Image: Karlyne (Own work)
All Girls Love Ponies is my second five-minute erotica offering and involves a sadistic dressage instructor giving some rather unorthodox instructions to his female pupil. If the idea of a whip applied to a soft backside makes you hot, then this story might be for you …
Missed the first five-minute erotica, Frostbite? You can find it here.
IMPORTANT: Please note that All Girls Love Ponies is a work of fiction and contains explicit sexual content and BDSM elements, including impact play. If such material offends you or you are under the age of 18, please don’t read any further.
ALL GIRLS LOVE PONIES
I was late for my lesson. Again.
Hell hath no fury like a dressage instructor kept waiting and to say that Sebastian was going to be displeased with me was a colossal understatement. Monumental, in fact.
The industrial lights from the indoor school blazed in the darkness and I swallowed, briefly toying with the idea of getting back in my car and driving off.
It was tempting. More than tempting. But I was in no doubt that if I hightailed it I’d banned from his tutelage forever. And I didn’t want that, because even though Sebastian Cavendish was a total asshole with a heart of granite and the demeanour of an angry bear, he was an absolutely brilliant riding teacher. People waited months and months and forked over hundreds of pounds to have him yell at them just once. I, on the other hand, paid for the privilege, physically, financially and mentally, every Friday night from eight ‘til nine.
For whatever reason, I’d decided that resurrecting my childhood riding hobby was a good way for me to relax, to shed the stress of my job as a lawyer at one of Oxford’s busiest and most prestigious law firms.
To a certain extent, my theory was working; it was virtually impossible to think about my caseload while sitting astride five hundred kilos of difficult horseflesh and being yelled at by an ex-member of the Household Cavalry.
A dark figure appeared between the open double-doors of the school, illuminated by the manege’s lit interior.
Sebastian.
He stood silently; legs apart, hands on his hips. Six foot three of intimidating shadow, waiting for me to approach.
I glanced down at my watch once more, praying for miracle.
8.17pm.
Nope. Time hadn’t stood still. I was nearly twenty minutes late.
A boulder of dread sitting heavy in my stomach, I reached back inside my Mini and grabbed the velvet riding helmet on the passenger seat, thankful that I’d scrambled into my breeches and jacket in the ladies’ loos at work. Asking Sebastian for additional time to change at this point would have been like volunteering to be shot by a firing squad.
Slamming the car door, I reluctantly started towards the manege, my anxiety growing with each step.
With the light behind him, it was impossible to see the expression on Sebastian’s face but there was absolutely no doubt he was royally, royally pissed; his displeasure was a living, breathing energy that radiated outwards and wrapped around me like constricting serpent.
A metre from his imposing frame, I ground to a halt, unwilling to get any closer to the explosion that was certain to occur. It was hard to keep my eyes up, to not look at the ground like a naughty schoolgirl, but I forced myself to face him despite the fact that I was literally quaking in my riding boots.
I knew better than to say anything. To him, excuses and placations meant nothing. The only thing this man responded to was perfection – and he never got that from me.
I stood and waited for him to address me.
But, disconcertingly, he simply stood there. Hands braced against his hips, face in shadow, caustic gaze burning holes in me as I squirmed like a gill-caught sprat on his line of contempt.
I was on the verge of breaking the horrible silence with a stuttered apology when Sebastian simply turned on his heel and strode back into the school.
For a moment, I stood dumbly. Should I follow? Or did his silence mean he was washing his hands of me for good?
He must have realised I wasn’t trotting along in his wake because he paused briefly and without turning his head uttered three words in the most scarily level tone I’d ever heard him use.
‘Get in here.’
I stumbled forwards, jogging slightly to catch up with him as he marched to the collecting area on the far side of the arena.
And was almost ill when I saw the jet-black horse waiting for me.
The Boatman.
Named after Charon, the ferryman of the Underworld, he was easily the most difficult ride in the Sebastian’s stable – and the few times I’d been on him, things hadn’t ended well. I really had felt like I’d been crossing the River Styx to the world of the dead without a coin to pay for my passage.
I was so busy eyeing my equine nemesis and panicking about how the hell I was going to stay on him that I momentarily forgot about my human one.
Until he spoke, that was.
‘Take off your jodhpurs.’
My head whipped around so fast I was surprised I didn’t give myself whiplash.
Sebastian was standing just to the right of me, arms folded across his chest, face completely impassive.
‘Excuse me?’ I spluttered.
‘Your jodhpurs. Take them off. Now.’
