Ultimate shoulder rides

mahesh1 · 2024-08-27 13:31:23

In the year 2175, Earth's resources have dwindled to almost nothing. Oil is a distant memory, and with the extinction of most animals, society has evolved in bizarre and desperate ways to survive. In this harsh, sun-scorched world, water is the most precious resource, and those who control it hold immense power.
Society has adapted to the loss of technology and animals by using people as beasts of burden. Men, often selected and trained from a young age, are now the primary mode of transportation. Women, who are generally the leaders and traders, ride these men on shoulders across the barren landscape.
Amara, a hardened water trader in her mid-thirties, is one of the few who still ventures between the isolated settlements that dot the wasteland. She is accompanied by two men: Kain, a stoic and muscular man who carries the heavy water barrels on his back, and Lysander, a wiry and agile man who serves as her mount.
The journey is grueling, with the sun beating down relentlessly and the wind carrying the sharp bite of dust. Along the way, they encounter dangers: roving bands of scavengers desperate for water, ancient machines left over from the old world, and the ever-present threat of dehydration.
The dynamic between rider and mount is one of absolute control. As Lysander walks, Amara sits astride him, her body completely relaxed. She does not offer words of encouragement or praise, as in this world, such sentiments are considered unnecessary. Her control is total, her expectations clear—Lysander is to carry her until he can no longer stand.
When Lysander begins to tire, his breath labored and his limbs trembling, he is allowed to rest, but the rules are rigid. Amara does not dismount him. She remains seated, her weight pressing down on him, a constant reminder of her authority. Lysander is permitted to lower his body to the ground, but he must do so in a controlled manner, ensuring that Amara remains comfortable and undisturbed. His rest is brief—a few minutes at most—before he is expected to rise and continue the journey.
As Amara makes her way through various isolated villages, her reputation as a successful trader precedes her. In one such village, she encounters a young girl named Elara, a girl from a distant and seemingly more civilized part of the world, where men and women are treated as equals. Elara has never seen men used in the way Amara uses Lysander and Kain, and she is both fascinated and disturbed by the sight.
Elara is a gentle, soft-spoken girl in her late teens, with a natural submissiveness that makes her eager to please those around her. When she first sees Amara riding Lysander, she is shocked but also curious. Amara, noticing the girl’s interest, offers her a ride on Lysander’s back, inviting her to experience what has become a norm in this harsh world. But Elara, despite her submissive nature, politely declines. She feels uncomfortable with the idea of riding a man, something that clashes with her upbringing and values.
Instead, Elara chooses to walk alongside Amara as she rides. She watches the way Amara commands Lysander, the way he responds without question, and the way Kain carries the heavy barrels without complaint. There is a tension in the air, a visible divide between the world Elara comes from and the world she now finds herself in. Yet, despite her initial discomfort, Elara is drawn to Amara’s strength and authority.
As they travel together, Elara begins to adopt the customs of Amara’s world, slowly and almost imperceptibly. She starts by offering to clean Amara’s feet during their rest stops, a gesture of respect and submission that surprises Amara but is accepted without objection. Amara sits on Lysander’s back, her legs stretched out, while Elara kneels beside her, gently washing away the dust and grime.
lara’s behavior continues to evolve as the journey progresses. She becomes increasingly deferential to Amara, seeking her approval and following her every command with a quiet eagerness. When they stop to rest, Elara is quick to offer her services, whether it’s fetching water, preparing food, or tending to Amara’s needs. She does all this with a sense of purpose, finding comfort in her role as a servant, even though she was not forced into it.
Amara, initially indifferent to the girl’s submissiveness, begins to appreciate the convenience of having someone cater to her needs. She allows Elara to take on more responsibilities, slowly integrating her into the harsh lifestyle she leads. Elara’s presence also highlights the contrast between the women—Amara, who wields power with a heavy hand, and Elara, who wields it through service.
One day, Amara receives a large and lucrative order for water from a distant village, far beyond their usual routes. The order requires them to transport ten barrels of water—more than Kain alone can carry. As Amara attempts to load all ten barrels onto Kain’s back, she quickly realizes that the weight is too much, even for him.
To Amara’s surprise, Elara, who has been observing quietly, speaks up. She suggests a solution: instead of burdening Kain with all the barrels, they could split the load between Kain and Lysander, and she, Elara, could serve as Amara’s mount for the journey. The suggestion catches Amara off guard. Elara is slim, much smaller than either of the men, and the journey ahead is long and treacherous, through scorching deserts and unforgiving terrain. Amara knows that riding a human mount for hours on end is no easy task, especially for someone untrained.
Amara explains the harsh realities of the journey to Elara, emphasizing that there will be no time to rest. She will have to carry Amara for hours at a stretch, and the burden will be immense. But Elara, with a determined glint in her eyes, insists that she can do it. She wants to prove herself, to show that she is not just a servant, but someone who can bear the weight of responsibility—literally.
With some hesitation, Amara agrees to the plan. The group sets out on their journey, with Kain and Lysander each carrying five barrels of water, and Elara now serving as Amara’s mount. At first, the journey proceeds smoothly. Elara moves with surprising agility, her slender frame bending under Amara’s weight but not faltering. Amara, sitting astride Elara’s back, feels the girl’s resolve in every step she takes.
But as the hours wear on, the strain begins to show. The sun beats down relentlessly, and the rocky terrain becomes more challenging with each passing mile. Elara’s pace slows, her breathing grows labored, and Amara can feel her legs trembling with the effort of carrying her. The once smooth and steady gait becomes uneven, and Amara knows that Elara is nearing her limit.
Amara is conflicted. She respects Elara’s decision to take on this role, to prove herself in a way that goes beyond mere servitude. But she also knows the dangers of pushing too far. The thought of giving Elara a rest crosses her mind, but Amara hesitates. She understands the importance of this moment for Elara, and there’s a part of her that admires the girl’s determination to succeed where others might falter.
Instead of offering rest, Amara decides to test Elara’s resolve. She leans forward slightly, making her presence even more felt, and speaks to Elara in a tone that mixes both encouragement and command. “You wanted this, Elara. Now show me that you can handle it. Don’t disappoint me.”
Elara grits her teeth and presses on, but her body is betraying her. Amara can feel the girl’s muscles quivering under her weight, the sweat pouring from her brow, and the slight stumbles as her strength wanes. When Elara begins to falter more noticeably, Amara doesn’t relent. She uses harsh words to keep Elara moving, reminding her of the commitment she made, the responsibility she took on. “You wanted to carry me, Elara. Now carry me.”
As Elara’s exhaustion becomes more apparent, Amara uses physical means to spur her on—digging her heels lightly into Elara’s sides or tapping her back with a firm hand. It’s a harsh method, one that mirrors the treatment Amara has always given to the men who serve her, but it’s also a test of Elara’s endurance and willpower.
Elara struggles, her body on the verge of collapse, but she pushes through the pain and exhaustion. Her vision blurs, her breath comes in ragged gasps, but she does not stop. Amara, still astride her, feels a strange mix of emotions—respect for the girl’s tenacity, but also a ruthless determination to see how far Elara can go.
The journey is grueling, but Elara endures. When they finally reach their destination, Elara collapses, her body spent from the ordeal. Amara dismounts, looking down at the girl who has proven herself in ways Amara hadn’t anticipated. There’s a moment of silence between them, a silent acknowledgment of what Elara has accomplished. Amara knows that she has pushed Elara to her limits, but in doing so, she has also seen the depth of the girl’s resolve.
With Elara’s surprising endurance and commitment, Amara begins to take on larger and more dangerous orders. No longer limited by the capacity of just two men, Amara expands her operations, recruiting additional men to her team. Now commanding five men, Amara's influence grows, and so does her reputation. The men, who once bore all the weight, now share their loads more evenly, but the most remarkable sight remains Amara atop Elara’s back—a symbol of her control and dominance in a world where power is everything.
Elara, now accustomed to her role as Amara’s mount, becomes an essential part of the team. Even when the men walk unburdened, Amara chooses to remain seated on Elara’s back. The smaller woman’s frame, less muscular than the men’s, offers a different kind of comfort. Elara’s gait is smoother, and Amara finds herself preferring the way Elara carries her—there’s a grace and subtlety in Elara’s movements that the men, with their powerful strides, cannot replicate.
As they travel from village to village, their presence becomes the stuff of legend. Word spreads quickly about the trader who rides not a man, but a woman—a lady of slender build who carries her mistress across the harshest terrains without complaint. The sight of Amara perched upon Elara’s back, surrounded by five men laden with heavy barrels, becomes a symbol of unmatched authority and resilience.
Villagers speak in hushed tones when they see Amara’s caravan approach. They whisper of her indomitable will, her ability to command not just men but a woman who willingly serves as her beast of burden. Some see it as a testament to Amara’s power, while others view it as a disturbing reflection of how far society has fallen. Regardless of their opinions, all agree on one thing: Amara is a force to be reckoned with.
Elara, for her part, embraces her role with quiet pride. Though she was once hesitant and unaccustomed to the brutal realities of Amara’s world, she has found a strange sense of purpose in her service. She no longer sees herself as merely a servant, but as a crucial part of Amara’s success. The grueling journeys have become a test of her strength and resolve, and each successful delivery is a personal victory.

equidum · 2024-08-27 14:18:13

Thanks Mahesh1 for this excellent story ! I think that this "new world" you describe and plan for 2175 might probably come into existence long before, possibly around the year 2100, if we do not dramatically change our way of life !!! And we certainly will not change it enough ! Muscular strength of males will then be back as an important source of energy, far more important and convenient than that of animals, which require too much land surface for their feeding !

Lucky males of 2100 or 2175 !

