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Flashback
Following the recommendation of their best man, a newlywed couple set out on their honeymoon to a wonderful town, a place where solidarity and collaboration reigned in every corner. In this unique community, the men, with a great spirit of service, carry the ladies on their shoulders and backs, facilitating their movements both along the paths that connect the town and along its picturesque streets.
To ensure the comfort of the rider and fluid communication during the journey, the knight was carefully prepared. The lady, with skill and delicacy, placed a bit in the mouth of her mount, secured the bridle on its head and inserted the reins firmly. Then, she placed the saddle on the body of her human steed and carefully adjusted the girth to provide stability during the ride.
Once these preparations were completed, the lady would take her position, sitting elegantly on the saddle and resting her feet on the stirrups. With reins in hand, she would exercise control with precision and grace, guiding her mount gently, but also with determination. In her impetus and passion for riding, it could happen that the use of the bit and the tack would leave a mark on the skin or mouth of her mount, reflecting the dedication and effort shared in this practice that, for them, represented a noble tradition.
It was a common sight to see the ladies moving majestically on human horses, some upright and others advancing on all fours, leaning on walkers or canes to maintain the proportion of their posture. In every corner of the town, the harmony of this tradition was reflected in the respectful interaction between riders and horses, where skill, strength and devotion were admired by all.
Although women ride from an early age, starting at 5 years old, they are considered horsewomen from adolescence, generally between 13 and 14 years old, depending on their physical development and the appearance of their feminine forms. This status is maintained until 55, 60 or even 70 years old, when their feminine charms begin to fade. Before the age of 13 and after 60 or 70, women continue to be carried by horses, although not as riders, but as loads, just like men, who are also carried in this way.
Although men are ridden from an early age, starting at 5 years old, they are considered horses from adolescence, generally between 13 and 14 years old, depending on their physical strength and ability to carry up to 75 kg. The horse is carried on his shoulders while standing on two legs or on his horizontal back while standing on all fours. This condition is maintained until the age of 70 or more when his physical strength decreases and he becomes ill. Before the age of 13 and after he stops being considered a horse, he can transport people of little weight such as children and girls.
The best man, who had recommended this destination with such enthusiasm, accompanied the newlyweds on their adventure and, with great emotion, made his long-awaited wish of becoming the faithful steed of his goddaughter and other ladies of the town come true. Likewise, the husband assumed his role with devotion, transforming himself into the mount of his beloved wife, her noble horse while she directed him firmly and lovingly, sharing this experience with other ladies of the community.
Thus, in this town of singular charm, the young wife became a distinguished Rider and Mistress of her husband, his best man and other local men, who, with a spirit of dedication and admiration, prostrated themselves at her service with joy and dedication, reaffirming the beauty of a tradition based on trust and mutual respect.
The newly married wife rides her horses on 2 and 4 legs, enjoying her dominion over them with elegance and skill. Whether guiding them with the reins while they move upright and she rides on his shoulders, or riding them when he moves on all fours and she rides on his horizontal back; Thus, she demonstrates her skill and leadership in each ride
The newly married wife made three great female friends: the teacher, whom she met on the bus, the young rider, whom she met when she drove her best man crazy, and the dominant nurse, whom she met when the young rider and she sent her best man to the hospital due to injuries caused by the reins in his mouth, and by the whip and spurs in his skin during the ride.
The domineering nurse invited her to participate in an extramural campaign, the newly married wife arrived accompanied by three of her horses: her husband who is older than her and he is her height, a handsome young man who is her age and he is taller than her, and a young teenager who is younger than her and he is shorter than her.
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The Outward Ride (1)
On the street, in front of the health center's facade, the husband, the handsome young man, and the young teenager prostrated themselves at the feet of the newly married wife and kissed her boots. The wife looked down from above at her trinity of devotees, humiliated at her feet in an act of absolute reverence. Their lips brushed the noble surface of her boots with submission and surrender, a gesture that reaffirmed her authority over them. She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the moment, feeling the power running through her veins, like a calm but intense fire, they are hers, and in their devotion, she found a mixture of satisfaction and responsibility.
Her figure radiated power and grace. She wore an outfit that highlighted her imposing presence: a tight, long-sleeved ivory-colored blouse, with embroidered details on the cuffs and collar, hugging her wasp-like waist and highlighting her stylized silhouette, her hourglass shape. Dark riding breeches shaped the curve of her hips and powerful thighs, while elegant black leather thigh-high boots, polished to a shine, covered her legs to just below her knees. The soft clink of silver spurs on her heels added an air of solemnity to the scene.
The wife watched her colt intently, her eyes reflecting a mixture of dominance and tenderness. Without looking away, she said firmly: “Stand up!”
The young colt obeyed immediately, rising quickly, although still bowing his head slightly in respect. Still standing, his height barely reached the level of his Mistress’s bust, which further accentuated the majestic difference between them.
He looked up at her and she looked down at him, their eyes meeting. She smiled with that expression that only the truly devoted could understand. With a gentleness that contrasted with the firmness of her will, she put her arms around the boy's head and placed a kiss on the top of his head, as a gesture of approval and possession. “Tell me, are you sure you want me to climb on top of you and ride you?” she asked, her voice a whisper full of power. “I am 14 kilos or 30 pounds heavier than you, and I am 36 cm or 1 foot 2 inches taller than you.”
The young man looked up, without hesitation. His eyes shone with the determination of someone who has chosen his destiny. “Yes, my Mistress. I have shed my blood for you when you have spurred and whipped me, and I would shed it a thousand times more. I would give my life for the honor of being your horse and of carrying you on my shoulders and on my back wherever you wish.”
His words were an absolute offering, a surrender that transcended the physical and became almost sacred.
The wife gazed at him in silence for a moment, enjoying the devotion of her human mount. Her smile widened in satisfaction. “So be it.”
And with the same grace as a Goddess mounting her heavenly steed, she prepared to ride him once more.
Under the golden morning sun, the rider stood with absolute authority. Her gaze, sharp and confident, swept over the three men before her. With an enigmatic smile, she took the braided leather bit and, with undeniable skill, inserted it into her colt’s mouth. “Animals do not speak,” she murmured sweetly, yet with the firmness of a mistress imposing her will.
The young man, her faithful colt, closed his eyes for a moment, shuddering at the emotion of the moment. His heart was beating fast, not out of fear, but out of the deep devotion he felt for her. For him, feeling her weight on his shoulders is an honor that transcended fatigue or difficulty. He was nothing more than a vehicle for his Mistress, her loyal mount.
Turning her attention now to the other two men, her husband and the handsome young man, the rider raised an eyebrow haughtily. “You two, stop kissing my boots and stand before me.”
They obeyed immediately, without hesitation. When they were upright, she took another bite and, without losing her serene expression, slid it into her husband’s mouth. “Beasts do not speak.”
Her husband accepted his fate without complaint. Inside him, a mixture of respect, love and resignation intertwined, for, although he was once the only one she rode, now she shared that privilege with others. Nevertheless, her loyalty to her rider is unwavering.
