Princess

Warning – adult content

Story 10 – Stefan gets creative with a plot to torment Rowan

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A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek to join the rest gathering at his jawline. A shift in the beat shook it and a few others loose, to drop to the floor far below. Rowan moaned. He felt a chill through his lean frame – but disregarded it. He leaned further forward, letting his wrists take the bulk of his body weight. His feet never left the platform he was standing on though his toes dared to hang off the edge. The strained muscles of his arms screeched their objections. 

The music shifted again to a darker tone. He smiled. The massive speaker towers he had tied himself to were transmitting the beat down the taut lines, through to the fibers wrapped around his wrists. Pulsations coursed through him, melded with the roar of the extractor fan behind, triggering another most enjoyable shudder.

A sharp jolt in his hip broke the stupor. His eyes flew open and darted downward, already suspecting what he’d find. Stefan stood on the stage beneath him, beaming. He held a long sturdy rod in his hands. A cleaning implement perhaps, though the functional head had been removed, most likely to ensure a sharper and more painful tip. Carefully transferring the awkward tool to his right hand, Stefan beckoned him to descend with his left, more than happy to prod him again if he refused. Rowan grumbled audibly, though even he couldn’t hear himself over the din. Begrudgingly, he began to extract himself from his bondage.

Upon reaching the ground, he wasted no time heading in the direction of the nearest drink. Stefan was babbling about something, but Rowan’s ears were still ringing from the booming assault he’d chosen to immerse himself in. Rowan still, however, regarded the diminutive dom with suspicion. He was wearing his signature leather pants, spiked hair and predatory grin. Nothing unusual there, but he had the look of a tormented teen at his wit’s end – who’d just found the key to the gun safe. It could only mean one thing – yet another scheme to get the better of the lanky performer. 

Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Rowan spotted a rubber-clad masked servant holding a tray of drinks. He didn’t hesitate to help himself. After taking a sip, he turned to Stefan to try to discern what he was saying. Hearing only a hint of his surroundings through a high-pitched buzz, he wiggled a finger in each ear, trying to shake it off.

Stefan crossed his arms over his chest and glared at him. “HEY!” he shouted, commanding attention. Rowan heard that one, raising his eyebrows in feigned interest. Stefan scowled, indicating for him to follow. Once they left the party, Rowan could feel his hearing coming back.

They were now in an area of The Manor that had been vacant for some time. It may have at one point been another dungeon, that is, before Rowan started coming to this paradise of perversion. There was evidence of new work. The walls had recently been painted, the marble floor redone and polished. Lights and other fixtures were new and undoubtedly expensive and small hooks had been placed on the walls at regular intervals, suggesting pictures, but they were nowhere to be seen. He suspected that was Stefan’s doing. Whatever they depicted would have given away the game and robbed him of some juicy entertainment.

“I have a surprise for you,” Stefan said, with obvious smugness.

Rowan leaned in, his voice dripping with unabashed lust, slipping a hand onto his friend’s posterior. “I’ve been waiting so long for you to fuck me again.”

Stefan curled his lip in annoyance, moving to put an arm’s length between them. “You do that one more time, and I will tie you up in the front lobby, prop open your jaw and put up a sign saying ‘urinal’!”

Rowan chuckled. Game on.

Since Rowan’s over the top and bizarre self-introduction, the two had become close friends. Stefan had learned to trust him, being that he truly had no interest in his money, power or even the perks of the resort. While he’d asked to simply ‘hang out’, what he’d craved was a demon he could he beat. He’d hadn’t much luck battling the ones within him. It had worked beyond his wildest imagination. For the first time in a long time Rowan felt he had self-control. He came and went as he pleased and could use what or whomever he wished in this place. Most of the time, he was just happy to pour himself a drink, relax and scan the crowds for the type that had the option of saying no. Stefan in turn gained something virtually unknown to him – a friend. One with no agenda. While others sought his favour, or quaked in his presence, Rowan was well, just Rowan. 