Equidum

mahesh1 · 2024-08-27 18:38:30

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a fiery orange glow over the barren landscape. The air is thick with heat, and the ground, cracked and parched, radiates warmth that clings to everything it touches. Amara’s caravan comes to a halt at the edge of a small, abandoned village, a brief rest before they continue their grueling journey. The five men, burdened with barrels of water, kneel in exhaustion, their faces slick with sweat, but Amara remains seated atop Elara, her chosen mount.
Elara kneels in the dirt, her slender frame trembling slightly from the weight she’s been carrying all day. Her back, damp with sweat, shines under the harsh sunlight, her shoulders narrow and delicate compared to the powerful, muscular men who serve alongside her. Amara, who towers above Elara even in a seated position, exudes an air of effortless authority. She is a larger woman, her body strong and imposing, a stark contrast to the smaller, more fragile figure beneath her.
As the time comes to move on, Amara prepares to mount Elara once more. She stands up, her shadow falling over Elara, who is still kneeling with her head bowed. Amara’s movements are deliberate, each step measured and confident as she approaches her mount. Elara’s breathing quickens, anticipation mixing with the exhaustion already weighing heavily on her limbs.
Amara places one hand on Elara’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath her palm. The other hand grips a fistful of Elara’s hair, not harshly, but with enough pressure to remind Elara of her place. With a practiced motion, Amara swings one leg over Elara’s back, settling herself astride the girl’s narrow shoulders. Elara’s body dips slightly under the added weight, her muscles tensing as she adjusts to the familiar but still challenging burden.
Seated comfortably, Amara’s larger form dominates Elara’s smaller frame. The difference in size is stark—Amara’s legs dangle down Elara’s sides, her feet almost brushing the ground, while Elara’s shoulders seem barely wide enough to support the woman atop her. Yet, despite this disparity, Elara endures, her back arching under the pressure, her legs quivering as she struggles to maintain her balance.
As the caravan resumes its march, Amara sits tall and relaxed, her posture regal. The journey is long, the road ahead rough and uneven, but Amara’s expression remains calm, almost serene. She leans back slightly, letting her weight fully rest on Elara’s back, knowing that every ounce is a test of the girl’s strength and endurance.
Elara’s face is a mask of concentration, her jaw clenched as she fights to keep moving forward. Sweat pours down her temples, dripping onto the dusty ground below, leaving dark spots in the dry earth. Her breaths come in quick, shallow gasps, her chest heaving with the effort. The sun’s relentless heat only adds to her struggle, her skin slick and glistening as she pushes herself to carry Amara’s weight without faltering.
Amara, on the other hand, remains unaffected by the harsh conditions. The heat doesn’t seem to touch her; she barely breaks a sweat. She adjusts her position slightly, shifting her weight to one side, and Elara stumbles, nearly buckling under the sudden change. Amara responds with a sharp word, her tone a mix of encouragement and command, urging Elara to steady herself and keep going.
Despite the pain coursing through her legs, Elara finds her footing again and continues, driven by a deep-seated determination to prove herself. She can feel Amara’s gaze on her, a constant reminder of the expectations she must meet. The journey stretches on, each step a battle against the fatigue threatening to overwhelm her, but Elara presses on, her body drenched in sweat, her muscles screaming for relief.
Amara, perched high and unyielding, watches the landscape pass by, her mind focused on the destination ahead. She is completely at ease, the burden of the journey borne by the one beneath her. While Elara struggles, Amara remains a picture of calm, her confidence unshaken by the trials of the road. She knows that Elara will carry her, no matter how difficult it becomes, and that knowledge allows her to relax, secure in her dominance.
As the hours pass and the sun dips lower in the sky, Elara’s pace slows, her steps becoming more labored. Her legs shake visibly, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but she doesn’t stop. The sweat on her back pools in the hollows of her spine, soaking through the fabric of her clothes, but she keeps moving, her mind focused solely on carrying Amara as far as she needs to go.
Amara, noticing the growing strain in Elara’s movements, tightens her grip on the girl’s shoulders, offering a few harsh words to spur her on. “You can do better than this, Elara. Keep going. Don’t make me regret choosing you.” The words cut through Elara’s exhaustion like a whip, forcing her to find a reserve of strength she didn’t know she had. She straightens her back as much as she can, her legs trembling violently, and pushes forward, determined to prove her worth.
For the remainder of the journey, Amara remains relaxed, her body a heavy but unwavering presence on Elara’s back. She knows that Elara will carry her to their destination, just as she has done countless times before. The struggle, the sweat, the pain—these are all part of the test, and Amara knows that Elara, despite her smaller frame, will not fail her.
As they finally reach the next village, the men stumble to a stop, exhausted and relieved. But Amara does not immediately dismount. She lingers on Elara’s back for a moment longer, feeling the girl’s rapid heartbeat beneath her. Elara’s body is trembling with fatigue, her skin slick with sweat, but she remains upright, waiting for Amara’s command.
Finally, Amara swings her leg over and steps down, her feet touching the ground with a grace that belies the long hours spent riding. She looks down at Elara, who collapses to her knees in the dirt, her body giving out now that the burden has been lifted. Amara watches her for a moment, a flicker of something almost like admiration in her eyes, before turning to the men to oversee the unloading of the water barrels.

mahesh1 · 2024-08-28 04:49:10

The cold night air clung to Amara’s skin as she paced the small encampment, her thoughts tangled in frustration and sorrow. Thieves had crept in under the cover of darkness, stealing much of her hard-earned fortune. Left with little choice, Amara knew she had to go to the market and trade one of her men to recover what she had lost. It was a decision she made with a heavy heart, but in this brutal world, survival trumped sentimentality.
The morning sun had barely risen when Amara and her small caravan arrived at the bustling market. The air was thick with the scent of dust and sweat, mingling with the murmur of traders haggling over goods. Amara’s men, their faces etched with fatigue, carried the heavy barrels of water she intended to trade. But it wasn’t water she was here to barter today—it was one of her men.
Amara rode into the market on Elara’s slender shoulders, her presence commanding attention as always. Elara knelt dutifully as Amara dismounted, but this time, Amara remained seated. She was so accustomed to the comfort and familiarity of Elara beneath her that she didn’t even think to get down. The girl’s back had become her throne, and Amara’s mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with the loss she had suffered and the difficult trade she was about to make.
The market was crowded, and the noise of shouting traders filled the air, but Amara was distant, her thoughts clouded by frustration and sorrow. Seated on Elara’s shoulders, she unconsciously shifted her weight, finding a more comfortable position as she prepared to start the bidding. Elara, ever aware of Amara’s needs, adjusted her posture slightly, doing her best to support the burden without faltering.
As the bidding began, Amara raised her voice to announce the sale of one of her men. The crowd surged forward, eager to see the offerings. But as the traders inspected the men, Elara gently shifted beneath Amara, a subtle reminder that she was still there, bearing the weight of her mistress.
Elara’s knees dug into the hard ground, her muscles straining under Amara’s weight, but she remained silent. Her only movement was a delicate touch—her fingertips brushing against Amara’s feet, a quiet hint that she was ready to be released from her burden. But Amara, lost in thought, simply rested her feet on Elara’s hands, interpreting the touch as a need for comfort rather than a request to dismount.
The bidding continued, and Amara’s focus was solely on the offers coming in. Elara, beneath her, could feel the strain building in her body, the familiar ache of holding Amara for so long. Yet, she did not complain. Instead, she tightened her grip on Amara’s feet, silently supporting her, even as the weight grew heavier with each passing moment.
As the day wore on, the bidding reached a fever pitch. Amara, her voice sharp with determination, continued to negotiate, oblivious to the fact that she had remained seated on Elara’s back the entire time. Elara’s body trembled with exhaustion, but she held firm, her loyalty to Amara unwavering.
Then, a young girl stepped forward, a wealthy rival trader with a reputation for getting what she wanted. Her eyes scanned the men on offer, but they quickly shifted to Amara and Elara. The girl’s gaze lingered on Elara, kneeling beneath the weight of her mistress, her body taut with strain.
“I’ll take her,” the girl declared, her voice cutting through the noise of the market. “I’ll trade you enough wealth to cover your losses and more. But I want the girl you’re riding, not one of your men.”
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the market fell silent. Amara blinked, her attention snapping back to the present. She looked down, finally realizing that she had been sitting on Elara’s shoulders for the entire bidding process. The girl’s touch, which Amara had absentmindedly taken for granted, was now a reminder of the connection they shared.
The offer was tempting, too tempting to refuse, but the thought of parting with Elara sent a pang of regret through Amara’s heart. Elara, sensing Amara’s hesitation, shifted slightly beneath her, a silent acceptance of whatever decision her mistress would make.
“You’re still sitting on her,” the rival trader pointed out, her tone firm but not unkind. “Will you make the trade or not?”
Amara’s heart ached, but she knew the trade was necessary. She had to rebuild, and the offer was too generous to pass up. With a heavy sigh, Amara nodded. “I accept,” she said, her voice quiet but resolute. “Elara is yours.”
For the first time that day, Amara moved to dismount. She swung her leg over Elara’s back, her feet touching the ground with a sense of finality. She stood beside Elara, looking down at the girl who had carried her for so long. Elara, still on her knees, looked up at Amara with a calm, accepting expression, her eyes betraying none of the exhaustion she must have felt.
The rival trader wasted no time. As soon as Amara stepped away, the girl approached Elara and gently mounted her. Elara’s body, though weary, responded instinctively, adjusting to the new, lighter weight. The young girl, lighter than Amara by far, offered Elara a brief moment of rest before urging her to rise.
Amara watched as the girl guided Elara away, her heart heavy with a mix of sorrow and resignation. She had made the trade, and in doing so, she had lost more than just a loyal servant—she had lost a companion who had been with her through countless miles and hardships.
As Elara disappeared into the crowd, Amara felt a deep void in her heart, one that no amount of wealth could fill. She turned away from the market, quickly climbing on the shoulder of one of her men. his steps were heavy as they began the long walk back to her caravan. She knew she had made the right choice, but the loss of Elara’s familiar presence would haunt her for a long time to come.

Max · 2024-08-28 09:04:17

Very nice story, compliments!

The century of women will certainly come, what function will men have in such a society then... certainly more of a servant.

Elara is still stuck in the "old days" with her thinking, is pushing herself into a new role and is a happy woman. I hope she will also be treated well under her new rule.

I really enjoyed reading the story!

Max

equidum · 2024-08-28 12:30:18

A very good story indeed, thank you Mahesh1 ...

You present a very vivid and detailed description of the relationship between Melara and Amara, i.e. a typical Slave/Master role model which was probably not so uncommon in the times of slavery !? ( At least as regards the so-called "house-slaves, as opposed to the "field-slaves).

Thank you and compliment for this illustrative advocacy of "Happiness in slavery"

Equidum

mahesh1 · 2024-08-28 17:00:37

The days following Elara’s trade were a blur for Amara. The loss weighed heavily on her, but she knew she had to keep moving, had to continue trading to survive in this unforgiving world. She chose one of her strongest men, Kain, to serve as her new mount. Kain was muscular and sturdy, his broad back capable of bearing Amara’s weight with ease. Unlike Elara, who had always been slender and delicate, Kain could carry her for days without needing rest.
As Amara rode through desolate landscapes and treacherous terrain, she couldn’t help but notice the difference in the way Kain carried her. His stride was long and powerful, covering great distances quickly. He moved with the efficiency of a beast trained for endurance, his muscles rippling with each step. Amara sat high and secure on his back, but despite the speed and strength he offered, something felt off.
Kain was a capable mount, but he lacked the smoothness and subtlety of Elara. Where Elara had been soft and supple, Kain’s skin was rough, his body hard and unyielding. Amara found herself growing increasingly agitated, the discomfort gnawing at her with every passing mile. She missed the way Elara’s smaller frame had cradled her, the way her skin had felt warm and soft under Amara’s hands. There was a comfort in Elara’s presence that Kain, for all his strength, could not replicate.
Frustration began to seep into Amara’s behavior. She started to treat Kain harshly, her commands sharp and impatient. Whenever he stumbled on the uneven ground, she would dig her heels into his sides, urging him to push harder, to move faster. But no matter how quickly Kain traveled, it wasn’t enough to satisfy her. The more she pushed him, the more she realized that what she missed wasn’t just the physical comfort of Elara’s body, but the connection they had shared—a connection that had been forged through countless trials and hardships.
Meanwhile, the open road stretched out before Elara, who now carried a new rider on her back. Her new mistress, a young girl named Lyra, was vastly different from Amara. Where Amara had been intense and demanding, Lyra was gentle and soft-spoken, a stark contrast that Elara was still adjusting to.
Lyra sat lightly on Elara’s shoulders, her small frame almost weightless compared to the burden Elara had been used to. As they traveled, Elara focused intently on her new role. The rhythm of her steps was steady and careful, every muscle in her body attuned to Lyra’s comfort. She had been trained well under Amara’s harsh demands, and now she channeled that discipline into serving Lyra with unwavering dedication.
Elara’s life under Lyra’s care grew more comfortable, yet increasingly dissatisfying. The gentle treatment, frequent rests, and lighter workload led to Elara gaining a slight amount of weight, her once lean frame softening under the ease of her new life. But with each passing day, a deep, nagging dissatisfaction took root in her heart.
One evening, after a particularly uneventful day, Elara could no longer contain her frustration. She approached Lyra, her voice trembling with a mix of desperation and resolve. “Mistress,” she began, her eyes downcast, “I beg of you—please treat me as you would a male servant. Push me, command me, make me work until I can give no more.”
Lyra looked at Elara with wide eyes, taken aback by the plea. “Elara, you’ve been through so much. You deserve the rest and care I’ve given you.”
But Elara shook her head. “I am not satisfied, Mistress. This comfort—it feels wrong. I am capable of more, and I want to serve you fully, as I did before. Please, let me prove my worth.”
Moved by Elara’s plea, Lyra agreed to try. For the next week, she did her best to treat Elara as she would a male servant. She issued commands with more authority, pushed Elara to carry heavier loads, and limited the rest breaks. Elara, for her part, embraced the challenge with fervor. She worked tirelessly, her body straining under the renewed demands, but there was a sense of satisfaction in the exertion that she hadn’t felt in months.
However, as the days wore on, it became clear that Lyra was struggling. The harsh commands didn’t come naturally to her, and each time she pushed Elara harder, she felt a pang of guilt. She couldn’t bring herself to treat Elara with the same severity that had been second nature to Amara. Even when she tried to be stern, her innate gentleness would slip through, softening her commands and offering comfort where none was needed.
Elara noticed Lyra’s discomfort, and it only deepened her own sense of dissatisfaction. She realized that Lyra, despite her best efforts, wasn’t capable of wielding the kind of authority that Elara needed. The power dynamic was wrong, and it left both of them feeling unfulfilled.
By the end of the week, Lyra called Elara to her side. Her expression was one of defeat, mingled with concern. “Elara,” she began softly, “I’ve tried, truly I have, but this isn’t right. I cannot be the mistress you need. I care for you too much to push you the way you want to be pushed.”
Elara’s heart sank, but she knew Lyra spoke the truth. “I understand, Mistress,” she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I need something more. I need a purpose that challenges me, that pushes me beyond my limits.”
Lyra nodded, her decision clear. “I won’t hold you back any longer, Elara. You deserve to be with someone who can give you what you need. I promise you, I’ll find your rightful owner Amara, and return you to a life where you can truly serve as you wish.”

