished in it, moaning and tossing my head backward while arcing my back after each lash, losing myself in the throes of passion. It was exhilarating and, frankly, drove me wild. And it was turning me on something fierce, causing me to stiffen up considerably down below. I delighted in the much-deserved stinging blows she was delivering, godawful excruciating as they were, writhing around in pleasure as they continued landing.

After several more lashes, she, mercifully, finally put the whip away. She stepped up to me and gently petted over my stinging hide, smoothing the fur down. Trembling, I winced at the touch at first, before eventually relaxing into it. After that, she moved her hands up to my shoulders, rubbing and petting them gently. At this point, I was both shaking and purring deeply.

"Let's get you a bit of water, pet." She opened a bottle of water, sticking it up to my mouth so I could drink from it, with the mask still covering my eyes.

I couldn't stop purring. My tail flicked around behind me, a sort of glowing feeling having overcome me. As I drank, she pet gently over my fur, giving me soft scratches, as I was flushed hot from pain and excitement. She embraced me, gently petting over my form, as I stood there with my paws bound over me.

"Mm, you needed that, didn't you," she commented. I said nothing, only grunting and nodding slowly.

She smiled. "I knew you would." She stroked the fur over my chest up and down. After a bit more petting and loving care, she continued, dropping her voice down to just above a whisper. "So you understand then that I own you. You're my slave, and you have to do what I say."

I purred more and nodded again, completely embarrassed at my own admission. No, I didn't want to be owned, she needed to let me go, why was I nodding. But it felt so good to give in, to submit. And how could I have blamed her? She only wanted what was best for me, after all.

"'Yes, Miss'," she chided, interrupting my train of thought. I gulped and obliged. "Yes, Miss," I quickly responded.

And as I stood there, squirming, she reached up and removed my eye mask, then unfastened my paws, allowing me to finally bring them back down. I rubbed over my sore butt with one of them, before lifting it up to my face. I slowly ran my tongue over the back of it to groom it, a steady purr coming from my throat.

Well, after this little session, she treated me pretty well for some time, grooming and petting me, while I nuzzled her affectionately. This wasn't so bad, I thought. Maybe I could escape later. And the whipping felt strangely exquisite. Put me right where I belonged, it did. I needed that, badly, and I deserved it too. She could whip me whenever she liked, I thought, for any reason or no reason at all, and I would take it. I would submit. And she kept my leash curled around her hand as she continued to soothe me, for the time being.

There were other punishments that followed later, at different times, but well, you get the idea. And I realize I'm getting horribly sidetracked with all of this...

Anyway, as it is, she gets to stay in her nice, large estate, with its two stories, many rooms, and several acres of land, helped out by a few assistants too. They will feed me and take care of me if she is too busy, though she is loathe to delegate that duty. Where she got the property, I'm not sure. An inheritance, I suspect. Some people are just lucky.

Along with it, she also has quite a bit of clout within the community, not to mention an elevated status. One which, naturally, I cannot share. Being her beast, her slave, even, relegates me instead to the stables outside the property. I have never once set foot inside the property myself, though I did catch a glimpse of its large foyer once in passing, while the front door was opened. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be permitted to go inside, someday.

On the bright side, at least, I don't have to worry about the maintenance and upkeep of the place. In fact, for that matter, I don't have to make too many decisions at all, as they have a way of being made for me. Who has choice has torment, as the saying goes? She probably has that saying inscribed somewhere in her property, hanging on the wall on a plaque.

My stall is relatively small. The door is wooden on the bottom half, the kind that swings outward and can be latched shut. The top half of the door, however, consists of long bars that reach all the way up to the ceiling. Being in the stall is one of the few times I get to have my paws free, and if I face the door or back wall, I can almost touch either side of the stall with my claw tips if I stretch my arms side-to-side enough.

The floor is covered in straw, and there's a makeshift straw bed I can curl up on. Also a feeding trough near the door, and an inconspicuous spot to, well, relieve myself. Curiously, the back wall has a couple of manacles hanging from it, an extra little implement of punishment that always makes me squirm when I look at them. Because any time she wants, she can chain me against the wall with them, with my paws overhead.

That's a very rare occurrence, granted. But a frustrating one too, I won't lie, and their mere presence makes me less willing to misbehave. She has only used them on me once so far. Imagine being forced to sit against the back wall, with a pair of cushioned metal cuffs keeping your hands hoisted over your head, not only exposing you but making it impossible to step away. And all you can do is sit there helplessly, without being able to move, and lots of time to think about whatever it was you did. It's quite uncomfortable and can make me feel even more like a caged beast. Which is what I already am now, but, you know.

Standing inside of it, I can feel the hay under my feet, and can smell the hay and dust in the air too. There is no window in my stall, but there are windows opposite my door on the wall near the ceiling, which the sunlight can stream through.

Despite the existence of adjacent stalls, I am the lone occupant here. She has no other, well, pets that I am aware of. Perhaps I'm enough of a handful all on my own for her to bother getting any other ones. What if one day though, she managed to find another creature just like myself to add to her collection, to trap in here with me in one of the other stalls. I wasn't sure what to think of that possibility.

My stall is, for all intents and purposes, hardly different from a prison cell. I often get restless when locked inside, pacing back and forth in it, sometimes stopping to groom myself. Or I will sometimes clutch the bars in my paws, squeezing and rubbing them up and down in a sort of quiet desperation. I have tried to slip my paw down through the bars onto the outside of the door to feel around for the latch, finding it under my thick palm pads, thinking maybe I could unlatch it and let myself out. But she typically has it securely locked, thwarting my efforts and moving me to lightly scrape the wood with my claws in annoyance.