It was not to say their relationship was without drama. It had been built on it, and both were keen to keep deception and competition at the forefront. Rowan’s frequent pranks kept Stefan looking over his shoulder. The fiery little sadist plotted revenge, but rarely succeeded. This wasn’t a cat and mouse game; it was cat versus cat.

Fortunately, it was a game that, despite appearances, Stefan enjoyed. No one had ever challenged him before and won. He could easily dispatch of unpleasant or combative guests, but Rowan’s juvenile antics were alien to him. In the beginning, the skinny performer made his watch disappear so many times, Stefan eventually had to give up on wearing one. The same fate befell his keys, drinks, tools and once, to the dom’s utter bafflement, all of the furniture in his lounge. While outwardly furious, Stefan had, one more than one occasion, let out a giggle when no one was looking.

Rowan had been expecting retaliation for his most recent prank. He’d snuck an amorous grandmother into Stefan’s bed while he was passed out. Granny had been quite forward, and unwilling to take no for an answer. Though Stefan had fended her off, it was after she’d left him with a large and embarrassing hickey. It should have earned Rowan repeated kicks to the groin, but the spiky-haired little sadist had bided his time, waiting for a big, juicy win. Now two weeks later, that win could be where they were walking to. Rowan wasn’t particularly concerned. In the past month, the score was eight points for himself and a big fat zero for the grouch.

“…Mm. These halls look familiar?” the smirking little devil asked.

“Not really,” Rowan replied, trying to discern the origin of an odd scent in the air. It was an earthy musk, but not an unpleasant one. “What is that smell?”

“Hmm?” Stefan queried in mock ignorance.

Rowan ignored him. It had been foolish to bother asking. Besides, the end point of their short journey was coming into view.

They were slave quarters after all. Not the usual dank, cold dungeons, with concrete walls and straw bedding, but elegant comfortable ones, with beautifully polished wood gates and more comfortable temperatures. The straw was still there, it was that smell he couldn’t quite place, but even it looked softer and cozier than the usual fare. 

So what? Rowan didn’t care much about slaves. The accommodations were nice, but he couldn’t quite connect Stefan’s clear excitement with what he was seeing. There was more to this than simply showing off some new rooms. He was up to something… Whatever it was, though, it wasn’t immediately evident.

Rowan couldn’t help but be a little curious, but he refused to give Stefan the satisfaction of seeing it. Taking a deep breath, he then exhaled, letting any tell-tale signs of interest wash away. What remained was an idle look of boredom. 

If Stefan was disappointed by his lack of interest, it didn’t show. He continued to wear an exuberant grin and was clearly excited. He was walking backwards towards large elaborately carved wooden gates, watching every one of Rowan’s expressions, as if committing them to memory for future review. He beckoned him to follow until they reached the exit, at which point he held out his hand, indicating that it was time to stop.

“Close your eyes,” Stefan said, bubbling with anticipation.

Rowan shot him a warning look. 

Stefan planted his hands firmly on his hips. “Oh, just play along for once.”

Sighing audibly, Rowan did as he asked, but prepared himself to move quickly if the devious dom intended to take advantage. 

He heard a twittering chuckle, then the gate being opened, feeling the fresh evening air on his face. He heard the sounds of party guests mingling in the distance, and ambient music on the outdoor speakers. It sounded as if they were far enough away to be discounted as an audience. Based on the layout of the ground, he suspected they were on the other side of The Manor. 

His task completed, Stefan took Rowan by the arm and led him a bit further forward, holding his other hand in front of Rowan’s eyes, in case he peeked. When properly positioned, he let go and stepped away.

“Ok. NOW!”    

Rowan opened his eyes and promptly froze, mouth hanging open. He felt shivers crawl up his spine, goosebumps on his arms, and a sudden tightness in his groin. 