mahesh1 · 2024-08-28 17:21:28

The market buzzed with the usual chaos, vendors shouting to attract customers, and people bargaining for the best prices. Amidst this, Amara, who had once been a powerful and commanding figure, was now a shadow of her former self. She had gained weight, her body now curvier and heavier from the excess drinking that had become her daily routine. Half-drunk and slumped lazily on the back of her male servant, she roamed the market aimlessly, her mind focused on one thing: finding cheap alcohol. Her once sharp eyes were now glazed, her movements sluggish, and her demeanor harsh. She had long neglected her business, allowing it to wither as she indulged in her vices.
Meanwhile, in another part of the market, Elara moved with grace and poise. She had thrived under the care of her new mistress, Lyra, who treated her well and ensured she was well-fed and cared for. Elara's body had become radiant and beautiful, her skin glowing with health, and she wore fine clothes that accentuated her now well-nourished form. She carried Lyra on her shoulders, her posture elegant and strong, as they made their way through the market. Elara’s new life had brought her a sense of peace and beauty that she had never known before.
As they moved through the bustling crowd, Elara's attention was suddenly drawn to a commotion near one of the vendors. A loud, drunken woman was misbehaving, slurring her words as she argued with the shopkeeper. Something about the woman's voice, despite its slurred tone, struck a chord within Elara. She slowed her pace, her heart beginning to race as she recognized the woman.
It was Amara.
The realization hit Elara like a bolt of lightning. Without thinking, she defied Lyra’s command, her legs moving instinctively as she ran toward Amara. Lyra, startled by the sudden movement, clung to Elara but quickly realized she had lost control over her servant. Elara reached the vendor and dropped to her knees in front of the massive man carrying Amara. Lyra quickly got off Elara's shoulder and then all of a sudden tears welled up in Elara's eyes as she reached out and grabbed Amara's feet kissing them and sobbing uncontrollably.
Amara, half-drunk and disoriented, squinted down at the small, pretty girl at her feet. It took a moment for her foggy mind to register who she was looking at. When recognition finally dawned, her expression softened, though her intoxication kept her from fully grasping the situation.
“Amara… Mistress… please,” Elara begged, her voice trembling with emotion. “Take me back. Let serve you again, get back where you belong—on my shoulders, your rightful throne.” Amara gave her consent to carry her but not by words but by drunk head movements. Elara then turned, her hands still holding Amara's feet, she gently put Amara's feet on her shoulder as she was not wearing any footwear, positioning herself so that Amara could stand on her shoulder. Amara, still dazed, slowly stood up from the shoulders of her male servant, her weight now completely on Elera's shoulder. With a careless motion, Amara dropped herself onto Elara’s shoulders, the heavy weight of her curvier body almost broke Elara's neck.
The sudden strain on Elara’s neck was immense, the weight far greater than what she had been accustomed to. For a moment, it seemed like she might collapse under Amara’s bulk, but she gritted her teeth and held on, determined not to falter. Amara’s size, amplified by her recent weight gain, made her look like a giant atop the smaller, delicate Elara, a striking contrast that drew the attention of everyone in the market.
Seeing Elara struggle to stand, the Kain and Lyra rushed to help. Together, they managed to help Elara stand up and find her balance. Elara’s hands instinctively moved to grip Amara’s feet, providing the support she needed. Despite the immense strain, Elara’s face shone with a mixture of relief and joy—she was back where she belonged, under the weight of her true mistress.
Turning to Lyra, Elara spoke with a calm determination, “Please, Mistress, set me free. I must go with Amara. This is where I belong.”
Lyra, seeing the devotion in Elara’s eyes, sighed softly. She understood the bond that Elara shared with Amara and knew that no amount of comfort or luxury she provided could replace that connection. With a nod of resignation, Lyra agreed and even paid off the shopkeeper that Amara had been quarreling with, settling the debt without hesitation.
As Amara sat on Elara’s shoulders, she seemed oblivious to the scene unfolding around her, her attention drifting as she lazily surveyed the market. The sight of the towering, curvy Amara riding the small, pretty Elara was striking. Amara looked like a giant perched atop the delicate frame of Elara, who, despite her smaller size, carried her mistress with a strength that belied her appearance.
The market was abuzz with whispers, people staring at the unusual sight. Elara’s transformation into a beautiful, radiant woman only served to highlight the stark difference between her and Amara, whose appearance had taken on a rough, almost brutish quality. Yet, despite this, Elara remained devoted, her love and loyalty to Amara unshaken.
As they moved through the market, Amara’s hair, once a symbol of her freedom, now hung in tangled waves, while Elara’s ponytail remained tightly bound, a symbol of the control and duty she willingly embraced. And as they left the market, the image of the giant Amara riding the small, beautiful Elara remained etched in the minds of all who had witnessed it—a testament to the enduring bond between mistress and servant.

mahesh1 · 2024-08-29 03:57:52

The ideal amara and elara
https://www.instagram.com/p/CJwtKZDpYji/?utm_source … lODBiNWFlZA== (New Window)

mahesh1 · 2024-08-29 15:57:23

Elara followed the manservant slowly, each step heavy and labored as she struggled to maintain her balance. The weight of Amara, now heavier than ever, bore down on her shoulders, making it difficult to walk in a straight line. The challenge was further intensified by Amara’s drunken state; she swayed and shifted constantly, her movements unsteady and unpredictable, causing Elara to frequently adjust to keep them both upright.
When they finally reached the settlement, Elara’s legs were trembling from the strain, and she dropped to her knees, slowly releasing Amara’s feet, hoping her mistress would dismount. But Amara, behaving like a spoiled brat, refused to get down. She started screaming and pulling elara's ponytail haphazardly, her weight still pressing heavily on Elara’s shoulders. Elara looked up at her, realizing what she needed to do.
Determined, Elara gritted her teeth and began to push herself back up. The other servants, seeing her struggle, rushed forward to offer assistance, but Elara shook her head, refusing their help. “I need to do this on my own,” she explained, her voice resolute. “From now on, it’s my duty.”
With great effort, she managed to stand again, her legs shaking under the immense burden. She began to walk around, catering to every one of Amara’s commands, no matter how frivolous or harsh. Amara, still drunk, occasionally yanked on Elara’s hair, the sharp pain almost causing her to stumble. Yet Elara obeyed without complaint, responding to each command with the practiced ease of someone who had accepted her role completely.
Hours passed, each moment stretching into what felt like an eternity. Elara’s body ached, her muscles burning with fatigue, but she pressed on, her only concern to serve her mistress. Amara, unaware of the toll she was taking on Elara, continued to ride her carelessly, until finally, exhaustion got the better of her. Slowly, Amara’s grip on Elara’s hair loosened, her head drooping as she began to doze off, her breath becoming slow and steady.
Seeing that her mistress had finally fallen asleep, the other servants once again approached to help Elara. This time, she allowed them to carefully lift Amara from her shoulders and put her to rest. As they laid Amara down, Elara remained by her side, holding her feet gently in her hands, her heart filled with a deep, unwavering devotion.
At that moment, Elara made a promise to herself and to her sleeping mistress. She would never again ask Amara to dismount from her shoulders. No matter how heavy the burden, no matter how long the journey, Elara vowed to carry her, to serve her with absolute loyalty, and to ensure that Amara’s feet would never have to touch the ground as long as she was able to bear her weight.