Anger surged through me at his audacity – the nerve of the man! – but, most alarmingly, the ghost of a thrill came hot on the heels of the outrage.
I drew myself up and somehow forced myself to assume the expression I used when facing down opposing barristers in court.
‘How bloody dare you, you arrogant shit.’
Sebastian’s eyes took on an evil gleam and my blood turned ice-cold at the frightening promise in them. Well, except for the place between my legs, which, against all odds, seemed to catch fire at his look.
He uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to me.
‘Natalia.’
Leaned in.
‘Take. Them. Off.’
All the air seemed to leave the arena. Just for a moment, I wondered if I was having some sort of hallucination, but then I realised, no. This was very, very real. On some instinctive level, I realised that I was on a precipice. Even worse, I was going to willingly step off it.
Glaring defiantly at the man in front of me, I let my helmet drop to the ground and bought my fingers to the hook at the top of my riding trousers. Popped it loose and yanked down the zip below it. Unfortunately, my air of challenge, such as it was, lost all effect as I realised I would be unable to rid myself of them without first shedding my boots.
Reluctantly, I dropped my eyes and attempted to toe them off. Usually, I removed them with a boot jack – the fit was very tight – but here in the riding school there was none. As I struggled to lift my right heel upwards, I glanced briefly at Sebastian.
He made absolutely no move to help me despite my obvious difficulties, seeming perfectly content to watch me contort myself as I attempted to follow his ludicrously inappropriate instructions.
My humiliation grew. Yet something in me refused to back down.
Eventually, the boots came off – along with my socks. I was so embarrassed by my lack of grace that it was almost a relief to peel my black jodhpurs down over my thighs and calves. At least until I had to hop about in front of him pulling the clingy fabric over my ankles.
When I finally stood bared legged and barefoot in the sawdust, my breeches in a heap next to my hat, I was red-faced with embarrassment.
‘Lose the knickers. Put your boots and socks back on.’
Without waiting to see if I would comply, he turned and made his way over to the rail of the collecting area and picked up the long dressage whip leaning against it. Then Sebastian turned towards me, tapping the long, thin stem across his palm, narrowing his eyes at the pants still in place over my sex. ‘It seems that you’re as appalling at following instructions as you are at riding in a straight line.’
‘I–’
‘Don’t say a word,’ he snapped. ‘You’re in quite enough trouble as it is.’
I swallowed.
‘I’m going to give you one last chance, Natalia. And if you don’t do as I tell you, you’re going to be very, very sorry.’
I was in absolutely no doubt that Sebastian’s threat wasn’t an idle one. My hands flew to my hips, tangled in the elastic waistband of my knickers, pulled them down my legs. When it came to drawing my socks and boots on, I didn’t hesitate. I simply sat bare-assed in the sawdust, the rough shavings brushing against my pussy, and drew them on as quickly as I could. When I stood, the chips that had clung to my skin rained down the backs of my legs like wooden confetti.
Sebastian regarded me critically, in the same way he would take the measure of a horse he intended to break.
‘Come here. Bring your things.’
I didn’t dare disobey. I bent to scoop up the detritus of my riding gear and made my way towards him, the various items spilling over my arms. Funnily enough, I was more concerned with not dropping anything that the fact that I was exposed from the waist down.
‘Put it down.’
I did. Straightened.
‘Look at me.’
My eyes met his.
‘You’re going to ride every drill I give you perfectly. No errors.’
My jaw dropped. In the four months I’d been coming to Sebastian for tuition, I’d never managed to execute a single line, circle, or change of rein that met his exacting standards. And that was on a horse I could actually control.
‘And if I don’t?’
He smiled, showing off his lovely straight, white teeth. ‘You’ll be reprimanded.’
Oh, God.
‘Any questions?’
Hell, I might as well go for broke. ‘Why am I not wearing pants?’
‘So that I can punish you more easily when you fail, my dear Natalia.’
I sincerely wished I hadn’t asked.
The Boatman seemed to sense something was afoot. He flicked his ears backwards and forwards and shifted restlessly as I moved to mount him.
Don’t panic, Natalia. You can do this.
Gathering the reins in my left hand, I grabbed onto the saddle and prepared to pull myself onto the gelding’s back but, as I did so, I was suddenly struck by an awful thought. When I swung my leg over, Sebastian, who was holding the stirrup on the opposite side to prevent the saddle from slipping, was going to get an absolute eyeful.
‘I haven’t got all night, Natalia,’ he barked. ‘If you don’t want me to take this whip to your ass, get on the horse.’