She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever set eyes on; tall, slim and elegantly poised. She wore a leather harness that did nothing to hide her mostly nude figure. On her head was a bridle, complete with bit gag pulled tight against her moist full lips. Perky leather ears graced the sides and full red feather plume proclaimed her a champion. A long, high docked tail was attached to the rear of her tack, nearly reaching the ground. Her arms were bound from wrist to shoulders in a corseted black leather binder. Gleaming nipple rings caught the light on her firm, uncovered breasts, and a supple leather undergarment hid what was below. 

“A… a pony girl?” Rowan gasped, stumbling over the first word. His voice briefly broke, a telling indication of both shock and yearning.

Stefan smiled wickedly, lifting a finger to his chin, gently tipping it upwards to close his unsightly gawk. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out your secret fetish?”

Rowan looked at him out of the corner of his eye with great unease. He’d kept his weakness a secret because it was exactly that… A weakness. Given his friend’s commitment to torture, as well as his determination to see Rowan thoroughly bested, this night seemed likely to take a bad turn.

With a nervous swallow, he turned back to her. Whatever this night was going to bring, he could at least enjoy the sight of her for now. He took a tentative step forward, eyes roaming over every inch of her flawless figure. She was simply impossible to ignore.

He guessed her to be in her early thirties, the perfect age for youthful beauty – coupled with the poise and confidence that comes with experience. She had the air of one who was a master of her craft – and knew it. Everything about her spoke of years of work perfecting her art.

She was taller than the two of them, aided by leather boots that ran all the way up her enviously long and shapely legs – ending mid-thigh. Soft leather lashings crisscrossed down the back of them like a corset. Below, the boot jutted forward, the thick platform designed to look like a hoof. Underneath was a metal plate, made to imitate both the look and sound of a horseshoe. Noting his look of interest, she rapped one foot sharply on the pavement twice, like a spirited yearling stamping in anticipation of a run. The crisp echo sent shivers of delight through Rowan’s tensed, eager frame.

Her shimmering brown hair cascaded down her neck and back, lightly brushing her hip. It glowed with health and a lifetime of strict regimen. He could imagine the intoxicating scent of expensive creams and oils and longed to take the strands in his palm to sample their exhilarating fragrance.

Her costume was custom made from exquisitely soft leather, perfectly fitted to her figure and tailored to highlight her well-toned curves. Her bridle, made by the same hand, was flawless. The blinders on either side were not large enough to be functional but served to create a more convincing look. The bit, while functional as a gag, was soft enough to protect her teeth but snugly attached, with only a slight bit of give so that a sharp tug on the reins, or a release, would communicate her master’s desires clearly. The most eye-catching part, however, was the strap running across her forehead. It was carefully engraved with tastefully subtle, intricate designs featuring vines. In the center, a decorated metal plate, holding the considerable red plume made from 3 dyed ostrich feathers. Their soft barbs danced in the barest of breeze, captivating Rowan’s admiring eyes.

While marvelling at her headpiece, their eyes had met. He felt himself drawn in by their emerald depths. They burned of intelligence and hunger. It was not the look of a slave, but a fierce predator that knew how to use her body to enslave a would-be master. 

Rowan took a step back in surprise. It was not what he’d expected. The few ponygirls he’d encountered were submissive. She may have been play-acting a cart horse, but inside was a wild and strong-willed mustang. This would be her game, not his.

Stefan strode up next to him, with a smug swagger, thrilled by the look in eyes. “Rowan, I’d like you to meet Princess.” 

He then unhooked the lead from the wall. Coming up alongside the fiery mare, he put his hand on her backside, grasping it firmly with a ravenous appetite. “She came to me at great expense you know,” he began, and pinched her hard, with cruelty, further between the legs, where her most sensitive regions lie.

In a dizzying flash, Princess spun around with astonishing speed and landed a powerful back kick just below Stefan’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. She could have easily hurt him worse but wanted to send a warning. She was to be treated with respect or suffer the consequences.

He stumbled for a minute dropping the lead, straining to get a breath then screamed in fury. “FUCKING CUNT!!!”