mahesh1 · 2024-08-29 16:56:50

The morning sun filtered through the small window, casting a warm glow over the room as Amara stirred from her sleep. Slowly, she opened her eyes and found Elara sitting on her knees beside the bed, her hands gently cradling Amara’s feet. Elara had fallen asleep in this position, never once letting go, even as she rested. Amara’s heart swelled with a mixture of pride and gratitude as she realized what had happened the previous day—she had regained her mount, her devoted Elara.
Quietly, Amara stood up, careful not to wake Elara immediately. She moved closer, then gently slid onto Elara’s shoulders, her familiar weight causing Elara to stir. Elara slowly woke, her eyes fluttering open as she instinctively rubbed her cheek against Amara’s thigh, her hands moving to caress the curve of Amara’s leg. The gesture was filled with affection and submission, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they shared.
“Thank you,” Elara whispered, her voice filled with emotion. “Thank you for taking me back as your mount.”
Amara smiled, resting a hand on Elara’s head. “You'r welcome, my slave. And now, You will always been my mount.”
“I’m going to need you to be even stronger, Elara,” Amara began, her tone firm but tinged with the selfish satisfaction of regaining her mount. “I’ve grown—” she paused, looking down at her curvier body, “and it’s going to be harder for you to carry me. But you’ll have to manage.
Elara nodded, her voice soft and unwavering. “I understand, Mistress. I’ll serve you however you need. I’ll carry you wherever you wish to go, and I’ll make sure You are always comfort and it is my only concern.”
Amara shifted slightly, adjusting her position as she continued, not noticing—or perhaps not caring—how much strain it put on Elara. “And your ponytail… i love it. I’ll use it to guide you. I need to feel in control, Elara, especially now that only you’ll be carrying me. You’re responsible for making sure I don’t feel unsteady.”
Elara’s response was immediate, filled with selflessness and devotion. “Of course, Mistress. My hair is yours to use however you see fit. I’ll ensure you never feel a moment of doubt or discomfort. Your ride will be smooth, and I’ll be strong enough to carry you, no matter how heavy the load.”
Amara’s gaze softened slightly, but there was still a sense of expectation in her voice. “We’re going to practice today. I need you to be perfect, Elara. No more stumbling, no more hesitation. I want to ride without thinking about whether you can handle it.”
Elara looked up at Amara, her eyes filled with determination. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you proud, Mistress. I’ll practice until I’m flawless. You deserve nothing less than the best ride, and I’ll ensure you have it.”
The conversation continued in this vein, with Amara dictating how she would ride, and Elara promising to meet every demand, her own needs and discomforts never once mentioned. As they spoke, Amara’s thoughts were consumed with ensuring her own comfort and control, while Elara’s were entirely focused on how she could best serve and please her mistress. The dynamic was clear—Amara’s selfish desires were matched only by Elara’s selfless devotion, creating a bond that, while imbalanced, was unwavering in its intensity.
After a long discussion, during which Elara continued to rub Amara’s thigh with her cheek and hands, Amara, still perched atop Elara’s shoulders, considered dismounting to start her morning routine activity. She shifted slightly, readying herself to slide off, but Elara, sensing her intent, gently rubbed her cheek against Amara’s thigh. “Just a few more minutes, Mistress,” Elara murmured, her voice a soft plea. She continued to rub Amara’s thigh affectionately, her hands tightly holding on to her thighs, as if letting go would mean losing something precious. Amara hesitated, feeling the warmth of Elara’s devotion. Despite her usual impatience, she allowed herself to relax a bit longer, indulging in the momentary comfort of having Elara beneath her.
Eventually, Amara knew she had to attend to her morning routine. With a slight sigh, she reluctantly dismounted, leaving Elara kneeling on the floor, her hands still outstretched as if clinging to the lingering presence of her mistress. As soon as Amara had finished her morning tasks, Elara was by her side again, a look of childlike eagerness in her eyes. Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees, her gaze fixed adoringly on Amara.
Amara couldn’t help but smirk at the sight. She mounted Elara with a practiced ease, grabbing hold of her ponytail like reins, and then the grueling training began. Amara after finding comfortable spot on Elara’s shoulder, “Good. We’ll start with you standing and kneeling, until you can do it without grumbling or faltering. I need to feel secure when I’m on your back.”
With great effort, Elara stood up, her legs straining under the weight, but she managed to rise. They spent hours practicing, with Elara kneeling and standing repeatedly until she could do so smoothly, without grumbling or stumbling. Each time, Amara encouraged her, guiding her with soft words and the occasional gentle tug on her ponytail.
As they practiced, Amara voiced a concern. “Elara, I can’t seem to fit my thighs comfortably on your shoulders anymore. We need to find a solution.”
Elara nodded, understanding the discomfort. After some thought, they decided that a small saddle would be crafted to fit on Elara’s back. This would provide Amara with the support she needed and distribute her weight more evenly across Elara’s slender frame.
Amara also acknowledged something else. “Resting my feet on your hands—it’s incredibly comforting. I want to incorporate that into our riding style.”
Elara’s eyes lit up with determination. “Of course, Mistress. I’ll make sure it becomes part of our routine.”
The sun was high in the sky when Amara finally decided it was time to rest. She felt Elara drop to her knees, the familiar gesture signaling a break, but this time, Elara didn’t release Amara’s feet. Her hands remained cradled around them, her grip firm yet gentle. Amara knew what this meant—Elara was silently begging her not to dismount. But elara also had ulterior motive she was afraid if she let go off amara, she would start drinking again.
Recognizing the devotion in Elara’s actions, Amara chose to stay seated. She let the brief rest pass with herself still comfortably perched on Elara’s back, her feet secure in Elara’s hands. After only a few minutes, Amara ordered the training to resume. Without a word of complaint, Elara stood again, her body groaning under the strain but her will unbroken.
The cycle continued: rigorous training, brief rests, and then more training. By nightfall, both women were utterly exhausted. Amara, however, was able to sleep in a relaxed position, completely at ease. Elara, on the other hand, spent the night as she had the night before—kneeling beside Amara, her hands never leaving Amara’s feet, even in her sleep.
As the night deepened, Amara dozed off, her mind filled with thoughts of her loyal mount. Elara, though physically drained, found a strange comfort in her position. She knew her purpose was to serve, and as long as Amara was on her back, she was content. Even in the deepest exhaustion, she clung to the promise she had made to herself: never to let Amara down, never to let her feet touch the ground again.

Max · 2024-08-30 14:35:12

It is a strange connection between Elara and Amara, but undoubtedly very interesting and, another compliment to the author, very beautifully described!

The interesting thing is that Amara is the mistress, the rider, but she takes great care of Elara. It is just in keeping with her nature to serve such a wonderful mistress with body and soul. It makes her happy to be treated with a certain ruthlessness by Amara, to feel how she is just her mount every now and then.

This feeling is increased even further by Amara now using her long hair like a rein, steering it and holding on to it. The new shoulder saddle will increase the feeling of being a mount in a very pleasant way. Even if the rider were to reach for the whip to further increase Elara's performance, it would not diminish her gratitude, but rather increase her ambition.

But it was a bit mean of Amara to sell her slave just like that. But now she has come back to her full of gratitude!
Great story!, thank you!
Max

mahesh1 · 2024-08-30 17:10:51

Max wrote:
It is a strange connection between Elara and Amara, but undoubtedly very interesting and, another compliment to the author, very beautifully described!

The interesting thing is that Amara is the mistress, the rider, but she takes great care of Elara. It is just in keeping with her nature to serve such a wonderful mistress with body and soul. It makes her happy to be treated with a certain ruthlessness by Amara, to feel how she is just her mount every now and then.

This feeling is increased even further by Amara now using her long hair like a rein, steering it and holding on to it. The new shoulder saddle will increase the feeling of being a mount in a very pleasant way. Even if the rider were to reach for the whip to further increase Elara's performance, it would not diminish her gratitude, but rather increase her ambition.

But it was a bit mean of Amara to sell her slave just like that. But now she has come back to her full of gratitude!
Great story!, thank you!
Max

Thank you for your complements. I am new to this writing and this is my first story. I have few more chapters ready but I am not yet satisfied with writing, I am writing and rewriting sometimes taking help of AI. but most AI keeps flagging my content because apparently the love story between Amara and Elara has elements of slavery. so, I have to write the sensitive description myself.

mahesh1 · 2024-08-30 17:31:16

The next day, Amara decided it was time to make things more comfortable—for herself, of course. She decided to go to market to hired a horse breeder, to fabricate a saddle specifically for Elara's shoulders. The market buzzed with whispers as people stared in disbelief at the sight of Amara, a curvaceous and imposing figure, seated high on Elara’s shoulders. The stark contrast between the two women was striking—Amara's form seemed almost too large, too heavy, to be supported by the slender Elara. Yet, Elara carried her mistress with a practiced grace, her face serene despite the strain that anyone could see in the tremble of her legs and the tension in her back.
As they made their way through the bustling crowd, many couldn’t help but wonder how such a delicate-looking girl could bear such a weight, especially as Amara shifted carelessly, oblivious to the burden she imposed. They marveled at Elara’s endurance, while others exchanged puzzled glances, silently questioning the pain Elara must endure. But pain had become a familiar companion for Elara, one that she had learned to ignore. To her, it was just another part of her duty—something that came with the responsibility of carrying Amara, something she had long since accepted. After a long search they finely reached a breeder how would help them. They described their unique problem, how Elara’s narrow shoulders were uncomfortable for Amara’s thigh. The breeder, though puzzled, set to work, and the process began. Amara eagerly tested each saddle, climbing onto Elara's shoulders with enthusiasm, only to dismount moments later, dissatisfied, to try another. Elara bore it all in silence, her shoulders aching under the repeated strain, yet she said nothing, her focus solely finding perfect saddle for Amara's comfort.
Finally, they settled on a saddle that both seemed to like. Amara, pleased with the result, suggested a few small modifications to support her back more comfortably, allowing her to doze off while riding. The breeder hesitated, warning that the changes would put additional pressure on Elara's spine. Before Elara could speak, Amara quickly agreed to the modifications, dismissing any concerns with the unspoken assumption that Elara would bear any pain for her comfort.
When the time came to pay, however, Amara realized she had no money. Without hesitation, Elara stepped forward and paid the breeder with the money she had borrowed from Lyra, her former mistress. Amara didn't even acknowledge the sacrifice, simply mounting Elara’s shoulders to test the new saddle, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Later that day, Amara was thoroughly enjoying her new riding gear as they strolled through the market, her comfort evident in the way she leaned back and closed her eyes, basking in the luxury of her new saddle. It was in the middle of this leisurely moment that they received an urgent order—a delivery that would require them to travel for two days without stopping for a night’s rest. Amara, not wanting to inconvenience herself, was about to turn the order down.
Elara, feeling the gentle weight of Amara’s legs pressing against her shoulders and her hands holding Amara’s feet, rubbed her cheek against Amara’s thigh, silently asking for permission to speak. Amara, noticing the gesture, and Amara guided Elara with her ponytail away from the client to discuss her concern.
“Mistress,” Elara began, her voice steady despite the exhaustion that lingered from the day’s earlier trials, “if you permit me, I can carry you through the night. You can sleep on the saddle, and I will ensure that you do not fall.”
Amara frowned, skeptical. “But the saddle hasn’t been tested for sleeping, Elara. I might fall during the night.”
Elara’s voice was soft but resolute. “During the day, I will use my hands to support your feet for a more comfortable ride. At night, I will hold your thighs firmly, making sure that you do not fall. I promise, Mistress, I will not let you down.”
The argument dragged on, with Amara expressing her doubts while Elara, all the while carrying her mistress on her shoulders, insisted she could handle the task. Finally, Amara relented, and they set off on the long journey. Elara’s resolve never wavered; she was determined to prove herself, to show that she could bear any burden for Amara, no matter the cost to her own body.

mahesh1 · 2024-08-30 18:35:34

https://x.com/AngieCraigMN/status/1829249100304327012 (New Window)

Amara and her crew.
It's not shoulder ride but one can imagine.