Then, with a simple gesture of her hand, she indicated to the handsome young man to climb on top of her husband. The young man, who until then had remained silent, immediately obeyed. Now sitting on her husband’s shoulders, he felt a mixture of pride and excitement: although he was not the one being ridden by her at this moment, he was still part of her surroundings, of her world.
Finally, the rider turned her attention back to her colt. With a slow but sure movement, she slid her fingers over his cheek, caressing him gently. Her gaze softened for just an instant. “You are strong,” she whispered.
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The Outward Ride (2)
The rider turned her attention back to her colt. With a slow but sure movement, she slid her fingers over his cheek, caressing him gently. Her gaze softened for just an instant. “You are strong,” she whispered.
The young man felt a surge of energy run through his body. Reverently, he bent his knees slightly, preparing to be ridden by her.
And then, with the mastery of an expert rider, she placed the sole of her left boot on his left thigh and, with an elegant push, she moved her beloved right leg through the air and she stepped on his right thigh, rising up onto his shoulders. She settled herself on his saddle, she placed her feet precisely on his stirrups, and with a light click of her spurs, she adjusted her posture. Her firm legs embraced the neck of her colt, who felt the warmth of her thighs, assuring her dominance over him. His back remained straight, his bearing regal, his hair fluttering lightly in the breeze.
With a calculated movement, she leaned forward slightly, ensuring her balance, and lifted her chin, watching the dominant nurse waiting to depart.
Her colt, feeling her weight on him, experienced an inexplicable sensation: instead of weakening, his body was filled with renewed strength. It was as if the mere fact of being ridden by her made him more powerful, as if every kilogram or pound of her on his shoulders imbued him with divine vigor.
The newly married rider, feeling the firmness of her human mount, smiled. There was no doubt: this was his natural place.
As they left the village, the riders moved with grace and confidence, riding their faithful human horses, who advanced with devotion, proud to carry their divine weights on their shoulders. The sun illuminated the path, highlighting the harmony of the scene: the ladies rode elegantly, skillfully guiding their horses, while their human horses demonstrated their devotion with each firm step.
The other's wife rode majestically on her colt, feeling the strength of her animal beneath her. At her side, her husband advanced with the handsome young man on his shoulders, maintaining his balance with admirable determination. The other's wife observed the handsome young man and gave him a sweet smile. He, moved, returned her gaze with admiration.
In a gesture of connection and complicity, she extended her hand towards him, and their fingers intertwined tenderly. Together, they rode like this, holding hands, sharing the pleasure of the ride and the excitement of the experience. Each rider and mount advanced with coordination and passion, reinforcing the special bond that united horses and riders in that unique tradition of the town. From time to time, she made her horses walk shoulder to shoulder to have exciting French kisses with the handsome young man.
After a considerable distance, the caravan stopped in a clearing surrounded by trees, where the cool breeze relieved the heat of the journey. The horses, with discipline and devotion, crouched to allow their riders to dismount with grace and comfort.
The wife, still sitting on the saddle and with her feet firmly planted in the stirrups, delicately took the reins and removed the bit from her colt's mouth. He looked up at her with adoration and, without hesitation, he expressed in a firm and sincere voice: “I wish to remain being ridden by you for the rest of my life.”
Touched by his devotion and dedication, the rider gave him a tender smile and gently stroked his hair before sweetly replying, “Squat down, because I wish to stretch my legs and walk a little.”
Without questioning her request, he immediately complied, lowering his posture with humility and respect, allowing her to descend gracefully. Once on the ground, the wife breathed deeply, enjoying the moment, while the other riders also prepared to continue the journey.
As she gracefully descended, her boots touched the ground with authority and elegance. In a gesture of devotion, her colt prostrated himself before her, bowed his head and placed reverent kisses on the leather of her boots, followed by the other horses, who imitated his gesture with absolute devotion.
The rider, pleased with his loyalty, looking at him tenderly, asked him: “How did you like the ride?”
He looked up in admiration and, without hesitation, replied in a firm and excited voice: “It is an honor to be ridden by you, my Mistress. There is no greater satisfaction than feeling your presence on top of me, on my shoulders and receiving your guidance.”
She smiled, satisfied with his answer, bent down and gently stroked his hair before standing up and looking out to the horizon, ready to continue the journey with her faithful and devoted mount.
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Conversation and advice
She, a newlywed of 23 years, fresh, tall and beautiful, with long dark hair cascading down her back, an angelic face with fine features, and a dream body with impressive curves. Her generous breasts, her wasp-shaped waist (hourglass shape) further accentuated her wide hips, her imposing buttocks and her thick, shapely thighs made her a vision of perfection. Standing with majestic bearing, she firmly held the reins of her three horses: her husband, her colt and her handsome horse.
The three of them, prostrate before her, kissed the leather of her boots with devotion, showing their total surrender while the rider exchanged words with the dominant nurse. “We are halfway there, we must all move forward” advised the nurse in a calm but firm voice. “I recommend you change horses so that the one who was ridden on their shoulders can rest. And if necessary, you already know how to transform your human horses into equine horses.”
The newly married lady nodded with a smile of complete confidence. “That's right,” she affirmed, with the confidence of someone who knows her domain well. “In this wonderful town and its surroundings, when you see a lady rider riding on a majestic equine, he is either an original equine or a male transformed into an equine by the lady.”
The breeze blew gently, as if nature itself recognized the truth of her words. The journey had to continue, and the horses, human or not, were ready to serve her.
“That's right,” answered the dominant nurse, “many times I met and rode with another lady from the town and she did not realize my horse was her husband, son, father or father-in-law, and I also did not realize if her horse was one of my relatives or friends, I will tell you an experience.”
The dominant nurse smiled mischievously and continued, “Once, during a night ride under the full moon, I met another lady rider from the village. We were both comfortably ensconced on our horses, enjoying the cool night breeze and the sound of hooves hitting the ground.” The nurse continued, “We stopped in a clearing in the forest to chat, riding along. As always, our mounts behaved with absolute obedience, supporting us with devotion. We chatted about the beauty of the night and the quietness of the countryside. At one point, she stroked her horse’s head and remarked, ‘My mount is being especially helpful today. ’ I laughed and replied, ‘Mine too. It seems the horses enjoy it when we female riders treat them with affection. ’”
She continued, “We continued our ride, riding together until we came to a stream. As was now customary, we both allowed our mounts to drink water while we relaxed. It was then that, by chance, we discovered the identity of our horses: hers was a childhood friend of mine, and mine, none other than her own husband. We looked at each other in surprise for a moment, but then burst out laughing. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it seems that horses have learned to serve more than one rider.’ “Yes, I did,” I replied with amusement, ‘but at the end of the day, they always return to their main mistress. ’”
She concluded: “Since then, every time we pass each other on a ride, we give each other a knowing smile. We never know for sure whose mount belongs to whom, but the important thing is that we continue to enjoy horseback riding with the same joy as always.”
The newlywed laughed delightedly at the story. “That was an unforgettable ride,” she said with a smile.