Trying to hide his glee, Rowan’s lips quivered. He picked up the lead from the ground. “You need to treat a creature as fine as this with respect my dear friend,” walking to Princess’ side and making gentle calming sounds.

Stefan was still screaming a wide assortment of curses, examining himself for what would surely be a nasty bruise. Remembering the point of all of this, he shook off the rage and eyed the lanky performer. No matter. He was clearly smitten. Wasn’t that the point? He’d get back at Princess later, but with regard to Rowan, the fun was just beginning, and he didn’t want to miss it.

“Here,” he said, unhitching his favorite crop from his belt, tossing it in Rowan’s direction. “You’ll need this.” 

Rowan caught it easily, looking at Stefan with suspicion. “For what?”

Stefan blinked with innocent eyes and sweetly smiled. “She’s yours for the night!”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed, waiting for the inevitable sadistic punchline. “What’s the catch?” he growled.

“Hmm?” Stefan purred, feigning ignorance again. “Oh yes, right.” He gathered himself, squared his shoulders, and his smile turned stern. “E-SSEN-TI-AL contact ONLY!” he snarled, then switched back to his sweetest smirk. With big, blinking eyes he added, “She’s in quarantine,” wiggling the fingers on one hand in a cute wave, as if sprinkling the magic dust on this cruel arrangement that made it deliciously complete.

The famed quarantine. A ritual the dom took very seriously. All new residents and certain staff underwent a comprehensive series of health checks, including tests for sexually or otherwise transmitted diseases. Physical contact was strictly forbidden during this period. He prided his flock on being clean and robust enough to tolerate the level of abuse they’d likely be subjected to. Patrons and members were not required to do the same, but the penalty for jeopardizing the staff or business was outrageously severe. 

Rowan gritted his teeth hard and nearly snapped the crop in two. “You sadistic piece of shit.”

Stefan narrowed his eyes, smugly victorious then turned a touch serious. “And I suggest you dispel any thoughts of stealing a quickie. I’ve got eyes everywhere.” 

Rowan didn’t doubt his words. Whether Rowan crossed the line or not, Stefan was sure to be somewhere, gleefully watching his torment. 

Still…

Rowan stood tall, giving him a mischievous look. His mind was already calculating ways around the scrutiny. “I seem to recall that I always end up winning our little games,” he said slyly.

“Are you so sure about that?” Stefan crooned, dangling a small key from his thumb and forefinger.

Rowan didn’t make the connection at first. There’d been nothing, he thought, then stopped. He scanned Princess’ tack suspecting a trick when he spotted it. A small but sturdy lock discretely incorporated into her leather undergarment. A modern, wicked little chastity belt.

Stefan giggled with unrestrained delight, nearly breaking out in a little dance. “I had that designed just for you!” 

Rowan gritted his teeth but held his tongue. He shifted his weight onto his right foot, willing himself to look relaxed and unfussed by the revelation. Truthfully, he was weak at the knees, tight in his chest and felt a stiffening down below just standing next to her. It took a great deal of willpower to not let it show. It would take a great deal more to withstand the next few hours without that ache becoming unbearable. And he knew, oh, he most certainly knew that was precisely Stefan’s intent.

As Stefan turned to leave, he casually waved a hand to a nearby outbuilding, roughly designed to resemble a cowshed. “There are some toys at your disposal in there.” He then spun around just long enough to give Rowan a cheery wave and twitter, “Have fun!” then walked away with a cheery swagger, likely in search of a good viewpoint.

Rowan watched him go, his stomach sinking into a pit of dread as his eyes drifted back to the ponygirl next to him. She had everything he craved and more. Elegance, pride, and her own mind. Harder still, she was a clear master of the roleplay he yearned to be part of; the beautiful, wild mare, to be tamed by his gentle but firm touch, learning to trust and lust for him. 

Rowan carefully swallowed. This was not going to be easy.