caballito · 2024-08-30 22:13:32

Oh my Goddess!
What a wonderful story!
Caballito

mahesh1 wrote:
In the year 2175, Earth's resources have dwindled to almost nothing. Oil is a distant memory, and with the extinction of most animals, society has evolved in bizarre and desperate ways to survive. In this harsh, sun-scorched world, water is the most precious resource, and those who control it hold immense power.
Society has adapted to the loss of technology and animals by using people as beasts of burden. Men, often selected and trained from a young age, are now the primary mode of transportation. Women, who are generally the leaders and traders, ride these men on shoulders across the barren landscape.
Amara, a hardened water trader in her mid-thirties, is one of the few who still ventures between the isolated settlements that dot the wasteland. She is accompanied by two men: Kain, a stoic and muscular man who carries the heavy water barrels on his back, and Lysander, a wiry and agile man who serves as her mount.
The journey is grueling, with the sun beating down relentlessly and the wind carrying the sharp bite of dust. Along the way, they encounter dangers: roving bands of scavengers desperate for water, ancient machines left over from the old world, and the ever-present threat of dehydration.
The dynamic between rider and mount is one of absolute control. As Lysander walks, Amara sits astride him, her body completely relaxed. She does not offer words of encouragement or praise, as in this world, such sentiments are considered unnecessary. Her control is total, her expectations clear—Lysander is to carry her until he can no longer stand.
When Lysander begins to tire, his breath labored and his limbs trembling, he is allowed to rest, but the rules are rigid. Amara does not dismount him. She remains seated, her weight pressing down on him, a constant reminder of her authority. Lysander is permitted to lower his body to the ground, but he must do so in a controlled manner, ensuring that Amara remains comfortable and undisturbed. His rest is brief—a few minutes at most—before he is expected to rise and continue the journey.
As Amara makes her way through various isolated villages, her reputation as a successful trader precedes her. In one such village, she encounters a young girl named Elara, a girl from a distant and seemingly more civilized part of the world, where men and women are treated as equals. Elara has never seen men used in the way Amara uses Lysander and Kain, and she is both fascinated and disturbed by the sight.
Elara is a gentle, soft-spoken girl in her late teens, with a natural submissiveness that makes her eager to please those around her. When she first sees Amara riding Lysander, she is shocked but also curious. Amara, noticing the girl’s interest, offers her a ride on Lysander’s back, inviting her to experience what has become a norm in this harsh world. But Elara, despite her submissive nature, politely declines. She feels uncomfortable with the idea of riding a man, something that clashes with her upbringing and values.
Instead, Elara chooses to walk alongside Amara as she rides. She watches the way Amara commands Lysander, the way he responds without question, and the way Kain carries the heavy barrels without complaint. There is a tension in the air, a visible divide between the world Elara comes from and the world she now finds herself in. Yet, despite her initial discomfort, Elara is drawn to Amara’s strength and authority.
As they travel together, Elara begins to adopt the customs of Amara’s world, slowly and almost imperceptibly. She starts by offering to clean Amara’s feet during their rest stops, a gesture of respect and submission that surprises Amara but is accepted without objection. Amara sits on Lysander’s back, her legs stretched out, while Elara kneels beside her, gently washing away the dust and grime.
lara’s behavior continues to evolve as the journey progresses. She becomes increasingly deferential to Amara, seeking her approval and following her every command with a quiet eagerness. When they stop to rest, Elara is quick to offer her services, whether it’s fetching water, preparing food, or tending to Amara’s needs. She does all this with a sense of purpose, finding comfort in her role as a servant, even though she was not forced into it.
Amara, initially indifferent to the girl’s submissiveness, begins to appreciate the convenience of having someone cater to her needs. She allows Elara to take on more responsibilities, slowly integrating her into the harsh lifestyle she leads. Elara’s presence also highlights the contrast between the women—Amara, who wields power with a heavy hand, and Elara, who wields it through service.
One day, Amara receives a large and lucrative order for water from a distant village, far beyond their usual routes. The order requires them to transport ten barrels of water—more than Kain alone can carry. As Amara attempts to load all ten barrels onto Kain’s back, she quickly realizes that the weight is too much, even for him.
To Amara’s surprise, Elara, who has been observing quietly, speaks up. She suggests a solution: instead of burdening Kain with all the barrels, they could split the load between Kain and Lysander, and she, Elara, could serve as Amara’s mount for the journey. The suggestion catches Amara off guard. Elara is slim, much smaller than either of the men, and the journey ahead is long and treacherous, through scorching deserts and unforgiving terrain. Amara knows that riding a human mount for hours on end is no easy task, especially for someone untrained.
Amara explains the harsh realities of the journey to Elara, emphasizing that there will be no time to rest. She will have to carry Amara for hours at a stretch, and the burden will be immense. But Elara, with a determined glint in her eyes, insists that she can do it. She wants to prove herself, to show that she is not just a servant, but someone who can bear the weight of responsibility—literally.
With some hesitation, Amara agrees to the plan. The group sets out on their journey, with Kain and Lysander each carrying five barrels of water, and Elara now serving as Amara’s mount. At first, the journey proceeds smoothly. Elara moves with surprising agility, her slender frame bending under Amara’s weight but not faltering. Amara, sitting astride Elara’s back, feels the girl’s resolve in every step she takes.
But as the hours wear on, the strain begins to show. The sun beats down relentlessly, and the rocky terrain becomes more challenging with each passing mile. Elara’s pace slows, her breathing grows labored, and Amara can feel her legs trembling with the effort of carrying her. The once smooth and steady gait becomes uneven, and Amara knows that Elara is nearing her limit.
Amara is conflicted. She respects Elara’s decision to take on this role, to prove herself in a way that goes beyond mere servitude. But she also knows the dangers of pushing too far. The thought of giving Elara a rest crosses her mind, but Amara hesitates. She understands the importance of this moment for Elara, and there’s a part of her that admires the girl’s determination to succeed where others might falter.
Instead of offering rest, Amara decides to test Elara’s resolve. She leans forward slightly, making her presence even more felt, and speaks to Elara in a tone that mixes both encouragement and command. “You wanted this, Elara. Now show me that you can handle it. Don’t disappoint me.”
Elara grits her teeth and presses on, but her body is betraying her. Amara can feel the girl’s muscles quivering under her weight, the sweat pouring from her brow, and the slight stumbles as her strength wanes. When Elara begins to falter more noticeably, Amara doesn’t relent. She uses harsh words to keep Elara moving, reminding her of the commitment she made, the responsibility she took on. “You wanted to carry me, Elara. Now carry me.”
As Elara’s exhaustion becomes more apparent, Amara uses physical means to spur her on—digging her heels lightly into Elara’s sides or tapping her back with a firm hand. It’s a harsh method, one that mirrors the treatment Amara has always given to the men who serve her, but it’s also a test of Elara’s endurance and willpower.
Elara struggles, her body on the verge of collapse, but she pushes through the pain and exhaustion. Her vision blurs, her breath comes in ragged gasps, but she does not stop. Amara, still astride her, feels a strange mix of emotions—respect for the girl’s tenacity, but also a ruthless determination to see how far Elara can go.
The journey is grueling, but Elara endures. When they finally reach their destination, Elara collapses, her body spent from the ordeal. Amara dismounts, looking down at the girl who has proven herself in ways Amara hadn’t anticipated. There’s a moment of silence between them, a silent acknowledgment of what Elara has accomplished. Amara knows that she has pushed Elara to her limits, but in doing so, she has also seen the depth of the girl’s resolve.
With Elara’s surprising endurance and commitment, Amara begins to take on larger and more dangerous orders. No longer limited by the capacity of just two men, Amara expands her operations, recruiting additional men to her team. Now commanding five men, Amara's influence grows, and so does her reputation. The men, who once bore all the weight, now share their loads more evenly, but the most remarkable sight remains Amara atop Elara’s back—a symbol of her control and dominance in a world where power is everything.
Elara, now accustomed to her role as Amara’s mount, becomes an essential part of the team. Even when the men walk unburdened, Amara chooses to remain seated on Elara’s back. The smaller woman’s frame, less muscular than the men’s, offers a different kind of comfort. Elara’s gait is smoother, and Amara finds herself preferring the way Elara carries her—there’s a grace and subtlety in Elara’s movements that the men, with their powerful strides, cannot replicate.
As they travel from village to village, their presence becomes the stuff of legend. Word spreads quickly about the trader who rides not a man, but a woman—a lady of slender build who carries her mistress across the harshest terrains without complaint. The sight of Amara perched upon Elara’s back, surrounded by five men laden with heavy barrels, becomes a symbol of unmatched authority and resilience.
Villagers speak in hushed tones when they see Amara’s caravan approach. They whisper of her indomitable will, her ability to command not just men but a woman who willingly serves as her beast of burden. Some see it as a testament to Amara’s power, while others view it as a disturbing reflection of how far society has fallen. Regardless of their opinions, all agree on one thing: Amara is a force to be reckoned with.
Elara, for her part, embraces her role with quiet pride. Though she was once hesitant and unaccustomed to the brutal realities of Amara’s world, she has found a strange sense of purpose in her service. She no longer sees herself as merely a servant, but as a crucial part of Amara’s success. The grueling journeys have become a test of her strength and resolve, and each successful delivery is a personal victory.

caballito · 2024-08-30 23:03:44

Wow!
I just read your whole fascinating story and I find it sensational.
Please continue with the work you set as a goal, keep writing fascinating stories.

mahesh1 · 2024-08-31 04:40:47

As the urgent order came in, Amara's reaction was swift and commanding. She reached down, grabbing Elara's tightly bound ponytail, using it to assert control. Elara, feeling the familiar pull, quickly tightened her grip on Amara’s feet, bracing herself for what was to come. They rushed to the settlement, Amara’s voice cutting through the air as she ordered the men to start preparing the order. With the same authority, she commanded Elara to quickly assemble a bag with all the essentials she would need for a journey without breaks—blankets, a toothbrush, anything that would ensure her comfort on the road.
Elara, ever the dutiful servant, dropped to her knees, instinctively softening her grip on Amara’s feet, assuming that her mistress would dismount to allow her to pack more efficiently. But Amara, misunderstanding—or perhaps simply not caring—about Elara’s intention, tugged sharply on the ponytail and snapped, "What are you waiting for? Quickly prepare the bag, and don’t forget anything!"
In that moment, Elara realized the gravity of the situation. The infinite journey had already begun, and Amara had no intention of getting off her shoulders until the order was complete. The weight of that realization, combined with the physical burden of carrying her larger mistress, pressed heavily on Elara, but she didn’t hesitate. With as much speed as she could muster under the circumstances, she rose to her feet again, the weight of Amara making the movement slow and arduous.
Elara began to gather the necessary items, moving from one spot to another within the settlement. Each time she reached a new location, she would drop to her knees, pack the items, and then struggle to rise again with Amara still perched on her back. Amara, perched above, held onto Elara’s ponytail for support, her tone critical as she continually reminded Elara of things to pack, making sure nothing was forgotten.
This grueling process continued for half an hour, with Elara kneeling and standing up at least twenty times, each rise more difficult than the last as the strain on her body increased. Amara, oblivious to the physical toll on her servant, tightened her grip on the ponytail each time, focusing solely on the task at hand. For Elara, this was just another display of the unspoken agreement between them—her role was to serve, to bear any burden, to endure any pain, as long as it meant fulfilling Amara’s wishes. And so, despite the sweat running down her face, despite the burning in her muscles, Elara continued, knowing that this was only the beginning of what would be a long and exhausting journey.
As the journey began, Elara was already drained from the exhausting task of preparing the bag, but she marched on, driven by a sense of duty and necessity. Amara, on the other hand, was relaxed and even a bit excited. She looked forward to using her new saddle in different ways—finding the perfect position to relax, enjoy the ride, and even sleep while on the move. The entire responsibility of the ride lay on Elara’s shoulders, both literally and figuratively. Amara, feeling secure in Elara’s devotion, trusted her completely and allowed herself to be at ease, confident that Elara would bear the burden of the journey.
However, for Elara, the situation was far more complex and burdensome. She knew that Amara was financially strained and that the borrowed money she had used to pay for the saddle was gone. The responsibility of fulfilling this order was not just a duty but a necessity to ensure they could continue on. With Amara’s weight pressing down on her, along with the additional load of the packed bag, Elara’s body was pushed to its limits. The saddle, designed to enhance Amara’s comfort, proved to be a cruel instrument for Elara, placing immense pressure on her spine. Every slight movement Amara made sent waves of pain through her body, intensifying the strain.
Elara, in her fear of exacerbating the pain, walked carefully, holding Amara’s feet tightly in an effort to keep her as comfortable as possible. She hoped that by minimizing Amara’s discomfort, her mistress would move less, reducing the pain that radiated through her back. But Amara, in her excitement to find the most relaxing position, shifted frequently, unaware of the agony she was causing Elara. She adjusted herself on the saddle, trying to find the perfect spot to settle in for the night, all while Elara gritted her teeth and bore the pain without complaint.
As night fell, Amara finally ordered Elara to hand her the blanket. Elara, with a firm grip on Amara’s feet, obediently stopped and retrieved the blanket from the bag. Amara wrapped it around herself, preparing to sleep. She leaned forward, pressing her elbows on Elara’s head for support, her thighs loosening their grip around Elara’s neck as she began to drift off. The shift in weight was immediately felt by Elara, as the pressure moved from her spine to her neck. The relief was almost immediate; despite the new strain on her neck, it was a welcome change from the constant pressure on her back.
As Amara’s body relaxed into sleep, Elara released her grip on Amara’s feet and gently placed her hands on Amara’s thighs, holding her steady on her shoulders. The weight of Amara leaning forward, pressing down on her neck, was still heavy, but it was more bearable now that Amara was still and not shifting around. The blanket wrapped around Amara also provided a bit of warmth for Elara, who could feel the soft fabric brushing against her back.
In that moment, there was a strange sense of peace. As Amara slept, her breath steady and calm, Elara felt a rare moment of relaxation. The pain was still there, but it was manageable, and knowing that she was fulfilling her duty to Amara gave her a sense of purpose. The bond between them, complex and fraught with tension, also held a deep connection. Amara, completely trusting and oblivious to the suffering beneath her, found comfort in Elara’s strength, while Elara found a quiet satisfaction in her role, despite the pain.
As they continued their journey through the night, with Amara sleeping soundly and Elara holding her steady, there was a shared moment of quiet between them. The world around them was silent, the only sound being the soft rustle of the blanket and the gentle breaths of Amara as she slept. And in that stillness, both found a moment of peace—Amara in her dreams, and Elara in her unwavering dedication to the woman she carried.