That decided it. I pushed my weight into my left leg and pulled myself onto The Boatman’s back. And almost lost it when the cool, smooth saddle leather pressed against my bare pubis. I’d had it waxed not two days before and the skin was achingly sensitive.
The Boatman chose that moment to dance sideways, his body moving like liquid silk beneath me. I sat deep and tightened my legs in an effort to bring him under control – and was immediately distracted by a sharp bolt of arousal as my unprotected clit rubbed against the pommel of the saddle. Somehow, I managed to keep hold of the reins, but it was a close-run thing.
I bought the gelding to a stand-still and hurriedly got my right foot into the stirrup. When I looked up, Sebastian was frowning at me.
‘Warm up. Two circuits at a walk. Change the rein. Two more.’
I nodded and gently squeezed The Boatman with my calves to move him to the outside of the arena. After a brief battle of wills, he complied. But not before his undulating movements had caused further havoc with my rapidly swelling clitoris.
Initially, I was just thankful that I had the horse moving in the right direction, but by the time I’d completed my second circuit and started riding the diagonal line that would see us moving clockwise rather than anticlockwise, I was rapidly turning into a ball of messy, distracted arousal.
The rhythm of The Boatman’s springy walk, my bare pussy and the leather rubbing against it, was bordering on unbearable. Worse, I could feel the saddle growing damp as my pussy started to leak its juices onto its smooth surface.
The Boatman chose that moment to take advantage of my inattention and dance out of alignment, throwing in a few small bucks for good measure as he did so.
Heart pounding, I wrestled to bring him back under control.
‘Halt!’ boomed Sebastian, who was now standing in the centre of the arena, mere metres from our mishap.
Easy for you to say, I thought, somehow managing to bring the black devil beneath me to a stop.
‘Dismount.’
I took my feet from the stirrups and slid to the ground next to him.
‘Tie him up at the collecting ring and come directly back to me.’
On shaking legs, I led The Boatman to the side of the manege, secured him, and returned to face the seriously displeased man holding the dressage whip.
‘Get on your hands and knees, Natalia.’
Thud, thud, thud.
My heart was deep and hollow, pounding like a kettle drum. How far was he actually going to take this? The man had a frickin’ whip in has hand for Christ’s sake. And just how far would I let him go?
As far as you need to in order to earn his approval a small voice whispered.
It was an uncomfortable truth. Deep down, as much as I railed against Sebastian’s awful attitude, I genuine wanted to please him, to do something worthy of his praise. Now he’d well and truly thrown down the gauntlet and, fool that I undoubtedly was, I didn’t want to be found lacking any more than I already had been.
Decision made, I lowered myself into the sawdust, keeping my eyes locked on his the entire time.
The corner of his mouth turned up as watched me. ‘Drop your head,’ he said as he moved to stand behind me.
I did as I was told, the helmet adding its own weight as my neck arched downwards.
‘Why are you being reprimanded, Natalia?’
‘For not keeping control of The Boatman.’
‘No, Natalia, that’s not it.’
There was a whistling sound and then, a millisecond later, a stripe of excruciating heat arced across my bare buttocks. I yelped in pain and lurched upwards, tried to cover the stinging skin with my sawdust-covered hands. Sebastian was ready for me, though; a broad palm pressed not ungently against my spine, stopping me from getting far enough up to balance. I was forced to lean forwards again and put my hands back on the ground to stop myself from face-planting. For a split second, my instincts screamed at me to crawl out of reach, away from Sebastian and the cruel sting of the whip in his hand, but they were quickly superseded by the desire to hold my ground and prove to him that I could take whatever he chose to dish out. Steeling myself, I took two deep lungfuls of air and braced for whatever was coming next.
It was as if Sebastian had been waiting for me to strengthen my resolve, because the moment I firmed my posture, mentally accepted what was happening, he addressed me.
‘If you move out of position again, I’ll tie you to the railing of the collecting ring. Do you understand?’
I nodded.
‘Good. Now, Natalia. Why are you being reprimanded?’
This time, I thought before opening my mouth.
‘For losing concentration.’
‘Excellent.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sebastian’s leather boots appear near my left shoulder.
‘You have an appalling attention span when you’re struggling with something, Natalia, and that’s the reason you ride so shockingly. So, I’m going to make things both better and worse for you. Each time you lose it, I’m going to give you five lashes with the dressage whip.’ He paused, as if waiting for me to say something.
I thought it best to hold my tongue.
Sebastian continued, sounding vaguely amused. ‘I’m also going to make things more difficult for you every time you slip up.’