It took a bit of work to figure out the cart and its attachments, and time to learn how to direct her. She had a tantalizing playful streak and liked to balk at his instructions, even skittering away with a flash of her long tail. He remained patient, calm, but his face was etched with a stupidly enchanted smile.

Eventually she settled down, seeing that he had no intent to force her. She readily took her place, head and bosom held high. It had all been a test to discern his character, though it was hardly needed. She could see from the start that he had nothing but reverence for her.

From there, it didn’t take much to get her to pull. The moment he sat down she was already moving forward in a proud, high-stepped walk. He nearly squealed with delight, but it didn’t last long.

THIS…. was…. torture.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Those firm rounded buttocks right in front of him began to eat at his mind. He imagined his hand fitting perfectly against each side, fingers seeking out their every curve. Their side-to-side movement felt deep in his groin, imagining each as a caress on his desperately seeking member. Right at eye level, only a few feet away, he soon forgot about anything else. This succulent bait, just out of reach, taunting him. If he could just reach far enough, leap off this cart and bury his hands, his face, and his stiff… 

“YOO HOO!”

Startled out of his stupor, he realized they were passing a small crowd of partygoers, enjoying their drinks in the night air. In the forefront stood a familiar figure. That fucking, spiky-haired sadist, gleefully waving his hand, grinning with wicked relish. A man that could plainly see the look-but-don’t touch policy was causing the desired effect. Rowan had been hunched over, glued to the sight of Princess’ behind like a neanderthal discovering fire, enraptured by its dancing flames.

Rowan cursed under his breath and snapped at the reins to signal the mare to quicken her pace. She hardly needed the encouragement. Spotting the audience, she was eager to show off. Her so-called handler may have been a novice, but she most certainly wasn’t. This was her time to shine, and she would do so with or without his direction. 

Princess broke into a simple trot, elevated in its elegance by her poise and beauty. She seemed to glide along with the lightest of steps, her naturally long stride letting her float over the pavement. 

Rowan nearly lost his balance by the unexpected change in speed. Recovering quickly, hestraightened his back, giving a sidelong glance to the crowd. He wasn’t the center of attention any more at least. Stefan’s eyes were following his new star. He tightened his grip on the reins and smiled. This could get interesting.

When they reached the end of the pavement, he signalled a turn, taking the cart in a wide circle to face back from where they came. He let her go no further. Princess stamped a hoof in frustration. 

“Easy girl,” he said softly. “We’re just whetting their appetites.”

Princess turned her head as much as the reins would allow, eyeing him with curiosity. He just grinned. She wasn’t the only performer here.

“I don’t know the full extent of what you can do, but I have a pretty good idea. How about we give them a show?”

Her back to him now, she responded by pulling at the bit and rapping a hoof sharply on the pavement. She was eager.

“There’ll be a few courses to this meal, each one more tantalizing than the last.”

When he was certain all eyes were on them, he gave the mare her next direction. “Let’s start by fancying up that trot, shall we?” he grinned, then snapped the reins with a dramatic flourish, letting her sail.

She made her second pass, with a snappy, higher step, keeping each suspended for a longer period. It gave the illusion of moving in slow motion and drew appreciative comments. He looked into the crowd noting a couple of new faces. Her clipped hoofbeats had been noticed.

She turned once again at the end, heeding his advice to wait. Curious visages appearing on the balcony showed it was worth it. She had the greater numbers she craved. 

With each pass, she revealed her talents, one each grander than the last. The flying changes of her tempi were only one of her skills. She had tricks up her sleeve he’d never heard of. By the end they had attracted a fair crowd, drawn to the scene by a rapid spreading rumor.

Rowan was thrilled at her every movement. She was the picture of grace and athleticism, muscles in perfect harmony to create artistry of flexion, extension and motion. It took years of work to be this good, and no one else did it as well as she did.

For their finale, Rowan stood atop the cart, taking a dramatic bow as Princess stopped mid stride to take hers. He beamed especially wide at Stefan’s clouded face, torn between pride at his acquisition, and anger at his prey stealing the show. Still, the requests for bookings with his new prize were raining down on him in a torrent. He’d be making a lot of money from this display.