caballito · 2024-08-31 05:28:40

Thumb up.

mahesh1 · 2024-08-31 18:01:35

As the night deepened, Amara slept peacefully, her body completely at ease on Elara’s shoulders. The blanket wrapped around her provided warmth, and the gentle sway of Elara’s march created a soothing rhythm that kept her in a deep, restful sleep. Amara’s upper body rested lightly on Elara’s head, her soft breathing in sync with the steady movement below. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, occasionally brushing against Elara’s shoulders as Elara carefully navigated the terrain. The saddle, though uncomfortable for Elara, provided Amara with just the right amount of support to maintain her comfort throughout the night. Beneath her Elara marched on, her focus unwavering. Despite the fatigue that weighed heavily on her limbs and the persistent pain in her spine and neck, she remained vigilant. With her hands firmly holding Amara’s thighs, she guided the crew carrying water, motivating them to push through the night. Her voice was steady and encouraging, a stark contrast to the physical toll that the journey was taking on her body. She knew the importance of this order and was determined to see it through, no matter the cost to herself.
As the first rays of the morning sun began to break over the horizon, they fell gently on Amara’s face, stirring her from her slumber. The warmth of the sun and the soft light slowly woke her, and she blinked her eyes open, taking a moment to adjust to the brightness. She could hardly believe that Elara and the crew had continued marching through the night. There was a quiet admiration in her gaze as she looked down at the back of Elara’s head, still resolute beneath her.
Amara softly touched Elara’s hand, resting on her thigh, to signal that she was awake. Elara responded by rubbing her cheek against Amara’s thigh, a small but affectionate gesture that conveyed her readiness to continue serving. Gently, Elara hand slowly followed the curves of Amara’s long legs and finally found their place under her feet, providing additional support as Amara settled back into a comfortable position.
Observing that everything was going as planned, Amara decided not to disturb anyone. Instead, she leaned back slightly, gripping Elara’s ponytail, and allowed herself to simply enjoy the ride. She appreciated the calm of the early morning, the serenity of the landscape, and the unwavering strength of Elara beneath her.
An hour or so passed in this peaceful state before Amara decided it was time to attend to her morning routine. She tugged lightly on Elara’s ponytail, signalling her to kneel. Elara immediately obeyed, slowly lowering herself to her knees, allowing Amara to slide off her shoulders. As Amara dismounted, Elara, utterly exhausted, remained on her knees, her head bowed. Though the rest was brief, it was a much-needed reprieve for Elara’s aching body.
Amara, now fully awake and feeling refreshed, quickly attended to her morning routine. As soon as she was done, she practically jumped back onto Elara’s shoulders with a playful jolt, shaking Elara from her brief rest. Without hesitation, she grabbed Elara’s ponytail and ordered her to continue marching. Elara, though weary, complied immediately, her body responding automatically to Amara’s commands.
The rest of the day was largely uneventful for Amara. She gazed up at the sky, lost in thought, letting her mind wander as she enjoyed the ride. The saddle allowed her to sit comfortably, and the gentle sway of Elara’s movements was almost hypnotic. At times, she dozed off briefly, lulled by the consistent rhythm of Elara’s march. The day passed in a quiet, peaceful blur for Amara, a stark contrast to the struggle beneath her.
For Elara, however, the day was an ongoing battle against fatigue and pain. Every step was a challenge, and every movement Amara made sent a sharp reminder of the saddle digging into her back. Yet, she kept going, driven by her sense of duty and her devotion to Amara. The weight on her shoulders was immense, but she bore it with grace, determined to fulfil her role no matter how difficult it became.
As the day drew to a close, Elara had been carrying Amara on her shoulders for nearly two straight days without rest. Her body was exhausted beyond what most could comprehend, yet she kept pushing forward, driven by her devotion to her mistress. Amara, perched comfortably on the custom saddle atop Elara’s shoulders, could feel the tremors coursing through Elara’s body with every step. The subtle, yet persistent trembling beneath her made Amara realize that Elara was nearing her limit. Though Amara relished the comfort and power of her elevated position, she knew that if she continued to push Elara, she might collapse under her during the night, which would be far too inconvenient in the middle of nowhere.
With a reluctant sigh, Amara pulled Elara's ponytail—a signal to kneel. Elara obeyed immediately, sinking to her knees, her body relieved of the crushing weight for the first time in hours. However, Amara did not dismount right away. Instead, she stayed on her “throne,” watching the sunset and savouring the view. But soon, she felt Elara's grip on her feet slacken. Confused by Elara's sudden weakness, Amara tugged sharply on her ponytail. When Elara didn't respond, Amara looked down and realized that her loyal servant had fallen asleep right there, still kneeling with Amara on her back.
Amara, though usually indifferent to the suffering of those beneath her, felt a rare pang of sympathy. Elara had served her without complaint, and even Amara could see that she had earned a brief respite. Showing a rare moment of mercy, Amara dismounted from Elara’s shoulders, allowing her to finally rest on the ground. Amara then turned to Lysander, her first mount and longtime servant, and ordered him to kneel. Once he did, she climbed onto his broad, muscular shoulders.
As Amara settled in, she immediately noticed the difference. Lysander's shoulders, though strong and reliable, lacked the softness and warmth of Elara's. His hardened muscles made the throne far less comfortable. But Amara knew she had to sacrifice some comfort, at least for a short while, to continue their journey. As she adjusted to the less pleasant shoulders, her thoughts drifted back to her past, to the time when Lysander was first given to her as a gift.
It was her 18th birthday, a grand celebration that marked her transition into adulthood. The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm golden hue over the sprawling gardens where the festivities were held. Guests mingled, dressed in their finest clothes, while music played softly in the background. The centrepiece of the celebration, however, was Amara herself, seated regally on Lysander's shoulders. She wore a flowing dress of deep red that complemented her dark, cascading hair, which was left free to symbolize the absolute freedom and power she now wielded as an adult.
Lysander, who had been her neighbour and playmate in their childhood, was now officially her servant. His mother, long time family of Amara's, had presented him to Amara as a gift, an act of devotion that signified Lysander's lifelong service to her. As the guests looked on in admiration, Amara beamed with pride, knowing that she now owned her first mount, one who would carry her wherever she wished, whenever she desired.
Seated on Lysander’s broad shoulders, Amara felt invincible. The strength of his body beneath her, the way he moved with ease despite her weight, gave her a sense of power she had never experienced before. She recalled how she had been riding Lysander even before this day, but now it was different. Now, he was hers—completely and utterly hers. The thought filled her with a heady mix of excitement and satisfaction.
As the celebration continued, Amara revelled in the attention. Guests would approach, looking high to speak with her, while Lysander stood firm, holding her aloft as though she weighed nothing. His loyalty was unquestionable, and his strength was unmatched. But more than that, Lysander was a symbol of her dominance, her control.
Amara’s memories were bittersweet, filled with a longing for the simplicity of those early days. She had been so proud of Lysander then, and even now, as she sat on his shoulders once again, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia. But the reality was different now. The comfort she once found in Lysander had been replaced by Elara’s soft slender shoulders, and though she appreciated the memories, she couldn’t ignore the discomfort she felt in the present moment.

caballito · 2024-08-31 22:50:34

Excellent story with an unexpected and natural twist, because we all need to rest to regain our strength.

The caravan must continue moving forward to arrive on time, but the sleeping beauty Elara must not be left alone, because everyone must reach their destination.

caballito · 2024-09-01 01:59:07

Amara is owner of 1 mare and several horses.

However, while Amara was sleeping, mare Elara took the lead and guided Amara's horses.

Then, Elara is the alpha female and these horses are her beta males who follow her.