The nurse nodded, while the horses, kneeling on the ground, waited patiently for their riders’ orders to continue on their way.
The newlywed asked: “Have you been riding this horse since childhood? How old were you and he when you started being a horse and rider?”
The nurse replied: “He and I were children when it all began. I was 8 years old and he was 10. One day, playing in the field, I asked him to carry me on his shoulders and, from that moment on, he never stopped being my horse. Over time, it became something natural between us: at school, on walks, at village festivals... he always carried me on his back, with pride and happiness. When we grew up, our tradition continued, and to this day, he remains one of my most faithful horses.”
The newlywed reflected: “My best man, who is about 30 years older than me, is also ridden by the young rider and her mother, but he always comes back to me.”
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The Bite
The newlywed wife bowed her head slightly and made a series of soft clicking sounds with her tongue: “Tsk… tsk… tsk… tsk…”
Her colt immediately stood up and leaned over, resting his hands on her thighs, in position to be ridden by her. She laughed: “I just rode you, don’t you think you deserve a break?” he replied, trying to convince her to ride him again: “My beautiful rider, there is no more pleasant break for me than being ridden by you on my shoulders. Every step I take with you on top of me is an honor, a blessing… a reason to keep going.”
She smiled, enjoying her colt’s devotion. With an elegant gesture, she placed one hand on his hip and with the other she gently stroked his head. “You are stubborn… but I like that in a good horse.”
Without waiting any longer, she placed her left boot on his left thigh and, with the grace of a Riding Goddess, she lifted her right leg through the air until she stepped on his right thigh, she settled herself on the saddle on his shoulders and she stepped on the spurs. He sighed in happiness as he felt her divine weight on his shoulders, while she on the saddle placed her legs on either side of his neck, adjusting her riding posture and stepping on the spurs.
She, riding on top of him, comfortably seated on the saddle and stepping on the stirrups, the reins in her hands and the whip hanging to one side as if it were her ceremonial sword, slightly tilted her head and emitted a series of soft clicks with her tongue: “Tsk… tsk… tsk… tsk…”
Her horse understands the command of its rider and turns its head, putting its face upwards. She enjoys every moment of this moment, feeling absolute control over her human colt. The connection between them is deep, almost sacred, and when he opens his mouth with devotion, she knows that his surrender is total.
She looks at her colt from her elevated position, their eyes meet, and in that exchange of glances, both understand what the other feels: admiration, adoration, a unique complicity between rider and mount. Her smile is tender but dominant, and with a gentle but firm gesture, she introduces the morsel into his mouth, pressing it with the tip of her delicate finger, feeling the slight tremble of his body at her touch. “Baby, you are mine,” she whispers sweetly and authoritatively.
He tries to respond, but the morsel prevents him from speaking, and only a guttural sound escapes from his throat. She laughs with that charming and melodious laugh that makes him feel even more his. “My dear, the morsel serves to control you and to prevent you from speaking, because animals do not speak,” she explains to him with amusement. “Now, bite the instrument by which I dominate and control you.”
Without hesitation, he obeys, holding the morsel between his teeth, fully accepting his role. Drool begins to slide down the corners of his lips, a sign of his surrender.
She laughs again, her laughter a heavenly song to him. “You drool for me, and you don’t need a bit to do it,” she comments mischievously.
When she inserts the bit into his mouth, she smiles with a mixture of tenderness and authority. She is fascinated by the way he accepts the bit without resistance, demonstrating his deepest desire to serve her, to be hers in body and soul.
When he accepts and bites the bit she inserts into his mouth, he feels a mixture of emotion and submission invade him. He knows that, with that simple gesture, she reaffirms her dominance over him. She is not only his Rider, she is his Mistress, his Owner, his Queen, his Goddess. And he is her horse, he belongs to her.
Then, with tenderness and determination, she places her hand on his head and gently pushes it forward, guiding him to look at the path on which he will be ridden. The adventure continues, and he, her loyal steed, will advance submissively and happily under the command of his rider.
With blows of whip and spurs, she guides him forward, enjoying each step as he advances, surrendered to her will. “Come on, my colt,” she commanded sweetly, “obey me with pride.”
And so, with renewed vigor, he moved forward with a firm step, demonstrating that his greatest desire was to continue being ridden by his Mistress forever. For the colt, every moment that his rider rides him is a dream come true. He feels the perfect weight of her on his shoulders, the firm pressure of her thighs around his neck and the way her boots rest on the sides of his torso. There is no greater honor than being ridden by her, being her faithful mount, her devoted steed.
From her elevated position, she looks out over the landscape with satisfaction. She feels powerful, majestic, completely in control. Her mount, strong and loyal, moves beneath her with devotion, obedient to every signal from her hands on the reins and the whip, and the signals from her feet using the spurs.
Last edited by caballito (2025-02-27 05:28:32)
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The horny ones
Her husband saw how she rode and put the bit in his animal's mouth, he confesses to her that he got horny watching her act and feels envious of him, he wants to be ridden by her. With her hand she searches for the crotch of her horse and finds his erect male organ, she answers her husband: “you are not the only one.”
The husband, on the shoulders of the handsome young man, observes with genuine curiosity and a certain innocence the physical reaction of his wife's horse. With a calm but intrigued voice, he asks: “Why does your body react like that? Does it want to be with you?”
She, with that natural grace that characterizes her, smiles with amusement at his question. Her gaze, full of mischief and confidence, rests on her husband before answering: “You are not the only one who gets excited by me. If you want, I can take the bit away so that you can confess what you really feel.”
He nods slightly, intrigued by what his wife’s faithful animal has to say. With grace, she slides her hand down to the bridle, removing the bit with the same delicacy with which she had placed it before. Her eyes meet those of her human horse, who, now free to speak, watches her with devotion and expectation. “Tell me,” she commands in a soft but firm voice, “why are you so excited? What are the deepest, most hidden desires that burn within you?”
The young man, breathing deeply, lowers his gaze for a moment, as if he were gathering the courage to answer. But in the presence of his rider, his will surrenders completely, and with absolute sincerity, he begins to confess what his heart and body silently cry out for.
He looked up with a gleam of emotion and surrender in his eyes, as if he finally had the opportunity to express what his soul kept secret. His voice trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the intensity of his feelings. “From the moment you chose me to be your mount, I knew there was no greater honor. Feeling you on my shoulders, hearing your laughter as you ride, knowing that I am the one who has the privilege of being ridden by you… all of that lights a fire in me that I cannot extinguish.”
He paused, as if his own words overwhelmed him, and then continued with more fervor: “It is not only the weight of your body on mine that shakes me, it is the certainty that I belong to you, that every step I take is by and for you. I want you to continue riding me, to continue guiding me with your hands, for your laughter to continue being the music that marks my walk.”
She, amused and pleased, looked at him with a mixture of tenderness and power. Her smile, bright and charming, was the only response he needed to give for a few moments before she leaned in slightly and whispered to him: “I always knew you were mine… but now you have said it in your own words.”