Besides, the two of them teamed like this could only serve to heighten Rowan’s desire. He may have made a critical mistake here. He’ll only be wanting her more.

When Rowan saw the fiendish grin form on Stefan’s lips, he realized his error. He’d been drawn into the performance like a moth to a flame. He needed to get away from there, and especially away from Stefan’s prying eyes. He refused to provide him with more fodder for his sadistic glee.

Spotting a path to the grounds, Rowan tugged at the left rein. She spotted his intent right away. Though regretful of losing her admirers, she was curious to learn more about her handler.

Once well out of sight, Rowan settled on a grassy area a short walk from the path. He walked over to unhook her from the cart, noticing the sweat on her skin. He’d hoped to see what she could do without the burden of the transport but decided against it. She could use a rest. Once free he gave her a light tap on the hip and smiled with encouragement.

“Go on, take a break,” he said, much to her surprise. It was the first time in her career that anyone had let her roam free. Not to mention downright unusual for a master to care much for her state. She gave him a quizzical look, before stepping onto the soft grass – feeling its lush comfort even through the hoofed boots. She looked up at the stars just revealing themselves and inhaled deeply, tasting the crisp air before speeding off in a joyful prance.

He laughed heartedly at her antics as she frolicked around the grass, kicking out now and then with a flourish. Her feathered head tossed with the thrill of freedom. It was silly for sure, but he was enjoying it. He leaned against a nearby tree just to drink in the sight of her.

It went on for some time, with breaks to roll around the thick green. Every now and then she would race to within inches of him and stop, flashing her emerald eyes as if daring him to catch her, before jumping away into a run. Each time he was tempted to follow, but stopped himself, knowing that when he caught her it would be impossible to resist falling to the ground wrapped around her, hands and lips.

He winced, feeling a new jolt of pain in his already throbbing groin. It was becoming unbearable. He furtively looked around, wondering if there was an iota of privacy in which he could relieve himself. He shook his head violently, horrified at his own thinking. He was better than that. He tried to will the discomfort away instead, with no success.

He looked back up to see that she was tiring and was filled with dismay. Was this to end so soon? She walked over to him, slowly now, breathing hard. He reluctantly clipped the lead to her bridle and looked at her.

“You are covered in sweat and dirt, my dear,” he said with a wistful sigh and a smile of appreciation. He’d enjoyed every last second of her display and suspected it was one she had reserved only for him.

It was then that it hit him.

“I need to bathe you, don’t I?” he said with growing horror. If his groin was a mass of screaming pain and pressure now, it would be ten times so in a few moments! Princess smiled wickedly, looking him straight in his wide and panicked eyes. This was going to be fun.

No. THIS was torture.

Rowan stood on jellied legs, holding a hose in one hand and a sponge in the other. Princess was positioned on all fours, stripped of all gear save the chastity belt. He’d been staring at her lusciously presented behind for a solid few minutes, frozen in place. He hated to admit it, but this time Stefan had won. This was by far the most devious and sadistic torture he’d dreamt up.

He kept wanting to reach forward with the water and sponge but was immobilized by indecision on where to begin. There wasn’t a single area of skin on her that didn’t exude erogenous appeal. Buttocks, thighs, breasts, obviously out. He’d have to get them at some point, but perhaps it was better to start somewhere simple. Her back? It was the largest area, and easiest to reach. Such an elegant spine, such unblemished skin; the gentlest of curves that reached down to the most perfect derriere he’d ever seen. 

He shook his head violently, trying to force the thought out of his head.

Princess on the other hand was having the time of her life. She kept biting her lip to stop herself from laughing. She found him charming, attractive, and sweet. She was also acutely aware of the growing problem between his thighs. He’d been crossing his legs, covering the area with his hands trying to hide his discomfort, but it only made his suffering more obvious. It was cute, really. Like a teenager fighting desperately for control over a newly awakened organ with its own mind. She was thrilled to know she was the cause of it and couldn’t help using her body to try and tease him over the edge.

