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The Domineering Nurse and the Spectacular Goddaughter (4)
The godfather, still on his knees, looked up at his goddaughter, trying to find in her gaze a sign of comfort or an answer to the anxiety that gripped him. His expression reflected a mixture of astonishment and concern, as if the sight of the young human colt, barely able to support the magnificence of his rider, awakened in him doubts that he had not allowed himself to formulate until then.
She, riding naturally on the shoulders of her new animal, immediately caught the hesitation on her godfather's face. Her smile became serene, confident, like that of someone who understands the balance of the world better than those who observe her. “You are thirty years older than me,” she said softly, but with a firmness that did not admit a reply. “And I am about ten years older than my current colt.”
She paused briefly, allowing her words to penetrate her godfather's mind. “Our age difference is three times the age difference between me and my current foal.”
Her words, more than just a mathematical observation, were a symbol, an unbreakable truth that placed each one in their place. Age and time did not matter; each one’s destiny was mapped out beforehand, and he, her godfather, had accepted this destiny by bowing before her and kissing her boots.
The dominant nurse sketched a slight smile, enjoying the weight of those words, which not only reaffirmed the young rider’s natural authority, but also dispelled any doubt in the older man’s mind.
The godfather lowered his gaze, assimilating the implacable logic of his goddaughter. At that moment, he understood that his concern was unfounded. He himself had accepted his place, and that young colt, although thinner, although younger, had demonstrated the same unwavering disposition.
The young rider maintained her majestic posture on the shoulders of her colt, with the natural elegance of someone who was born to be served, to ride. Her gaze calmly descended on her godfather, still prostrate before her, and with a firm and melodious voice, she continued: “Also, in this town, the minimum age to be a horse and to be ridden by a woman like me, of my size, physical attributes and weight, is at the beginning of adolescence” she said, with the certainty of someone who states an absolute truth. “And my horse is adolescent age.”
Her words resonated in the environment, like an irrevocable decree, like a law engraved in stone. The dominant nurse nodded in approval, while the young colt, under the weight of his rider, took a deep breath and reaffirmed his posture, feeling the honor and responsibility of serving his Mistress.
The godfather, silently, understood that the will of his goddaughter was the will of destiny itself. And at that moment, more than ever, he accepted that the natural order of the world was in her hands.
With a resigned sigh, the godfather kissed his goddaughter's boots again. The conversation was over.
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The Goddaughter's Domination (1)
The logistics officer entered the room, kissed the dominant nurse's boots, and informed her that the departure of the campaign team from the outskirts would be delayed by another half hour; so, in order for their horses to be more rested when they left, both ladies dismounted and the dominant nurse led the two horses away.
The young rider stood up with imposing grace, her blazing gaze descending upon her godfather, who still had his lips resting on the lustrous leather of her boots. Her voice, imbued with authority and disappointment, rent the air with the severity of a whip. “What's wrong? I'm ashamed of your immature behavior!” she exclaimed, her eyes burning with a fire he knew well, that fire that brooked no questioning or weakness. “My colt looked like a mature man and you looked like a teenager! You seemed to be jealous!”
The godfather felt the weight of her words deeper than any physical burden. He remained silent, still bowed, his forehead humiliated before her. Inside him, a tide of emotions stirred: reverence, guilt, and a stinging awareness of his own place in the hierarchy she embodied with unwavering confidence.
The young rider looked at him with a mixture of sternness and expectation, waiting for an answer, a surrender, or at least a sign of understanding.
The godfather, still kissing his goddaughter's boots, confessed: “It is true, I am jealous of him because he has the good fortune of feeling your divine weight on him and of being ridden by you as far as you wish to go,” he continued: “this decrepit male is not worthy of you, you have the right to ride other younger horses who will be ridden by you for greater distances and longer times,” he concluded: “I will accept the punishments you impose on me, including not being ridden by you and not being possessed by you as you did last night.”
The young rider contemplated him in silence, her gaze descending upon the man who, prostrate at her feet, confessed his envy of him and his devotion to him with the same humility with which he kissed the shiny leather of her boots. A slight smile, a mixture of satisfaction and dominance, played across her lips before she replied, “You have spoken the truth, and though your weakness has disappointed me, at least you acknowledge your place.” Her voice was firm, with no hint of hesitation. “It is not I who must prove his right to ride you. It is you who must prove that you are still worthy of carrying me. The years weigh upon you more than my divine weight, and yet you still beg to be beneath me while being ridden by me.”