With an elegant gesture, she brought her hand to his face and, with the tips of her fingers, she caressed his cheek before taking the bit again and bringing it to his lips. “Open your mouth” she commanded sweetly, but without leaving room for doubt.
He obeyed without hesitation, allowing her to replace the bit with the same authority with which she ruled her heart. Then, with a light pressure on the reins, she indicated that it was time to continue the journey.
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The transformation (1)
The nurse warned: “Girls! We have left late and we must arrive on time, transform your males into equines and thus advance faster!”
The newly married wife smiled with a mixture of sweetness and determination. She gently stroked her colt’s head, feeling the warmth of his skin, the submission in his gaze, the desire to belong to her even more deeply. Then, her gaze slid towards the handsome young man, who, expectantly, awaited the destiny she had chosen for him.
“Don’t get off!” she ordered her husband in a firm and melodious voice.
She raised one of her hands gracefully, and a golden aura enveloped her. Her fingers moved with precision, as if weaving invisible threads in the air, and immediately, her magic came to life.
The colt and the handsome young man felt a shudder run through their bodies, a shiver that was not of fear, but of absolute surrender to their Rider and Mistress. First, their hands began to harden, their fingers slowly fusing together into gleaming hooves. Then, their legs and arms lengthened, taking on the robustness and musculature of a powerful equine. Their backs arched, widening, adapting to support the weight of a rider with grace and strength.
The colt, still aware of his transformation, felt a surge of emotion as he understood what was happening. He did not lose his essence, he did not stop being who he was… but now, his very existence was molded to better serve his Mistress. His body became a perfect mount for her, a reflection of her desire to belong to him completely.
The handsome young man, for his part, felt a surge of ecstasy as he noticed his own change. Her magical energy flowed through his skin, turning him into something more, something worthy of being ridden by such a magnificent rider. As his bones and muscles reconfigured, his mind filled with absolute certainty: his purpose was to be hers, to carry her on his back, to obey every touch of her reins, every caress of her whip.
Beneath her, the teenager, now transformed into a majestic beast, exhaled loudly, letting out a powerful neigh that echoed through the air. She felt it vibrate beneath her body, the transformation completing as her mount took on perfect form.
The newlywed wife smiled, feeling a heady power course through her. She was the mistress of her destiny and the destiny of her horses. With a slight tug on the reins, she leaned her body forward and whispered in her horse’s ear: “You are mine… now and forever.”
With a soft click of her tongue, she gave the signal. Her horses, now transformed, whinnied and reared up, standing on their hind hooves and raising their front hooves in an imposing gesture. The wife remained on her horse, but her husband fell to the ground, generating laughter from her and those present.
Embarrassed, the husband stood up, brushed himself off, and climbed back onto the horse given to him by his wife.
The horses prepared to depart, moving faster, carrying their riders with the absolute devotion of those who had been born to serve them.
The wife, with a charming and satisfied smile, looked at her husband while holding the reins of her mount firmly. Her majestic bearing reflected the confidence and absolute control she had over the situation. “I promised you a horse ride, and here we have it,” she said sweetly, gently stroking the strong, muscular neck of her newly transformed beast. Then, with a glint of amusement in her eyes, she added, “Later we will have others.”
Her husband, on his mount, watched her with a mixture of admiration and fascination. He knew that every word she said was being fulfilled with precision, that every promise that came from her lips was becoming a reality. He had no doubt that this was only the beginning of many more journeys, always under her guidance, always at her side.
The wife straightened her posture and, with a slight movement of the reins, made her horse move forward with elegance. The wind ruffled her hair and the sound of hooves echoed on the path, marking the beginning of a new journey.
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The Transformation (2)
The husband stated: “If there are no equines, you transform men into horses for your amusement and to demonstrate your power.”
The wife laughed elegantly, enjoying the devotion and certainty in her husband’s words. With a look full of charm and determination, she slightly bowed her head and replied: “That is so, my dear. If there are no equines, I create them. Where I walk, men kneel offering their heads as stepping stones; and, where I ride, they transform into horses to serve me.
She caressed the mane of her mount with the delicacy of a Goddess satisfied with her work, while she felt beneath her the strength of the creature she had shaped with her will. Then, with a slight tug on the reins and a soft click of her tongue, she set her steed in motion, riding with the grace of one who knows the whole world bows at her feet.
The horses trotted with renewed energy, their hooves hitting the ground in a steady, measured rhythm. Above them, their riders advanced with elegance and absolute dominance. The newly married wife, majestic on her mount, kept her back straight, her movements harmonizing with the gallop of her steed.
She, with a satisfied smile, held firmly the reins of her horse, looking at the horizon with the confidence of someone who knows that the entire world bends to her desires.
With each trot, her form swayed naturally, her bearing impeccable and her grace indisputable. Her colt, feeling the divine weight of its rider, neighed with joy, enjoying the honor of carrying her on his shoulders and now on his back, whether as his Wife or as the Supreme Lady of his destiny.
She laughed and said to her colt, “Do you really wish me to be your wife? You are younger and smaller than me. You can answer me mentally because I read your thoughts.”
The colt whinnied softly, his gaze reflecting a mixture of devotion and longing. He did not need to say a word; she already knew the answer before he could formulate it in his mind. “Yes, my lady… more than anything in the world.”
She smiled tenderly and with satisfaction. Her gift allowed her to delve into the depths of his being, to read every hidden thought, every silenced desire. She gently stroked his mane as he trotted with renewed enthusiasm under her divine weight. “You are young, yes, but devotion knows no age or size,” she whispered sweetly. “And although the world sees you as small, when I ride you and you are beneath me, you are greater than all.”
The colt felt a shiver run through his body as she leaned over him, her warm embrace and her gentle caresses on his neck sending waves of pleasure and submission through his being. As her delicate hands scratched his mane, a satisfied whinny escaped his throat; there was no greater happiness than being dominated by her.
Meanwhile, her husband, riding beside her, couldn't help but be mesmerized by the image unfolding before him. His wife's posture, whether upright or lying on the back and neck of his horse, her perfectly sculpted body naturally adapting to the movement of his mount, the way her firm, powerful rear lifted with each trot... It was a majestic sight. A sigh escaped his lips, a mixture of admiration and longing.
She, sensing him, smiled without needing to turn around. She knows the effect she has on males. She knows her presence is an absolute and unbreakable power.
He couldn't help it. His gaze traveled over every inch of his wife, from her boots firmly planted in the stirrups, passing by her shapely thighs that fit perfectly to the saddle, her wide hips that swayed with each trot, her firm and majestic buttocks that seemed to defy the laws of nature, her straight and proud back, her generous breasts that rose and fell with the movement, her long hair waving in the wind, and finally her face... that angelic and dominant face that made him feel small and at the same time the luckiest man in the world.
Intense thoughts echoed in his mind: "She is perfect... Her beauty is dazzling, her presence is overwhelming. There is nothing in this world that I want more than to be at her feet, to serve her, to worship her. She is my Owner, my Queen, my Goddess, my Mistress... There is no greater honor than to be hers."