The back, it has to be the back. Just wet it down and get it over with.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Rowan turned on the hose showering her with cold water. She let out a little cry, arching her back away from it, making sure to lift her rear to provide him with a better view. He closed his eyes for a moment and whispered a silent prayer to himself before lifting the soapy sponge towards her. As it made contact, the tips of his fingers touched her skin. The slight contact sent a shiver up his arm. He soon forgot his task, letting his hand run down her side, sponge falling to the floor. She lifted her head, let a euphoric moan escape her lips.

Rowan froze, wracked by a strong shudder, the pain in now raging hardon reaching unbearable levels. He scrambled quickly to his feet and took a few steps back, breathing heavily. Wiping his brow, he looked around in a panic for an exit. Finding a promising route, he made a hasty retreat. Princess watched him go with absolute glee. She’d driven many a man to lust, but none to quite so dramatic, so profound desperation.

It was only a minute or two before he returned. The ponygirl hadn’t moved, taking care not to make her sidelong glance obvious. She sensed that he had done what he needed. He seemed more confident in his self-control. She turned her head away before breaking out into a grin, testing him with a little wiggle of her backside. He resisted the bait. The rest of the bath went quickly, much to her disappointment. No matter. His burning desire could be reignited with ease.

It was a moment of blissful peace. Rowan sat on a small stool with the bare woman sitting cross-legged before him, facing away. He ran a brush for the hundredth time through her long, luxurious hair, marvelling at the silky strands. They hardly needed the extended care, but he was lost in their depths.

Despite his earlier relief, the temptation to take her was still tearing him apart. Permission was not generally needed, it’s what the residents were there for. Not that he ever took outright advantage. Unlike the typical guests, he had some respect for them as individuals. He would never have forced himself. 

This one, however, was not making it easy. She knew she was beautiful and she was well aware of his interest. She clearly had a sadistic streak of her own, having used her assets the entire evening to tempt him before dancing away, just out of reach. He could see why she was so valuable. She was so much more than a typical submissive Pony. She was an unsurpassed beauty as well as a predator in her own right. She knew exactly how to play her so-called masters. She toyed with their frustrations, giving just enough back to make them beg for more. He’d been bewitched from the start, his lust carefully cultivated, then nourished until he’d been forced to relieve himself out of her sight. Was this all her doing, or was it a collaboration with Stefan to torment?

He tried to focus on brushing her hair but even that more punishing than pleasurable. Her back was perfectly postured and close enough for him to sense her heat. He tried to block out the thought of her proximity and immersed himself in his task, hypnotized by the repetitive strokes. 

He was so taken by her soft and shimmering locks, he didn’t even notice her turn her head, just enough to examine him from the corner of her eye. What she saw thrilled her. Seeing the effect she had on people always did.

This one was different though. He wasn’t the typical arrogant patron smugly displaying then taking his prize. He was genuine. There was this casual ease about him and a smile that wasn’t forced or superior. He didn’t make any effort to be bigger than he was, and he treated her with reverence and delicateness. She liked him.

She also wanted him. She exhaled softly, relaxing her posture, allowing her back to rest comfortably on his groin and inner thigh. Startled by the sudden contact, Rowan dropped the brush and drew back as best he could on the small stool.

“Hey!” he began, but it hadn’t been an accident nor was it where it would stop.

She settled into her lean, putting a bit more pressure on the sensitive region, inhaling deeply to create a gentle caress as her shoulders moved with her breath.

Rowan quivered at the touch as the will to fight it faded into a reverie of sensation. “Oh God, please don’t do that, I can’t…” but she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

She reached a long, shapely arm upwards, brushing against his chest until she could feel her fingers on his jaw, cupping it gently. She lifted herself up with her powerful legs, keeping herself pressed against him until her hips were in line with his, making her desire clear with an evocative slow grind to his loins.