mahesh1 · 2024-09-01 04:34:28

As Amara sat atop Lysander’s shoulders, lost in the nostalgia of her past, the sky gradually darkened, and the stars began to emerge. The memories of her 18th birthday, her first taste of true power and ownership, filled her with a warm glow. But soon, she snapped back to reality. The sun had fully set, and it had been hours since Elara had fallen asleep. Realizing the gravity of the situation—the crew resting, the order delayed—Amara’s heart raced. This was unacceptable. Without a second thought, she leapt off Lysander’s broad shoulders and ran towards Elara, who was still slumbering on the ground.
With a swift movement, Amara mounted Elara’s shoulders, shaking her awake by tugging and twisting her ponytail. Elara jerked awake, disoriented and alarmed by the sight of the crew resting around her and Amara’s feet no longer in her hands. Confusion clouded her thoughts as she struggled to comprehend what was happening. But the moment she felt Amara's weight settle back on her shoulders, reality hit her. In a panic, she quickly grasped Amara’s feet, and with an impressive show of strength, she stood up, hoisting her mistress into the air.
Seeing Elara’s swift reaction, the crew followed suit, rousing themselves and preparing to move. As they began to march, Amara’s voice cut through the night air, sharp and unforgiving. “Look what happened, Elara!” she scolded, her voice full of irritation. “I was soft for a moment, and now we might lose the order. You promised me, Elara. You promised not to rest before the order was complete. Do you understand what late orders can do? They can destroy a trader’s reputation!”
Elara said nothing, her face pale with fear and guilt. Amara didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she delivered a swift kick to Elara’s sides with her heels, ordering her to increase her pace. Without hesitation, Elara started running, her body straining under the weight of Amara on her shoulders. Amara, now satisfied that Elara was giving her all, settled firmly into the saddle. The custom support beneath her kept her steady, allowing her to relax gripping Elara’s ponytail tightly without any fear of slipping.
As Elara maintained her quick pace, Amara began to feel more at ease. Assured that Elara wouldn’t slow down, she decided it was time to catch up on her lost sleep. She leaned forward, resting her folded arms on Elara’s head, using it as a makeshift pillow. Understanding the signal, Elara moved her hands to tightly grip Amara’s thighs, ensuring her mistress was securely in her place. Within moments, Amara drifted off into a peaceful slumber, while Elara marched on through the night, her hands never leaving Amara’s thigh.
As dawn broke. Amara woke up stirred by the soft murmurs below her. Elara, still carrying her, was whispering to another trader, a woman seated high on the broad shoulders of a massive man. Elara, with her head bowed carrying Amara, could barely see the other trader’s feet as she pleaded with her to accept the delayed order. The other trader, however, was adamant, her voice ringing with authority as she refused Elara’s desperate pleas.
The commotion brought Amara fully awake. Sensing trouble, she tightened her grip on Elara’s ponytail and squeezed her thighs around Elara’s neck. The pressure was enough to alert Elara that her mistress was now awake. Elara, terrified of what might happen next, quickly shifted her hands from Amara’s thighs to her feet, steadying her.
Amara, ever the shrewd and fearless trader, assessed the situation quickly. She knew the order was delayed, but she also knew how to turn the situation to her advantage. Without wasting any time, she began arguing with the other trader, her tone authoritative and unyielding. Her words were sharp, and her presence, from atop Elara’s shoulders, exuded dominance. Within minutes, Amara had not only convinced the other trader to accept the delayed order but had also secured an even higher payment than initially agreed upon.
With the deal secured, Amara pulled on Elara’s ponytail, commanding her to turn and move away. As they departed, the other trader watched in awe, clearly impressed by Amara’s commanding presence and control over her mount. From behind, the sight was remarkable. Amara, perched high on Elara’s shoulders, sat like a queen on her throne. The custom saddle on Elara’s back provided a steady base, and Amara’s posture was one of complete confidence and authority. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, contrasting sharply with Elara’s tired yet resolute form beneath her. Elara’s shoulders, though narrow and delicate compared to Amara’s curvaceous frame, bore the weight with determination.
Elara, now fully awake and aware that the crisis had been averted, felt a surge of pride. She carried Amara with a renewed sense of purpose, her steps steady despite the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her. The other trader’s admiration hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Elara realized why Amara was the trader—the one who sat high, commanding and directing, while she, was the beast of burden, born to serve, to follow every command without question.
As they moved forward, Elara’s heart swelled with pride, to be the slave to the legendary trader - Amara. Like a coach proudly carrying a wrestler after a hard-fought victory, Elara bore Amara’s weight with pride and purpose, understanding her place in their world. She was not just carrying Amara; she was carrying her destiny, her purpose, and she would do so with unwavering devotion.

mahesh1 · 2024-09-01 07:04:22

After the long night’s journey and the successful completion of their order, Amara was eager to reward herself. She directed Elara towards the upscale market where the wealthy and elite shopped. The bustling market was filled with opulent displays of luxurious goods, and Amara’s excitement grew as she planned to indulge her guilty pleasure of shopping for expensive items.
As they entered the market, Amara felt a sense of exhilaration. However, she quickly noticed the stark contrast between herself and the other shoppers. Her clothes were dirty and worn from the journey, and her hair and skin bore the roughness of their recent travels. Feeling out of place, Amara decided it was time to upgrade her wardrobe to match her new status as a top-notch trader.
She guided Elara towards a high-end boutique, one known for catering to the wealthy women of the city. Without dismounting from Elara’s shoulders, Amara began browsing the selection. She chose a few pairs of shorts that accentuated her thick, powerful thighs and some sleeveless tank tops, perfect for the hot, sunny days ahead. The fabric was light and airy, yet durable, ideal for someone of her status.
As Amara continued shopping, a young saleswoman approached them. She was well-dressed and spoke with the polished tone of someone accustomed to serving high-end clients. The saleswoman’s eyes flicked over Elara, still dressed in the dirty, flowery clothes from her previous mistress, and she smiled politely before suggesting, “Madam, may I recommend something for your mount as well? A new outfit would certainly complement your own and reflect your elevated status.”
Amara considered the suggestion and agreed. She selected a pair of sleek black jeans and a tight, sleeveless top for Elara, designed to emphasize her narrow but strong stature. The saleswoman guided them to a private changing area. For the first time since they entered the market, Amara dismounted from Elara’s shoulders, allowing the saleswoman to help Elara out of the saddle.
While Elara was being dressed in her new outfit, Amara also discarded her old clothes. She chose a white pair of shorts that hugged her curves perfectly and a loose, sleeveless tank top that offered both comfort and style. The material was soft and luxurious, a far cry from what she had been wearing earlier.
When Elara emerged from the changing room, now clad in the tight black jeans and form-fitting top, Amara’s eyes appraised her mount with satisfaction. The new outfit brought out Elara’s slim yet muscular frame, making her look both elegant and strong. Elara moved with a quiet grace, her attire now befitting the mount of a trader of Amara’s stature.
As Elara prepared herself with the saddle, Amara’s eyes fell on a pair of expensive hand gloves displayed nearby. The leather was soft yet sturdy, and the intricate stitching added a touch of sophistication. She asked the saleswoman to let her try them on. The gloves fit perfectly, offering a firm grip and a sense of control.
Amara walked back to Elara, her new gloves fitting snugly on her hands. Without hesitation, she mounted Elara’s shoulders once more, gripping her ponytail firmly as she ordered her to stand. Elara obeyed, rising to her feet with Amara seated securely on her shoulders, her hands now supporting Amara’s feet as they had done countless times before.
The saleswoman, observing the scene, smiled warmly. “You both look absolutely stunning,” she complimented, her tone genuine. “Madam, you are the picture of strength and elegance, and your mount complements you perfectly. The new outfit highlights your power, especially with those strong thighs resting on her shoulders. And those gloves—they provide the perfect grip, ensuring you remain in complete control at all times. It’s a truly impressive sight.”
Amara smiled, pleased with the saleswoman’s words. She felt a surge of pride, not just in her own appearance but in the way, Elara presented herself. The contrast of her sleek, toned legs against Elara’s narrow shoulders, the new gloves providing a perfect grip on Elara’s ponytail, and the overall effect of their combined presence was exactly what Amara had wanted to achieve.
Amara reached into her pouch and paid the young saleswoman, tipping her generously for her compliments and excellent service. The saleswoman beamed, grateful for the generous tip and the opportunity to serve such a commanding figure.
As Amara and Elara left the store, Amara couldn’t help but smile. She felt confident, powerful, and in control. Mounted on Elara’s shoulders, she knew that they made a striking pair, one that would turn heads wherever they went. With Elara beneath her, dressed in a manner befitting her status, Amara felt ready for next shop.
After the successful shopping spree, Amara was eager to indulge in some personal care at a high-end salon. The salon, recognizing her status, offered her a luxurious chair in front of a mirror, but Amara, ever commanding, refused to dismount from her trusted mount, Elara. Instead, she ordered the salon staff to serve her while she remained seated on her "personal throne." The staff, eager to please and aware of the potential for a generous tip, agreed to accommodate her unusual request, moving the salon chair aside and setting up their equipment around Elara.
Amara instructed Elara to kneel in front of the mirror. As Elara lowered herself, Amara admired her reflection in the full-body mirror. Her new outfit highlighted her muscular frame, especially her thick thighs, which bulged impressively over Elara’s narrow shoulders. Amara felt a surge of pride, admiring how her new clothes elevated her appearance.
However, as her eyes drifted to Elara’s reflection, she noticed a hint of exhaustion in her mount’s expression. Amara briefly wondered why Elara seemed so tired in the middle of the day, but then quickly dismissed the thought. She didn’t realize that while she had slept peacefully the previous night, Elara had been marching tirelessly to fulfil their order, carrying her every step of the way. To Amara, Elara’s exhaustion was simply the price she paid for being her mount, and after all, hadn’t she rewarded Elara with new clothes?
Ignoring Elara’s fatigue, Amara signalled for her salon services to begin. , and Amara settled in for a long, luxurious pampering session. The staff worked on her hair, styling it into a shiny, voluminous mane, and meticulously treated her face with the most expensive products the salon had to offer. For hours, Amara sat on Elara’s shoulders, enjoying the attention and care she was receiving. Meanwhile, Elara silently endured the discomfort of bearing Amara’s weight for such an extended period.
After what felt like an eternity to Elara, the salon service was finally complete. Amara’s hair gleamed, and her skin glowed with a healthy, radiant sheen. Satisfied, Amara finally dismounted, leaving Elara kneeling on the floor. She was then escorted to a private shower area, where she indulged in a luxurious bath surrounded by scented candles and expensive soaps. The warm, soothing water and the fragrant atmosphere allowed Amara to relax completely, her mind drifting as she enjoyed the decadence of the moment.
While Amara soaked in the jacuzzi, Elara remained outside, exhausted but obedient. The salon staff, recognizing Elara’s dedication, offered her a complimentary basic hair and makeup service. It was a small gesture, but Elara appreciated it, even if it was a stark contrast to the extravagant treatment Amara was receiving. The staff gently brushed her hair and applied a light touch of makeup, doing their best to make Elara look presentable. The treatments refreshed her appearance, and by the time Amara emerged from the shower, she was a sight to behold. Her tall, athletic frame seemed even more imposing as she walked confidently toward Elara. Her skin was glowing, her hair shinier than ever, and she exuded an air of power and authority that commanded attention. Elara, now looking slightly refreshed after her own modest treatment, couldn’t help but feel a pang of awe as Amara approached.
Amara proudly mounted Elara’s shoulders once again, ordering her to stand. She couldn’t help but admire how her new hand gloves felt against the silky smoothness of Elara’s freshly brushed hair. Elara, as devoted as always, took Amara’s feet into her hands, supporting her as she had done countless times before. Together, they approached the front desk, where Amara paid for the salon’s services and left a generous tip.
The salon staff, thoroughly impressed by Amara’s transformation, showered her with compliments. “You look absolutely stunning, madam,” one of them remarked, eyes wide with admiration. “And so strong and commanding on your mount. Truly, you’re a sight to behold.”
Amara, pleased with the attention, smiled confidently. Seated on Elara’s shoulders, she felt like a supermodel, turning heads wherever she went. As they marched through the market, Amara’s hand idly played with Elara’s ponytail, enjoying the silky texture against her fingers. She was so absorbed in her thoughts, basking in the admiration of onlookers, that she hardly noticed which direction Elara was walking.
Satisfied with the day’s events and the numerous compliments she had received, Amara eventually directed Elara toward their camp, signaling the end of a successful shopping day. As they approached the camp, Amara felt content, knowing she had spent the day not only indulging her desires but also reinforcing her status as a powerful and commanding figure. Elara, despite her exhaustion, carried Amara with pride, understanding her place as the loyal mount to such a formidable trader.