She smiled as she read his thoughts. She knows she controls male bodies, and she also controls male souls.
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The Cabin (1)
They arrived at the village, the newly married wife remained on her colt while the rest of the riders dismounted, allowing their horses to regain their human form; however, her colt beneath her remained in his equine state, his large dark eyes reflecting devotion and absolute surrender to the lady rider who dominated his being.
With a serene smile, she held the reins firmly and looked at her husband and the handsome young man, who watched her in silence. Her voice resonated with the sweetness of one who knows she will be obeyed: “Stay here, I will continue to enjoy the ride.”
Her colt, feeling the gentle pressure of the reins and the touch of her thighs, neighed enthusiastically. Then, with the grace of a queen on her throne, the lady rider masterfully used her whip and the relentless spur of her spurs. In response, her mount began a vigorous gallop, raising light clouds of dust in its wake.
The wind stirred her long dark mane, caressing her face with the same gentleness with which she had caressed the mane of her faithful steed moments before. A crystalline laugh escaped her lips as she felt the strength of the creature under her control, the perfect synchronicity between her will and the impetus of her mount.
Previously, the nurse had whispered to her with complicity: “There are empty cabins ahead… There you can rest and, if you wish, intimately enjoy your horse in its human form.”
The newlywed wife did not respond at that moment, but now, riding with ease and feeling the warm energy of her steed, her thoughts glided through the echo of those words.
The gallop continued, harmonious and firm, while the sun slowly descended on the horizon.
Spotting the cabin through the trees, the rider slowed her mount, allowing the dust to settle behind her vigorous gallop. With a slight tug on the reins and a gentle squeeze of her thighs, she indicated the precise moment when her steed should stop. Then, with the serenity of one in absolute control, she placed her hand on its robust neck and, with a barely audible whisper, performed the transformation.
The imposing beast with its powerful muscles vanished in an ethereal flash, giving way to the reverent-looking young man who lay beneath her weight. He was no longer the majestic animal that had traversed the fields with vigor, but the small boy whose devotion to his Mistress was reflected in every fiber of his being.
But although his human body seemed more fragile, the feel of his Rider on him did not weaken him, but rather infused him with new energy. Her presence, her touch, and the warm weight of her shape gave him the strength to hold her, to be ridden by her, to continue serving her with the same devotion as before.
She smiled sweetly, sliding her fingers through his hair with the same tenderness with which she had caressed his mane before. Then, in a serene voice, she said: “Let us continue.”
Twilight dyed the sky in amber and purple tones as they advanced toward the cabin, where the night promised to be wrapped in the mystery of the unsaid, of the felt in every gesture, in every look.
Step by step, the colt went toward the door, carrying the weight of his beloved Goddess on his shoulders. He felt his legs tremble and his vision blur, but he recovered when he felt her weight on top of him. Thus they reached the complicit door, complicit because it opened before the presence of rider and horse.
In the twilight, she gracefully descended from her mount, her movements exuding the confidence and elegance of someone accustomed to being carried aloft. As her feet landed on the ground, her silhouette shone with the purity of the immaculate white she wore.
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The Cabin (2)
Her riding attire evoked the majesty of a bride on her wedding day, but with the imposing presence of a sovereign over her kingdom. A white blouse, made of fine, tight-fitting fabric, outlined her slender waist and highlighted the perfect curve of her figure. The lace details on the sleeves and the subtle shine of the pearly buttons added an air of refinement.
Covering her legs, white riding breeches, tight as a second skin, highlighted her hips and thighs with each step. At her waist, an ivory leather belt held the whip, symbol of her absolute dominion, hanging to one side as if it were a ceremonial sword.
But what was truly captivating were her boots: tall, snow-white, made of the finest leather and finished with silver stirrups that shone in the dim light. Her delicately carved spurs jingled softly with each movement, emitting a subtle but authoritative sound.
Her hair, elegantly gathered in a high ponytail, left her radiant face exposed, and a translucent, almost ethereal veil floated over her shoulders, further accentuating her resemblance to a heavenly bride.
He contemplated her in silence, his breathing labored, while the weight of her presence continued to weigh on his soul. There, standing before the complicit door that had opened for them, she is the absolute Mistress of the moment, the Rider and the Sovereign, the Mistress, the Goddess and the Mistress of his will.
He, even feeling the weight of his Goddess on his shoulders, raised his gaze and found her smile, as radiant as the moon on the horizon. Her voice, sweet and firm at the same time, enveloped him like a spell: “As I rode you, you confessed your deepest desire: more than anything in the world, you want me to be your wife. This complicit door opened for us. To cross it, you must carry me in your arms.”
The young man, his heart beating wildly, agreed without hesitation. Although his strength was flagging, the mere thought of holding her in his arms gave him new energy. He knelt before her, reverently kissed her boots countless times, and then stood up, sliding one strong arm around her back and another under her beloved thighs. As he lifted her, he felt the brush of her white boots against his body and the subtle perfume emanating from her skin.
She, in his lap, watched him with shining eyes, the expression of a sovereign who enjoys seeing the devotion of her subject. She slid a hand through his hair, tenderly, and whispered: “This is how it should be.”
He advanced, carrying her in his arms, crossing the threshold of the door that had opened for their destiny.
As his feet crossed the threshold, he felt the sacred weight of his Goddess in his arms, a weight that was not only physical, but that of her absolute devotion. She is taller than him and well equipped with formidable breasts, hips, buttocks and thighs, her majestic shape contrasting with his own, smaller and more fragile. His legs trembled, but the mere act of carrying her gave him the strength to continue forward.
With each step, his breathing became more agitated, his heart pounded against his chest like a battle drum. And yet, he did not hesitate for a second. She knew that this was her duty, her privilege.
When she reached the bed, he bent down with great care, as if he were carrying the most precious treasure in his arms. Slowly, he placed her on the bed, his movements were reverent, almost ceremonial. Immediately afterwards he knelt before her.
She looked down at him, with a satisfied smile, the look of a queen pleased with the devotion of her subject. Her hand slid to his face and with a soft gesture she caressed his cheek, in a touch that was both possession and tenderness. “You have done well” she whispered, with the sweetness of someone who knows she is adored.
Kneeling before her, he lowered his head, awaiting her next order, her next plan. Because his place is always at the feet of his Goddess.
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The cabin (3)
He contemplated her in silence, admiring a masterpiece, afraid to break the spell with a single sigh. She was lying on the bed, her posture a perfect blend of elegance and power, a display of untamed femininity.
Her stretched leg evoked a regal languor, while the other, gathered with natural sensuality, accentuated the exquisite curve of her hips. Her long dark hair fell in waves on the pillow, framing her face with perfect features, where her lips seemed drawn to command and her eyes, deep and enigmatic, held the glow of a Goddess aware of her power.
Her generous breasts, firm and majestic, rose with each breath, symbols of a femininity that imposed and enthralled. Her curved back highlighted the natural curve of her waist, so narrow it seemed sculpted by gods, before expanding into wide, dominant hips, the throne of her undeniable authority.