Uh, oh.
‘For each error, you will receive something that will make it even more difficult to concentrate.’
Unable to stop myself, I snorted. ‘What could possibly be more distracting than a backside that’s on fire?’
‘Oh, Natalia. Believe me, your backside is going to be the least of your worries.’
My heart actually stopped beating.
‘So it’s really very simple. Keep your concentration and you’ll escape further punishment. Lose it and you’ll make things more and more difficult for yourself.’
My palms started to sweat.
‘Now, I’m going to give you the remaining four strokes I owe you and you’re going to take them gracefully. Aren’t you?’
I gritted my teeth. ‘Yes, Sebastian.’
And then my backside exploded in pain as the dressage whip swung down to meet it with a fierce kiss.
From that point on, the lesson became my own personal chamber of torture. I’d been back on The Boatman less than ten minutes, valiantly trying to ignore my newly striped bottom (which screamed in fiery protest every time it rubbed against the saddle), when I screwed up the sequence Sebastian had asked me to ride. He had me off the gelding in an instant, and the moment the horse was tied up out of the way, he laid down five blistering lashes on the lower curve of my bottom, one on top of the other. Then he pulled me to my feet, tears dripping down my cheeks at the humiliation, and unceremoniously stripped me down to my bra. I was sure I looked ridiculous, standing there in just my boots and a black lace underwire, but Sebastian didn’t seem the least bit concerned by my appearance. He pulled the delicate fabric cups down so that my breasts were completely exposed – and unsupported – and ordered me to get back on The Boatman so we could continue the lesson. As I climbed back into the saddle, I sent a silent ‘thank you’ to the man above for blessing me with small breasts – officially the only time in my life I’d ever been grateful for being an A cup.
The next five lashes came when I failed to move The Boatman from a trot to a canter as quickly as Sebastian would have liked. These ones landed across the fleshiest parts of my buttocks and the blows had enough force behind them to make my mind go completely blank as I tried to process the pain. While I remained on my hands and knees, trying to breathe through the aftermath, Sebastian crouched down beside me and reached for one of my nipples. It was shockingly erect and I realised, suddenly, that this out-of-left-field session of punishment – the pain, the humiliation, Sebastian’s dominance and his implacable orders – were all speaking to me on some base, sexual level.
I was totally and utterly aroused. More turned on than I could remember being in my entire life.
And a glance at the rather impressive bulge in Sebastian’s pants told me he was too.
My moment of epiphany was cut abruptly short, however, because just as the realisation entered my head, he pulled something silvery from his pocket and attached it to the turgid tip of my left breast.
‘Fuck!’ I whipped my hand out of the shavings and tried ineffectually to bat his hand and whatever the hell was now clipped to me away.
‘Put your hand back down, Natalia.’
‘What the fuck have you done to my nipple you sadistic shit?’ I half snapped, half wheezed.
‘You watch your language.’ He punctuated his command with a firm tug on the silvery thing and I immediately crumpled in agony, clenching my fingers into tight fists.
I’d just managed to ride the wave of it out when an identical crushing pressure enveloped my right nipple, too.
‘Aaahhh!’
‘It will pass. The first few seconds after the clamps go on are the worst.’ Sebastian smiled. ‘Well, until they come off, that is.’
Clamps?!
‘On your feet, get back on The Boatman. We have another twenty minutes left.’
I looked frantically down at the watch on my wrist. ‘But I was late and it’s already nine o’clock!’ I protested.
‘You’re mine for a full hour, Natalia, and you’ll get the lesson you paid for.’
The next fifteen minutes went relatively smoothly. For the majority of them, my mind managed to overrule the tingling in my pussy, the increasingly raw skin of my bottom, the weight of the clamps as they dragged at my aching nipples with each bouncy step The Boatman took. Against all odds, the additional distractions were forcing me to focus every part of myself on the horse beneath me; concentrating on every little detail of the ride was only way I could rise above them and keep my ever-increasing arousal at bay. That was until my clit took a delicious rub during a leg yield, the reins went slack and The Boatman bolted.
Off I came again. Another five lashes. Alternate cheeks. As the final stroke landed, Sebastian gave me the shock of my life by burying one of his fingers in my embarrassingly wet pussy, then drawing it out and around the pucker of my anus.
I tensed. He snorted with laughter.
His finger left me briefly and there was rustling followed by a squelching noise, as if something was being squeezed from a bottle. Then the feeling of something cool, firm and slippery pressing against my ass – which I immediately clenched in protest.
‘You owe me five more minutes, Natalia. And I’m going to make them count.’
