The River | Chapter 12

Pretense to a Pony

Caroline knelt in the grass, wrists still bound by the dark leather lead, her breath slowing from ragged gasps to heavy, shuddering pulls. She’d done more than she thought possible. Run farther, endured longer. She had borne the humiliation of nakedness, the sting of the crop, the amused glances of her captors.

But her ordeal was not over. That much was clear. Kneeling there, in front of the guests and Anastasia, the sun beaming down on her glistening skin, water dripping from her chin and her nipples. Anastasia held the half empty bottle aloft and began to pour, not waiting a moment for Caroline to get ready and position her mouth under the stream. The cold water splashed across her face, some of it falling past the bit still gripped between Caroline’s teeth, while the rest poured down the front of her naked body, a temporary respite from the day’s heat.

"You’ve been a very good girl today, pet," Anastasia said, when the water bottle was empty. "But the road is dusty, and our boots are dirty. I think you’re not done being a good girl just yet for our guests."

She stood there in her dusty boots, not a hair out of place, still holding Caroline’s leash without ceremony. She looped it expertly around her gloved hand, the sun behind her face, so when Caroline looked up, all she saw was the halo of sunbeams through her hair.

"On your hands and knees, pet," Anastasia commanded, and Caroline swallowed once more, trying to get used to the feel of the bit keeping her mouth open, making everything difficult. When she leaned over onto her hands and knees, planting each firmly on the ground, she shuddered as she felt the drool drip from between her open lips, knowing there was nothing she could do but feel the shame of it burning like the sun.

Anastasia’s words washed over her again, and she stared at the dusty boots in front of her. How much? How much to be his pet and crawl, prance, fuck?

And now this? Cleaning their boots? How? But she knew, even if she didn’t want to admit it to herself.

She blinked, feeling her nipples harden as the tip of Anastasia’s crop crawl down her spine. A line of spittle dripped from her mouth, hanging from her lips like a spider’s web, but she dared not move until given the word. Instead, she tried to focus on something else, anything else, but what filled her mind was even more humiliating -- how turned on she was. Exhausted, her skin dry from the sun, her feet and legs aching, and her jaw burning from the strain of the bit, but she couldn’t stop the sensation building between her legs just as she realized what was about to happen.

She felt the other woman’s hands on her head and sudden relief as the bit was pulled away. "I have use for your mouth, Caroline, your tongue,” she said, and she stepped back. “My boots are dusty from the ride. Clean them.”

Caroline hesitated, just for a second, and the crop snapped against her hip that drew a yelp from Caroline’s aching jaws, and then she scrambled forward and opened her mouth. Caroline’s cheeks flushed hot with shame when her tongue met the hot leather, bending low, her nipples tripping across the warm grass, turning them to hardened nubs.

She wasn’t a woman now, and there was something about it that hit her deep in her core. She was a pony. A pet. A dog.

She was whatever Anastasia wanted her to be in that moment, her tongue pulling across the black leather, then back into her mouth, dusty and dirty. Then back again against the leather as the tip of the crop lingered between her shoulder blades. Caroline arched her back, spread her legs, sinking deeper, feeling the pleasant touch of the grass against her nipples, and suddenly all she wanted was to feel a cock -- Ethan’s, the cock of one of the other men there or Candace’s fingers, her tongue, anything then.

Her legs spread wider as she ground her face into the rich leather, pushed her tits into the grass, desperate for some contact, anything. Were they watching her? Had they moved behind her? Was Candace watching, and could she see how wet Caroline was? Just the thought of being watched was intoxicating, and suddenly, as she switched from one boot to the other, her eyes closed as her lips and tongue traced every crease in the leather, she hoped Anastasia would have her lick everyone’s boots.

What was it about this that felt so right? But there was no denying it. She was tired and hot and overwhelmed by it all, but here in this moment, she was right where she wanted to be.

And just as she’d thought, the fantasy playing out in her head as every thought of who and what she had once been fell away, she was led, person by person around the little glen, to lick clean each and every boot. The last were the small kneehigh leather boots of Candace, who leaned down and stroked Caroline’s head, smiling, her eyes drinking the old woman in before Caroline leaned down and pressed her tongue against the leather. Candace practically purred just out of sight, and Caroline closed her eyes, imagining it to be Candace’s cunt.