He lowered his gaze, and his desire became longing. He wanted to be the bed that supported her, that felt the weight of her divinity upon it. He wanted to be the air that surrounded her, the ground she walked on. Her thighs, shapely and powerful, rested with the sovereignty of one born to be served, and her high-heeled boots, symbol of her dominance, seemed to proclaim that her reign was absolute.
He was barely breathing, caught up in his contemplation, aware that at that moment there was nothing in the universe more sublime than her.
With deep devotion, he leaned over the bed and saw her white-gloved hands, which radiated an authority that shook him. He took them in his hands and placed reverent kisses on the softness of the fine material that covered her hands and fingers, feeling on his lips the elegance and power that emanated from her.
Then, he slowly descended, kissing her breasts, waist, hips, crotch, buttocks, thighs, his gaze never leaving hers, searching in her eyes for the approval he longed for.
When he reached her high-heeled boots, symbol of his absolute dominance over her, he felt a shiver run down his spine. With the most absolute surrender, he bowed his head and placed his lips on the tip of her shiny footwear, then kissed every inch of this garment.
Each kiss he imprinted on the leather was a silent oath, an acknowledgement of his place before her. His forehead brushed the cold hardness of the boot, and he closed his eyes, as if at that moment there was nothing else in the world but his submission and the magnificence of that woman who dominated him just by existing.
Finally, he kissed and licked the soles and high heels of her boots.
She asked, "What do you wish us to do besides you kissing my boots?"
He looked up slowly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and devotion. His lips still felt the contact of the leather, the soles and high heels of her boots, the tangible symbol of her power and grace. He swallowed before answering, his voice barely a whisper laden with emotion. "Whatever you wish, my Goddess," he said, not daring to ask for anything beyond his will. "My only desire is to please you, to serve you, to be worthy of being at your feet."
She smiled with a mixture of tenderness and amusement, her gaze shining with deep understanding. She leaned back slightly on the bed, crossing one leg over the other with graceful ease, the soft creak of the leather of her boots filling the silence of the room. “You are lovely,” she murmured, bringing a gloved hand to his chin, gently lifting it so that their eyes met again. “But tell me, do you have a desire of your own? Nothing you fervently crave?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find words that would do justice to what he felt. Opening them again, he held onto her delicate wrist with extreme reverence. “I long to continue to feel your presence upon me,” he confessed sincerely. “For you to dominate me, to guide me… to never leave me far from you.”
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The Cabin (4)
She tilted her head, assessing his words, her smile widening with the satisfaction of someone who knows she is adored. Then, she gently slid the toe of her boot against his chest and then the sole of her boot against his face, with this gesture she is marking him as hers, like marking her livestock using a hot iron. “So, let's keep playing” she whispered with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “There are many ways I can have fun with you…”
She, the sole and high heel of her boot on top of his face, slowly stretched her leg gently pushing his face as if she were stepping on the brake or the accelerator of her vehicle with her right foot, she smiled and he gave in moving under the bed so that her foot was always on top of his face. Thus, only his head was not under the bed, his face under the sole and high heels of his Mistress's boot.
She sat on the bed with her legs crossed, he lay on the floor, under her and the bed, their eyes met. "On the bed or on the floor?" she asked.
He lowered his gaze for a moment, feeling a shiver run through his body at her question. The softness of her voice, wrapped in a natural authority, made him shiver. "Wherever you wish, my Goddess," he answered with humility and devotion. "I am yours, just tell me what to do."
She smiled with satisfaction, resting her gloved hands, in fine white leather, on the bed while her high-heeled boots now stepped on his chest, his shoulders and his face. She placed the sole of her boot on his face again and slowly crossed one leg over the other, stepping on his face, enjoying the power she exerts over him, the expectation in his gaze. “The bed represents comfort, the floor represents submission,” she said calmly, as if reflecting out loud. “What do you prefer to show me tonight?”
He felt his heart race. His mind demanded a quick response, but his soul longed to hear her decision, to know what fate awaited him under her will. Finally, he raised his gaze and, in a serene voice, confessed: “What I desire most… is to be worthy of you.”
She bowed her head with a mysterious smile, resting the tip of her whip on his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes. “Then, show me. On the floor!”
He, without taking his eyes off her, settled himself on the floor. Whereas before he was perpendicular to the bed and almost all of his body was under the bed, now he was parallel to the bed, completely at the disposal of his Mistress. Seeing him at her disposal, she put her feet on top of him and stood up, walking all over him.
The newly married wife was wearing a white blouse, made of fine, tight-fitting fabric, outlined her slender waist and highlighted the perfect curves of her figure, the lace details on the sleeves and the subtle shine of the pearly buttons added an air of refinement. In addition, covering her legs, white riding breeches, tight as a second skin, highlighted her hips and thighs with each step, and at her waist, an ivory-colored leather belt held her whip or crop, symbol of her absolute dominion, hanging to one side as if it were a ceremonial sword. In addition, her hands were covered by fine white leather gloves; and, her feet, ankles and shapely calves were covered by her captivating boots: tall, snow-white, made of the finest leather and finished with silver stirrups that shone in the dim light. Her delicately carved spurs jingled softly with each movement, emitting a subtle but authoritative sound.
Her hair, elegantly gathered in a high ponytail, left her radiant face exposed, and a translucent, almost ethereal veil floated over her shoulders, further accentuating her resemblance to a heavenly bride.
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The cabin (5)
The newly married wife was wearing a white blouse, made of fine, tight-fitting fabric, outlined her slender waist and highlighted the perfect curves of her figure, the lace details on the sleeves and the subtle shine of the pearly buttons added an air of refinement. Furthermore, covering her legs, white riding breeches, tight as a second skin, highlighted her hips and thighs with each step, and at her waist, an ivory colored leather belt held her whip or crop, symbol of her absolute dominion, hanging to one side as if it were a ceremonial sword. In addition, her hands were covered by fine white leather gloves; and, her feet, ankles and shapely calves were covered by her captivating boots: tall, snow-white, made of the finest leather and finished with silver stirrups that shone in the dim light. Her delicately carved spurs jingled softly with each movement, emitting a subtle but authoritative sound.
Her hair, elegantly gathered in a high ponytail, left her radiant face exposed, and a translucent, almost ethereal veil floated over her shoulders, further accentuating her resemblance to a heavenly bride.
Suddenly, her translucent veil, her gloves, and her high-heeled knee-high boots turned red, as deep as her blood. Her red lips matched her veil. She looked at him and he was shocked because she looked like a dangerous but attractive vampire lady. She squatted on his chest, he opened his mouth, she dropped her divine saliva into his mouth and he proudly swallowed it, then she said to him: “My veil, gloves and boots turned red to hide your blood.”
The music played and she began to dance while looking down at him and smiling, each step of hers was firm and sure, her high heels marking her dominance over him. The melody filled the room, enveloping the scene in an aura of power and surrender. He, lying on the floor, felt the exquisite pressure of her high heels and soles of her boots on his chest, his abdomen, his thighs, his arms, neck and face.