‘By sticking something in my bottom?’ I retorted.
Sebastian leaned down next to my ear. ‘Are you looking to add another ten minutes of complimentary instruction?’ he whispered.
I shook my head frantically. No way. I was close to the limit of my endurance – physically and emotionally. These last five minutes might as well be five hours.
‘Pity. You’ve made more progress this evening than you have in the past four months.’ He punctuated the end of his sentence by pressing whatever it was in his hand through the resisting ring at the entrance of my anus. Stopping briefly when I flinched, and then continuing until it was fully seated within me.
I whined. I actually whined. The object wasn’t painful, exactly, but it was uncomfortable. Only the discomfort had an edginess to it that was inexplicably tantalising. It didn’t make sense – especially to someone like me who generally disliked anal sex.
Sebastian slapped my bottom the flat of his hand none-to-gently and I scrambled to my feet.
‘You have five minutes left, Natalia.’ He paused, studying my flushed face. ‘Don’t disappointment me.’
It was like being in the eye of a hurricane. Three hundred seconds of heaven and hell.
Every time my bottom hit the saddle, the bit of the object protruding from my ass was shoved further inside me. My nipples felt both numb and tingly, the clamps on them feeling heavier than ever before. The welts on the skin of my buttocks became more and more tender with each movement of the horse beneath me.
The only way to escape the assault of sensation was to become part of the animal between my legs, an extension of the reins in my hands.
And for the first time ever, I rode the drill Sebastian gave me without making a single error.
When I finally drew to a halt in front of him, The Boatman in a perfect outline, legs absolutely square, I was on the brink of a complete meltdown.
Sebastian took hold of the horse’s reins and nodded at me to dismount. ‘Wait here,’ he said, and led the gelding to the collecting ring, rubbing his muzzle as he did so.
I looked down. Saw the silver clamps quivering against my breasts as I trembled. Registered the damp smears of arousal on my shaking thighs.
What the hell was happening to me?
Before I knew it, Sebastian was back, standing like a conquering king in front of me, the dressage whip in his hand. My eyes widened and I took a step backwards.
‘Stop.’
I froze.
He stepped closer. ‘That sort of riding, Natalia, is what I will expect from you every time from now on.’ Keeping his eyes locked with mine, he lifted the long whip and trailed it very, very slowly from the hollow of my throat to the start of the crease between my legs. ‘Very well done.’
The wash of happiness Sebastian’s approval induced was so deep and so great I almost sobbed with relief. At last! I finally had his respect.
But as great as the gift of his compliment was, it did nothing to ease the twisted state of my virtually naked body, wrung so taught it felt close to breaking.
Even as I bathed in his praise, I felt like I was lost in a thick, dense emotional fog and that any second I would shatter into a million disconnected molecules.
I made to turn away, desperate to cover myself and gain the sanctuary of my car, but Sebastian had other ideas.
I got exactly one foot before he tackled me from behind and forced me back down on my hands and knees.
‘Don’t you want your reward?’
Then that wickedly long crop was raining down on my derriere until my skin felt like it had been dipped in gasoline and set on fire.
The pain was like nothing I’d ever felt before and the orgasm that had been threatening to break loose the entire lesson exploded through me like a Fury. On and on it went, re-igniting to an excruciating peak when Sebastian reached beneath me to pull the clamps of my poor, tortured nipples, bathing them in a euphoria of blissful agony.
When the storm finally subsided and I came back to myself, I was lying on my stomach in the sawdust, head resting on my bare arms. Sebastian was crouched beside me, stroking my back, the dressage whip discarded at his feet.
Barely able to summon the strength to move, I turned my head in his direction and looked at him in wonder.
‘How long have you been planning that? I mean, how did you … know to do that to me?’
Sebastian smiled slightly, not even pretending to misunderstand.
‘You always did respond to the sadist in me, Natalia – even if you didn’t realise it until now.’ His grin turned wolfish. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to be late again for almost a month.’
I grunted, and sucked in a breath when his fingers drifted down to my behind and gently extracted the object from my anus. He held it up for me to see.
It was a small glass plug, quite beautiful in its own way.
He glanced pointedly from it to me. ‘Next time you fuck up, Natalia – and you will,’ he added casually, ‘you’ll have an even bigger one of these to contend with.’ He rose to his feet, picking up the dressage whip as he did so. ‘And I’ll blister your ass so badly you won’t sit down for a week.’
I smiled against my arm as he walked away.
‘I look forward to it,’ I whispered into the silence.