She was their playtoy now. The pony for each and every one. Their pet. Their dog as she crawled across the dappled shade of the glen on the leash, done with her task and stopped in the center of the glen, where the shade was deepest and the ground soft with moss.

The guests gathered casually around, their horses tied and forgotten. They spoke among themselves in low, easy voices, sipping cold drinks from their saddle bags. No one acknowledged Caroline directly but watched as Anastasia placed a small wooden bowl filled with clear water on the ground.

She touched Caroline’s head and withdrew, then gave the leash a slight tug. "Drink."

Caroline sank to her elbows, and bent over the bowl. She lowered her face obediently and drank, her tongue darting out, small and quick and desperate. The cold water hit her parched throat like a jolt, but she drank greedily, ignoring the murmured laughter around her. She wasn’t drinking like a woman anymore. She was drinking like property, and every drop was a blessing for her dry mouth.

When Caroline had taken her fill, Anastasia drew her up again with a short, precise tug.

"And now it’s time for your reward," she said coolly. "If you are prepared to earn it."

The guests laughed softly, the amusement rich but not cruel.

Caroline's cheeks burned as Anastasia stared down, her gaze cold and hard, like granite, and said, “Turn over on your back, pet. Legs up and open. Show us your cunt.”

The words burned into Caroline, each syllable writing itself into her head, under her ribs, between her legs as she rolled over and parted and lifted her legs. As if the day couldn’t get more humiliating, and now, she reached down, following further directions, and grabbed the backs of her knees, opening legs wider until her glistening pussy was on full display.

Open and exposed. She’d never felt so vulnerable, so on display, so completely at the mercy of another human being than she did now. There was no moment in her past life like this one -- not even in her teen years, her college years, when the boys had pursued her relentlessly, even catching her a time or two. She’d rutted in the backseats of cars and fucked in dorm rooms -- sometimes enjoying both roommates, but there was no moment in her life in which she’d opened herself like this.

And her clit pulsed with need as she lay back, closing her eyes, hearing the footsteps around her, wondering what was about to happen.

The moan from her lips shocked even Caroline when the tip of the crop trembled against her clit.

“Service, pet. This is your new life.” Anastasia’s voice was cool and even, as always, calling to her as if from across the room. Everything felt like it was in the distance, sounded like an echo while the crop lingered. It was the only thing that seemed to exist in her world, and she trembled under its presence and what she imagined was coming.

The leash tightened again, and the words came down over her like a clap of thunder. “Ten strokes, pet, and you will cum on the tenth stroke. Keep those legs open, pet, or you will regret it.”

Caroline shuddered as Anastasia spoke, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the fear washed over her. She needed to look. She wanted to look. To see the crop flashing down. To brace herself for the shock, the pain -- but she clamped her jaw down and held on as the crop’s trembling presence was suddenly gone.

The first crack of the crop was lite, but the howl from between her lips filled the silent glade, and Caroline’s eyes burst open.

“Service,” said Anastasia, the crop cracking down on Caroline’s clit with more force this time.

“Obedience.” A third crack, and Caroline’s eyes filled with tears as her cry rang out.

“Perfection.”

The fourth, fifth and sixth swats from the tip of the crop came in quick succession, and Caroline’s fingers went white gripping her knees. Her screams, the tears, and suddenly, out of nowhere, moans as the crop cracked for seventh, eighth and ninth times against her clit. And just like that, the orgasm was there, on the brink as she watched the crop rise, caught the look into Anastasia’s eyes just before it came down.

“Cum.”

Author’s Notes: I’ve been working on where this story is going. I usually just start with an idea and let it run, and in the case of The River, that’s no different. But I do have an ending in mind; I just have to get there, and along the way, things may twist and turn, and I’ll just deal with it. There’s not a lot that I can do when the story or the characters take over in certain moments — like this scene and the last in which Caroline is taken out to run with the horses, and she learns that she will be trained for a derby of sorts.

What Caroline is also learning is that she is Ethan’s plaything through and through. What she hasn’t learned yet is her status with Ethan, but it may start coming through quite clearly soon. What ideas did she have in her head when she signed the contract? What expectations? Did she read the fine print? And what will she do about it? All of this will be answered eventually, some of it sooner than later, as we work through the first act of the story — putting Caroline in her place.