So when she eventually came through the barn door that day, it was a welcome sight. Sure, I am kept well-fed and taken care of, but I had still been itching to get out of the stall for some time. Unless you've spent some hours imprisoned inside one, it's hard to describe the nagging boredom that can accompany it. Not to mention the keen awareness that if only you weren't in this situation, there were literally a million things you could be doing other than sitting in there.

"Okay, turn around, pet," she said, approaching the stall door. As she came into view, I could see she was wearing her riding gear today. Shiny leather pants with chaps, riding boots, polo shirt, not to mention this cute little black hat with a small brim around it. And, a riding crop in one hand, and a large bag in the other. I had a pretty good idea where this was going.

Being difficult, I kept my paws hanging over the edge of the door through the bars. Leering down at her, I flashed my sharp teeth.

"Turn around!" she barked, looking at me in the eye.

I eventually let out a low growl, snorted, and slowly sulked away from the door, turning to face the back wall. Despite the risk of punishment it carried, it was fun to test her, and I never once regretted it. She deserved it for keeping me locked away in here, after all.

"Good," she huffed. "Let's not make this any harder than it needs to be." Unlocking the stall door, she stepped inside, her boots crushing the soft hay.

"Nice to see you, Miss," I said gruffly, yet cordially, as she rummaged around in her bag. "How was your day?"

"Fine," she said. "Difficult, kind of stressful. Just another one of those days. Nothing you need to worry about though." She appreciated the question, no doubt, and wasn't about to burden me with the details of her situation, which was probably complex.

"Mm." I nodded, continuing to face the wall. "What would make it better? Bossing me around, like some kind of plaything?"

"Mmhmm," she replied. "And riding you, too." She let out a soft giggle, trailing a few of her nails against my flank.

I blushed and snorted. "Happy to be a source of amusement, Miss."

"Oh, you are," she replied. "And how are you, pet?"

I grumbled. "Mm. Bored and antsy, since I've been locked in this stall for so long. I would at least like the freedom to come and go, Miss. To step outside, when I want."

"Mm, but as a slave, you don't get to decide that," she replied, patting me on the flank. "Besides, you're well taken care of here, you get all your needs met and don't have to worry about anything. Right? That's a good thing."

I folded my ears back and looked over my shoulder at her. "But I can't get out!" I whined. "I'm trapped in here, for hours on end! How do you think you would like it." My protests were useless, as I knew deep down, my situation was entertaining to her. I could see her grin slightly as I looked at her.

"Well I'm not a slave like you are, so that won't happen," she responded. "Besides, you're not supposed to get out. You belong in here. Now, hush."

I blushed at her scolding, unable to keep from squirming as she pushed back against my complaints, reminding me what I was. Whatever protests I may muster, the cold, hard fact is that I'm still her slave and must obey her. I turned my head to face straight ahead of me again toward the back wall, mildly turned on from the brief verbal tussle as well as my inexorable descent back into submission.

She hummed quietly, as she gently took my paws in her hand, feeding them into a thick sleeve behind my back. I felt my claws scrape along the binder's thick interior, as she slipped its openings just above my elbows, securing them. I huffed, but stood still, cooperating.

Now my forearms both sat parallel to the floor, one on top of the other, with my elbows at right angles, trapped inside the thick black sleeve. She tightened the straps around my arms and hooked the other straps around my shoulders, buckling them around my torso to keep the device secure.

"Must I always wear this, Miss?" I groused. "I've never, well, misbehaved with this off."

"Yes, you must," she answered matter-of-factly. "You know you've got those big claws." Not like she needed a reason, anyway.

It wasn't fair of course. I huffed and stuck my nose up, stamping with one leg. "Hmph! Well it's completely unwarranted." My indignation fell on deaf ears, as it always did, since she was allowed to do this.

I pulled my arms against the binder sleeves, rolling them around, pulling one arm first and then the other. The feeling of helplessness at having them secured so well always made me blush from embarrassment. I clenched and unclenched my paws, able to do little else with them while they sat neatly tucked behind my back like that. Not to mention, having them hiked up behind me had a way of forcing me into a more upright posture, causing my chest to stick out, which she liked.

"Now, behave," she chided, giving me a swat. I grumbled and stopped squirming, though my tail lifted up just a little bit when she smacked my rump like that.

She tsked and shook her head as she checked the straps. "You're so fussy. So much work."

"Yes, Miss," I conceded gruffly, pawing at the hay with one of my feet. I was indeed fussy, not to mention stubborn, and I felt no shame over it. Not one bit.

Trying to escape the armbinder never works, but that doesn't stop me from attempting to anyway when I am alone and see an opportunity. Why squander any chance of freedom, no matter how small? This can become especially imperative if she happens to have me hitched up while running an errand, giving me a brief moment of time away from her watchful eye. I've tried many times before to wiggle out of the thing. I can't untie myself from whatever I am hitched to with my paws bound, so freeing them is naturally the first order of affairs.

I may pull my arm outward against the binder sleeve, pushing against its interior with my elbow, then I might push the same way with the other elbow. Then I might pull both of my arms apart, flexing my paws in the sleeve, stretching them side-to-side, before then pulling upward, shuffling my arms around. Then I may lean over, pulling this way and that and wiggling my body as my arms worm around inside it, scraping along its interior.