She moved her body with grace and rhythm, her hair dancing with her as her gaze descended with amusement and authority. The smile on her lips reflected her enjoyment, the satisfaction of seeing her devotee beneath her feet, admiring her, adoring her. “Look at me,” she commanded sweetly, but with the strength of a Queen.
He obeyed immediately, losing himself in the heavenly vision of his Goddess in motion. Every twist, every slight tilt of her body as she danced on him, was a work of art, a display of her absolute control. “This is how it should be,” she whispered, firmly placing the high heels and soles of her boots firmly on his chest. “This is how you belong to me.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing the weight of her divinity above him, etching into his soul the feeling of being the ground where his queen danced, as his skin was torn and he spilled his blood for her.
The melody of The Blue Danube filled the air with its timeless elegance, as she moved gracefully across his human mat. Each step marked her dominance, each turn an assertion of her power. Her red high-heeled boots sank into his skin, leaving deep marks like seals of her supremacy, as he gave his blood for her.
Then, she crouched on top of his chest, her smile mischievous, almost playful, but with the certainty that he was exactly where he should be: beneath her, worshipping her with every fiber of his being.
She told him, “We are supposed to be husband and wife, so this dance is meant to be danced side by side,” she murmured, her voice as melodic as the music that surrounded them. “This dance is not about me on top of you…”
She paused, letting the anticipation hang in the air, before smiling in delight. “It doesn’t matter! I like your style and I will continue dancing on top of you.”
And with this statement, she rose as gracefully as she had descended, her hair flowing with the movement. She lifted her leg naturally and rested it on him, before continuing her dance. Her boots traced a rhythm on his skin, making him the ground on which she celebrated her own greatness. Meanwhile, the ground enjoyed being beneath her, giving his blood for her and to her.
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The Cabin (6)
She lay gracefully on the bed, her long dark hair framing her beautiful face and neck like a halo of majesty. Her majestic and generous breasts, her narrow waist and wide hips, whose contrast was one of the causes of her Power, her powerful buttocks on the bed, her wide and powerful thighs, her legs, one knee slightly raised, and her red boots from whose red heels dripped blood from her colt, showed her bearing as an undisputed Queen.
He, kneeling before her, looked at her with devotion admiring every square inch of her, every beat of her heart surrendered to his presence.
She scratched his head, her hand and fingers were gloved by her red leather glove. “My colt, my husband,” she whispered with a smile that was both a command and a caress, while his heart almost burst with happiness “on all fours, get on all fours.” Her voice had the softness of an unwavering command.
He, without hesitation, bowed his head in obedience and slowly placed his hands on the ground, accompanying his knees. Reverence turned to submission, his posture reflected total surrender to the will of his Goddess.
She looked at him with satisfaction, the sparkle in her eyes was that of someone who knows that her Word is Law, and that her desire is destiny, she sat up slightly, with the tranquility of someone who possesses absolute power over the body and soul of whoever belongs to her, still lying down, she looked at him with a serene smile, her gaze full of certainty and dominance.
He, on all fours before her presence, did not take his eyes off her, feeling that every moment under his Goddess was a privilege.
Suddenly, her veil, her gloves and her high-heeled boots up to her knees turned white again, highlighting the purity and virginity of the newly married wife on her wedding night.
With a slow and confident gesture, using her hands clad in fine white leather gloves, she took the bit and gently introduced it into his mouth, feeling how he accepted it without resistance, rather, swallowed it. Then, with the same skill, she adjusted the straps of the bridle around his head, securing it with precision. The sensation of the firm leather holding him to him made him lower his gaze slightly, aware of his new status before her.
Then, with the grace of a Sovereign, she stood up. He, from his position, admired her with absolute devotion. Her white high-heeled boots reflected her divinity, her shapely and powerful thighs testified to her strength, her wide hips and majestic buttocks accentuated her imposing figure, her narrow waist outlined the perfection of her shape, and her majestic breasts, her beautiful face and her long and wonderful hair completed her image of an unattainable Goddess.
She took the saddle with an expression of contained pleasure and, with precision, placed it on his back. Her hands, firm and delicate at the same time, adjusted every detail, and with the same confidence with which she reigned over him, she cinched the saddle, ensuring her absolute dominion.
Riding on top of him, she settled gracefully on the saddle, her back straight, her bearing worthy of an Empress. Her white boots rested on the stirrups, her serene gaze reflected the security of someone who knows that everything belongs to her. With a precise gesture, she inserted the reins into the bridle and took the reins and made a slight movement, feeling the immediate response of her human mount.
He, on all fours like a beast of noble lineage, felt the weight of his rider with reverence, a mixture of effort and joy invading him knowing that he was the chosen one to be ridden by her. Every tug of the reins, every caress of the whip, every spur of the spurs were clear orders that he obeyed without hesitation, moving with discipline and devotion.
The room became her private riding arena. His movements were precise, his steps marking a constant rhythm while she thoroughly enjoyed the ride, her elegant shape standing out with each gentle sway.
As they approached the door, it acknowledged the presence of a Sovereign and opened without resistance, allowing the passage of wife and husband, of rider and mount. Outside, the paths stretched out before them like a domain prepared for their enjoyment. With a light pressure of her spurs, she urged him forward, guiding him with the confidence of one born to command.
Under the moonlight, she rode with satisfaction, while he, in perfect obedience, moved with effort and pride, feeling that his only mission was to serve her.
They returned to the cabin, enveloped in the stillness of the night. Recognizing Mistress and horse, the complicit door opened without resistance, allowing them to pass. Using reins, whip and spurs, she guided him to the bed. With slow, deliberate movements, she untied the bridle, freeing his face from the harness that had bound it to her will. Then, gently, she removed the saddle, allowing his back to be free.
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The cabin (7)
She lay down on the soft surface of the bed, her figure outlined with a serene grace under the dim light. She extended a hand, a silent but irrefutable invitation. Without hesitation, he took her hand and lay down beside her, feeling the warmth of her presence so close, so absolute.
A soft sigh escaped her lips. “Are you tired?” she asked, her voice sweet but full of curiosity.
He looked at her, his eyes reflecting something deeper than simple exhaustion. “Yes…” she answered, but after a brief pause he added with some surprise: “And it’s strange, because when you’re on top of me, I don’t feel tired. On the contrary, I feel stronger, as if your weight gives me energy. But when you’re no longer on top of me… my body weakens.”
She sketched an enigmatic smile, like someone discovering a hidden mystery. She caressed his face with the softness of the night breeze and, in a tone full of intrigue, murmured: “The secret of Samson’s strength was his long hair… Is yours that I am on top of you?”
He looked at her, lost in her gaze, in her voice that enveloped him like a spell. He didn’t need to answer. They both knew the truth. She hugged him, they gave each other a passionate French kiss, and his male organ grew big and hard, she brought her hand to his crotch and caught his male organ.