mahesh1 · 2024-09-21 02:42:42

The morning light filtered through the tent's entrance, casting a soft glow on Amara as she stood with her legs spread wide, gazing out at the vast distance before her. Her silhouette was commanding, a powerful figure with broad shoulders and muscular thighs that spoke of her strength and dominance. The white shorts she had bought the day before clung to her form, accentuating her athletic build, while her loose, sleeveless tank top hung just enough to reveal the toned muscles beneath. Her hair cascaded down her back in thick, shiny waves. Amara’s posture was regal, her hands resting on her hips as she contemplated her next move, the morning breeze gently tugging at her clothes.
Elara stirred from her sleep and blinked her eyes open, immediately noticing Amara standing rather than sitting on her usual perch. A wave of confusion washed over her. Why wasn’t Amara on her throne? The sight of Amara standing tall, her presence almost intimidating, puzzled Elara. Without a second thought, she slowly crawled towards Amara from behind, her devotion instinctively guiding her actions. She slid her head between Amara’s thighs, and her hands wrapped around her Amara’s thighs.
Amara, recognizing the touch, slowly lowered herself, resting her ass on Elara’s shoulders. Elara, feeling the comfort of Amara’s presence, raised her head slightly, balancing Amara’s weight as she carefully positioned her mistress on her shoulders, ensuring her comfort. Amara settled in, her feet resting on Elara’s thighs, finding a comfortable spot.
Elara, true to her nature, couldn’t resist the urge to rub her cheek against Amara’s thigh. The gesture was both soothing and affectionate, a sign of her unwavering loyalty. She then started massaging Amara’s legs, hoping to alleviate any tension her mistress might feel. But there was an unusual silence between them, and Elara couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The silence was heavy, and Elara felt a knot of anxiety in her chest.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Elara broke the silence, her voice trembling with fear. “I’m sorry, mistress. I have failed to deliver the order on time, and I wasn’t a good sport while shopping. Please, do not give me the silent treatment. Command me, order me—I am at your service.”
Amara, who had been lost in her thoughts, smiled softly. She realized how uneasy Elara was feeling, mistakenly thinking she was upset. Her smile was warm, a mix of affection and reassurance. “Sweetie, I’m not upset with you,” she finally said, her voice gentle. “I know you did your best, and I expect nothing less from you.”
Elara’s heart swelled with relief at Amara’s words. The fear that had gripped her so tightly began to ease, replaced by a renewed sense of devotion. As Amara began discussing her future plans, Elara listened intently, hanging on every word. Amara spoke of taking on more lucrative and challenging orders, just like their last one, and then, one day, buying some land and settling down. She envisioned a future where Elara would remain her trusted mount, and the crew would perform various duties to support her new life.
Elara, comforted by Amara’s words, began to sway back and forth, a subconscious gesture that expressed her happiness. The soothing motion wasn’t lost on Amara, who welcomed it as she enjoyed the foot massage that accompanied the gentle rocking. The crew, waking up and going about their morning routine, couldn’t help but admire the sight of Amara perched regally on Elara’s shoulders. Amara looked every bit the powerful trader she was, commanding and confident, while Elara, devoted as always, served her mistress without question.
Amara, sensing the admiration from her crew, decided it was time to share a surprise with Elara. “I’ve been thinking, Elara,” she began, her voice playful. “I’m going to give you a bit of freedom during our long rides from now on.”
Elara’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of freedom, her mind racing with possibilities. “You’ll have the freedom to choose when crew rest,” Amara continued, “but there are conditions. Crew can only rest twice during a journey, and it can’t be for more than fifteen minutes each time.”
Elara felt a rush of happiness at the thought. Even with the conditions, this small act of kindness meant the world to her. She continued to rub her cheek against Amara’s thigh, her hands massaging Amara’s feet as she swayed back and forth, basking in the affection her mistress had shown her.
Finally, after an hour or so, Amara decided it was time to tend to her morning needs. She slid off Elara’s shoulder with the ease of someone who had done it countless times before. Elara, ever dutiful, remained in place, watching as Amara strode off, already planning how best to serve her mistress for the rest of the day.

mahesh1 · 2024-09-21 04:01:42

As the crew prepared for their next journey, Amara took note of the importance of the upcoming order—it required them to travel through the day and night to deliver early in the morning. Elara, as always, was ready to bear the weight of her mistress, but just before putting on her saddle, something caught Amara’s eye. For the first time, she noticed the scar on Elara’s back, a mark left behind by the constant burden of the shoulder saddle.
Amara reached out and gently touched the scar, feeling the rough texture under her fingers. A sense of pride welled up within her. This scar, to Amara, was a symbol of Elara’s dedication and endurance, much like the battle wounds of a seasoned warrior.
“Elara,” Amara said, her voice filled with a mix of pride and affection, “you should be proud of this scar. It’s like a warrior’s wound, each one telling a story of immense battles fought and won. This mark on your back is a testament to your strength and loyalty.”
Elara, ever devoted, nodded in acknowledgment, her heart swelling with pride at Amara’s words. She quickly fastened the saddle, ensuring it was secure, and Amara mounted her with practiced ease. As Elara stood up and gripped Amara’s feet, Amara, now comfortably seated on her throne, gripped Elara’s hair with her gloved hands. The sensation of the cool leather against the silky strands gave Amara a sense of control and comfort.
Amara was dressed in her new outfit—the shorts she had bought exposed her strong, thick thighs, which almost covered Elara’s face from the side. The breeze brushed against her skin, cooling her as they began their journey. Her tank top exposed her broad shoulders and muscular arms, and the thin fabric allowed her to fully enjoy the refreshing wind. Amara’s biceps flexed as she gripped Elara’s ponytail tightly, her muscles curling in response to the control she exerted over her mount.
Using a combination of pulling Elara’s ponytail and pressing her thighs against Elara’s neck, Amara adjusted the speed of their march with precision, much like a driver accelerating a vehicle. Once she was satisfied with the pace, Amara took a moment to ensure that everyone in the crew was performing their duties properly. When everything seemed to be in order, she relaxed on Elara’s shoulders, leaning back and settling into the saddle.
As Amara leaned back, she knew that the saddle would press against Elara’s scar, but the thought didn’t bother her. To Amara, this was simply another aspect of the journey—one where her comfort was paramount. Elara, however, felt the searing pain shoot through her back with each of Amara’s movements. The scar, already tender, was now aggravated by the constant pressure, but Elara gritted her teeth and marched on, her hands gripping Amara’s feet to keep her steady.
For Amara, the journey was serene. She occasionally dozed off, letting the gentle rocking motion of Elara’s stride lull her to sleep. At other times, she admired the beautiful landscape passing by, the scenery a blur of colors and shapes as they moved at a brisk pace. Sometimes, she rested her arms on Elara’s head, idly playing with her hair, feeling the silky strands slip through her fingers.
Elara, on the other hand, walked with a sense of urgency, her pace brisk and determined. She was almost scared of Amara’s slightest movement, knowing that every shift of her mistress above her would send a wave of pain coursing down her spine. Yet, despite the agony, Elara never faltered. She was driven by a deep-seated loyalty to Amara, a commitment that went beyond mere duty.
As the journey continued under the scorching sun, Elara struggled to maintain the brisk pace that Amara had set. The freedom to choose breaks was exciting for Elara. After only a few hours, she felt the strain on her body and, while Amara dozed off on her shoulders, Elara decided that crew will take the first break. She knelt down, gripping Amara’s thighs to keep her steady and signaling the crew to rest. Amara, still half-asleep, allowed it, knowing that Elara was using one of the two allotted breaks.
A few hours later, when the sun was at its peak and the heat was nearly unbearable, Elara felt the need to rest again. This time, she knelt down under the relentless sun, sweat pouring down her face, her body trembling with fatigue. The crew took another break, and Amara, fully aware of the choice Elara was making, simply watched from her comfortable position atop her mount.
As the day wore on and night began to fall, Elara’s exhaustion became evident. Her legs felt like lead, her muscles ached, and every step sent jolts of pain through her body. Yet, she continued to march, holding onto Amara’s feet as if they were her lifeline. She rubbed her cheek against Amara’s thigh, a subtle, desperate plea for permission to speak.Amara, feeling the gentle nudge, responded with a calm voice, “Yes, sweety, what’s the matter?” Elara’s breaths were heavy and labored as she spoke in broken sentences, the exhaustion clear in her voice. “Mistress… I’m sorry… but I… I need… a break…” Amara, fully aware of what was coming, took a moment before responding. She gently stroked Elara’s hair, a small gesture of comfort before delivering her lesson. “Elara,” she began, her tone soft yet firm, “this is a teachable moment for you. You were excited about your new freedom, and I allowed you to make your own choices. But with freedom comes responsibility, and with responsibility comes consequence.”
Elara’s grip on Amara’s feet tightened as she listened, her heart sinking at the words she knew were coming. “You made the choice to take your two breaks early in the journey,” Amara continued, her voice steady. “You felt tired, and you thought it would be easier to rest then. But now, you must live with the consequences of those choices. The journey isn’t over, and there are no more breaks allowed.” Elara’s breathing grew even more labored, the realization of her mistake weighing heavily on her. “You and the crew will have to march on,” Amara said, her tone not unkind but resolute. “There are no brakes. You must push through the exhaustion, through the pain. This is the price of your choices, Elara.”
Amara paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. She could feel Elara’s trembling beneath her, the sheer effort it took for her to keep moving. But this was a lesson that needed to be learned. “I know it’s hard, and I know you’re suffering,” Amara added, a note of empathy in her voice. “But you are strong, Elara. You’ve proven that time and again. This is another challenge for you to overcome.” Elara nodded weakly, her face pressed against Amara’s thigh, tears mixing with the sweat on her cheeks. She understood the lesson, even if it was a painful one. Amara, feeling Elara’s resolve solidify beneath her, gave a small, encouraging squeeze with her thighs. “Now, let’s keep moving. We have a destination to reach, and I know you’ll get us there.” With that, Elara took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and began to march forward again. Every step was a struggle, every breath a challenge, but she pushed on, determined to live up to Amara’s expectations and to prove her strength, even through the consequences of her own choices.

bernager · 2024-09-21 15:58:18

Thank you very much. The story is really exciting. Amara knows perfectly that Elara is suffering under her heavy weight, but she doesn't care. She's teaching a kesdon to her exhausted horse while she herself is sitting comfortably. Her comfort accentuates Elara's injury and fatigue. It seems to excite her and increase her pleasure. I can't wait to read more.

Ultimate shoulder rides

#1 2024-08-27 13:31:23

Story - The Last Traders

#2 2024-08-27 14:18:13

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#3 2024-08-27 18:38:30

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#4 2024-08-28 04:49:10

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#5 2024-08-28 09:04:17

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#6 2024-08-28 12:30:18

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#7 2024-08-28 17:00:37

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#8 2024-08-28 17:21:28

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#9 2024-08-29 03:57:52

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#10 2024-08-29 15:57:23

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#11 2024-08-29 16:56:50

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#12 2024-08-30 14:35:12

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#13 2024-08-30 17:10:51

Re: Story - The Last Traders

Max wrote:

#14 2024-08-30 17:31:16

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#15 2024-08-30 18:35:34

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#16 2024-08-30 22:13:32

Re: Story - The Last Traders

mahesh1 wrote:

#17 2024-08-30 23:03:44

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#18 2024-08-31 04:40:47

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#19 2024-08-31 05:28:40

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#20 2024-08-31 18:01:35

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#21 2024-08-31 22:50:34

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#22 2024-09-01 01:59:07

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#23 2024-09-01 04:34:28

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#24 2024-09-01 07:04:22

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#25 2024-09-21 02:42:42

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#26 2024-09-21 04:01:42

Re: Story - The Last Traders

#27 2024-09-21 15:58:18

Re: Story - The Last Traders

Board footer