The fire raging within him became an inferno. Before he knew what he was doing, his hands were roaming all over her body, desperate to feel every inch of her. He buried his face in her neck, drinking her scent like it was life-giving nourishment in a time of famine.

If only…..

He grasped the chastity belt in frustration, determined to rip it from her body. If will alone could give him the strength.

“My, my,” a voice uttered from the shadows.

Rowan’s eyes flew open as he was violently snatched from his spell. Scrambling to his feet, he searched for the speaker. Stefan stepped out from the shadows, eyes disapproving, arms crossed and stern.

“Oh, for FUCK’S SAKE!” Rowan cried, covering himself with one hand to hide his throbbing humiliation. “THIS IS YOUR BIG PLAN!? TEASE ME UNTIL IT HURTS!?”

“Pain is PAIN!” Stefan hissed. “And yours has been immense – and great fun to watch!”

 Stefan grinned then turned positively evil. “And you’re going to hurt so much more when I tear open every orifice on her body with my cock for your viewing pleasure!”

Princess, calmly got on her feet and then casually walked to the corner to find her attire, refusing to give Stefan the satisfaction of acknowledging him. She put on her boots, tack and bridle with dignity and class, leaving the bit hanging from one side, while the two men argued. She left the arm binders where they were.

Only then did she give Stefan a piercing glare. The contract made clear it was her choice as to who ‘mounted her’, not his. His ridiculous ‘quarantine’ was nothing more than a scheme to make the establishment look good and tempt the clients. He could have just as easily run a health check before they set foot in the place but knowing a new resident couldn’t be had made them even more tempting. Parading them through the halls, announcing their status never failed to garner desperate interest. Plus, there were always those that would pay quite a bit extra for the right of first usage.

The other thing her contract allowed was the right to fight back when displeased. Nothing drew a crowd like the possibility of an arrogant twat getting what he deserved. Not to mention the repeat business when they felt driven to try again. Clients with this kind of money and power weren’t particularly fond of being humiliated. They could never simply leave it at that. Not when others succeeded. 

She stood up, giving Stefan a sultry look. Even he wasn’t immune to her charms, and she knew it. She looked briefly in Rowan’s direction with a look of disgust. How dare he try and touch her. She then turned back to Stefan, her master, and smiled. She lifted her chest to display her ample bosom in the best possible light and began to walk slowly in his direction, using every bit of her looks and charm to capture his full attention.

It was having the effect she wanted. Captivated by her, Stefan looked hungry, with the fierce, focused eyes of a lion nearing its prey. The performance she had given was still fresh in his mind. As soon as she neared, he took a nipple ring in each hand and twisted them cruelly while yanking her against him.

“I’m going to mount you like a raging bull and tear your pretty little snatch apart,” he hissed in her ear, loud enough for Rowan to hear. “And that pitiful fool is going to watch me do it.”

Princess bristled with rage then did the last thing either expected her to do. She broke character. “MY CHOICE” she spat, then drove her forehead into his, the metal plate on her bridle making a satisfying smack. As he stumbled back in shock and pain, she drove her knee hard into his groin. He mouthed a soundless scream, and fell to his knees in agony, cradling his aching jewels. 

Princess looked down at him with cool detachment, then plucked the key from his pocket. Unfussed by his pain, or potential ramifications, she turned, idly kicking a few pieces of straw in his direction as further insult. He had displeased her after all. 

With a wicked smile, she sauntered over to Rowan, head held high, dropping the key in his quivering hand. She took one look back at the man curled up in pain, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. When they did, she shot him a glare of warning. He got the message.

She turned back to Rowan and started walking slowly past, running her finger from the top of his chest to his pelvis, lingering for a moment to hook it in the waistline of his pants. Her eyes locked with his, making it clear he was to follow.

He didn’t need to be asked twice but did give one last look behind at his friend writhing around on the floor. He’d recover and surely seek the both of them out, intent on revenge, but for now?   

This was going to be worth it.