He opened his eyes to look at her and, as if time had played with reality, he saw her dressed in a delicate red baby doll, as ethereal as the flame of a dancing candle in the dim light. The fabric hinted at more than it hid, framing her perfect shape with a natural and effortless sensuality.
But he was not surprised. After everything he had experienced that day, after having felt her dominance and her grace in every step, in every command, in every firm and determined caress, he understood that she was an enigma in constant transformation.
She sat gently on his legs, her warm skin in contrast to the freshness of the night. Her hands imprisoning his male organ with a delicacy that contrasted with the authority with which she had ridden him before. Her fingers slid with an unexpected tenderness, as if she were exploring the essence of the one who, without chains or ties, belonged to her.
With an enigmatic smile, she looked into his eyes and waited. As always, the answer to any question, the decision of any action, was in her hands. And he, as always, would accept it without hesitation. Then she milked him, pressing gently from the base, closing her fingers from bottom to top in rhythmic, constant and delicate movements to extract the cum from him.
She gazed at him with a serene gaze, perceiving how his body responded to her presence and her hands, he completely surrendered to her. With grace and delicacy, she took the initiative, guiding him into an encounter where every gesture was harmony, every movement, an echo of the deepest connection.
Sliding smoothly, without letting go of his male organ, her crotch was on his crotch, her female organ on top of his male organ, she slowly descended and her femininity welcomed his masculinity, enveloping him in her warmth. Everything happened naturally, as if they were destined to meet that way, in a perfect union where time seemed to vanish.
She rode him with the same confidence and elegance with which she always had, marking the rhythm, guiding him in a beat that only they understood. Each movement was a carefully orchestrated dance, a balance between surrender and dominance, between desire and tenderness.
Their bodies moved in unison, responding to the silent melody only they could hear. Together they reached fulfillment again and again, discovering in each instant a new form of connection, of surrender and of absolute love.
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The cabin (8)
Their lips and tongues met in passionate, deep, intense and devotional kisses. Each caress, each touch of their intertwined mouths was a silent promise, a language that only they understood. She dominated every moment, marking the rhythm, guiding gently, but with absolute certainty.
When her body trembled in climax, he felt her shudder on him, her femininity welcoming his surrender to her with the same passion with which she rode him. In each wave of pleasure, she abandoned herself to the sensation, but without losing control, because even in those supreme moments, it was she who decided, who guided, who marked the precise instant in which he could leave his essence in her. She looked at him and caressed him, saying: “My husband” and then joined their lips and tongue passionately.
They continued like that, united, breathing together, their hearts beating in perfect synchrony. At that moment, there was nothing else in the world, only the absolute connection between rider and steed, between woman and man, between two souls that belonged to each other in body and spirit.
She sat up, smiled sweetly, and leaned over him again, her hands caressing his face tenderly. She knew that he adored her, that his surrender was absolute, and that pleased her.
They moved together again, as if in a heavenly dance, where each movement was a melody that only they could hear. She kept the rhythm, marking each moment with precision and grace, while he looked at her with devotion, feeling lucky to be her chosen one.
Again and again, she reached ecstasy, letting herself be carried away by the wave of pleasure that ran through her body. And when she felt his warm seed, his semen, inside her, she knew their union had been perfect.
He begged for one more time and she agreed, she had multiple orgasms and he gave her his seed, an offering to his Goddess.
Thus, several times he gave her his seed, he felt tired, she leaned over his chest, caressing it gently, and with a bright look, she asked with a mischievous smile: “One more time?”
He, without hesitation, answered with a trembling but firm voice: “Yes, please.”
And so, under the dim light of the cabin, they continued dancing, lost in their own world of love and passion.
After she had her last orgasms, and he gave his seed for the umpteenth time, under the dim light of the cabin, she watched him tenderly as his breathing became steady. She knew that he had given her everything, his devotion, his strength and his unconditional love.
She leaned down, brushed her lips against his in one last kiss, and with a soft smile whispered, “We leave it here… we must return to the others.”
He nodded, though there was a hint of longing in his gaze. But he knew that what she decided was law, and he accepted her will without question.
Together they stood up, their bodies still warm from their shared passion. They headed to the bathroom, where warm water enveloped their bodies, washing away the imprint of their union, but leaving the connection between them intact. She bathed him like a horse using her delicate hands, soap, a brush, and a bucket, enjoying that last moment of intimacy before returning to the outside world.
Then, with the same grace and mastery that always characterized her, she took the bridle and gently adjusted it on his head. She placed the saddle with precision, securing each strap, each buckle, while he remained motionless, completely surrendered to his rider. She took the reins confidently, mounted him, and with a subtle gesture of the whip, made him move forward. He, on all fours, felt again her divine weight on his back, the firm pressure of her thighs and the brush of her boots and spurs against his skin.
Together, rider and steed, they advanced along the path back. And when the group saw them arrive, the majesty of her, riding with elegance and absolute control, left everyone breathless.
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Comments on milking
The nurse smiled in admiration as she watched the scene. “Wow! You rode him a long way on all fours and he gave himself to you the whole way,” she commented, surprised by the young man’s absolute devotion.
The newlywed wife responded with a smile.
Her husband, with a look full of pride and complicity, held her hand tenderly before saying: “I guess your ride on him was pleasurable.”
She, still with the elegance of someone who always maintains control, smiled slightly and nodded. “That’s right,” she replied calmly.
There was no presumption in her words, only the certainty of an indisputable truth. She had enjoyed every moment, the unconditional surrender, the perfect harmony between rider and mount.
The colt, on his knees before his Mistress, looked up with devotion, waiting for the next order, the next signal from his beloved rider. And in that instant, everyone understood it was not just an act of dominance, but a deep and unbreakable bond.
The husband said to his wife, “The nurse told me you went to milking, how do you milk? I suddenly feel encouraged,” the wife and the nurse looked at each other and smiled.
The newlywed wife smiled knowingly and began to explain calmly, “Milking is a simple process, but it requires patience and gentleness. First, you approach calmly so as not to frighten the one to be milked. Then, you wipe thoroughly with a warm, damp cloth to ensure it is clean and the one to be milked is comfortable. Afterwards, you place your hands around it and press gently from the base, closing your fingers back and forth in a rhythmic motion to extract the cum. It is important not to pull hard, but to do so in a steady, delicate rhythm.”
“The cum?” The husband asked in surprise.
“Yes, the cum, the milk,” the wife replied.
The nurse, who was nearby, smiled and added: “And the most important thing is that the one who is going to be milked is relaxed. If this one feels comfortable with you, the milking will be much easier and more efficient.”
The husband nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting... Maybe I'll try it when we get there.”
The wife, placing her hands on his hips, challenged him: “If you like, I'll milk you.”
The husband replied: “You always do, with your delicate and adored hands,” and then, pointing with his finger at her crotch, “with your desired milking machine, which is only mine and only milks me.”
The newlywed wife and the nurse laughed out loud saying phrases: “How witty you are!, “You have so much imagination!, How imaginative you are!”
The nurse saw him and thought: “If only you knew!”
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