She moved one of her boots slightly, tracing a small circle on the ground, as if with that gesture she sealed her fate. “You will accept my punishments, yes, and you will once again prove your endurance. For it will not be you who decides when you will cease to be my mount. Only I have that power.” She bowed slightly, her gloved fingers lifting his chin, forcing him to look at her. “And tonight… you will belong to me again.”
She continued: “Today you will remain locked in a stall in the stable of the young rider while I will remain riding on my colt whom you envy and of whom you are jealous, and we will return in the afternoon. After possessing my husband I will come for you to ride and possess you.”
The young rider stood imposingly over him, her figure projecting a dominant shadow that symbolized her absolute power. With a gesture of her hand, she ended the moment of submission. “Get up and follow the nurse. She will make sure that you remain in the stable, where you belong,” she ordered calmly, but with unwavering authority.
The godfather obeyed without question, feeling his soul struggle between humiliation and desire. His heart beat strongly as he imagined her riding during the day on her young colt, the one that now occupied the place he so longed for.
She turned gracefully and headed for the exit, where her mount awaited her, bridled and ready to receive her divine weight. “I will return in the evening,” she reminded him with an enigmatic smile. “Prepare to serve me, for tonight you will be mine again.”
And with those words, she gracefully rode upon her colt, who held her weight firmly, ready to carry her wherever she desired. The godfather watched with a mixture of wonder and reverence at the scene before him. The young colt, far from succumbing under the majestic weight of his rider, seemed to grow stronger with each step. At first, his hands rested on his own thighs in an attempt to balance himself, but soon his body adapted to the divine burden, as if her weight was infusing him with energy rather than exhausting him.
It was a sublime, almost mystical sight: she, with her imposing bearing, guided her animal with the skill and confidence of someone born to ride. The reins were firmly held, her posture upright and serene, her presence eclipsing everything around her. The colt, far from weakening, seemed to be reborn under her control, as if every moment under her shape was a ritual of transformation.
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The Goddaughter's Domination (2)
Beyond, the godfather saw his own godson, carrying the handsome young man on his shoulders. That same horse that, the night before, had been taken by his goddaughter with the same intensity and possession with which she now rode her new steed. The image was shocking: his godson, now turned into a mount, bent under the weight of another man, repeating the cycle she had established.
The godfather felt a shudder run through his skin. Everything was inevitable. Destiny was set, and he was nothing more than another piece in that game of power and submission. His goddaughter decided to leave him in the stable, but she would come back for him. And when she did, he would know that his place was, as always, under her absolute domination.
The godfather was bewildered, his thoughts from the previous night crumbling before the reality before his eyes. He had assumed his godson would be carried by the handsome young man, but now, with amazement, he observed that the situation was completely opposite.
His goddaughter, noticing the perplexed expression on his face, smiled with that mixture of sweetness and determination that characterized her as she watched her godfather kiss her boots. Her laugh was like a charming murmur that floated in the air before she spoke: “This morning I decided that my husband would carry my handsome horse.”
With that, she stopped her colt and his godfather knelt before her admiring her beautiful face and her goddess-like shape, she slightly bowed her head and emitted a series of soft clicks with her tongue: “Tsk… tsk… tsk… tsk…”, like someone calling a horse.
It was an unmistakable call, a sign of absolute dominance. As soon as she heard that sound, her husband, without hesitation, ran towards her with obvious devotion, not caring that the handsome young man was still on her shoulders. There was no resistance, no hesitation, as if in his world there was no will but hers.
When he reached his wife, she removed the morsel from his mouth, then she put pieces of cut apple into his mouth, he gratefully received the pieces of cut apple that she offered him, as a reward for his obedience, as a gesture of recognition for his devotion, until only a handful of apple pieces remained in one of her hands.
The goddaughter looked down seeing her godfather kneeling before her, admiring her, she held her godfather's gaze with a smile that left no doubt about his dominance. It was an expression of absolute confidence, of power without the need for words.
Then, with majestic fluidity, she turned her face towards the handsome young man and, without hesitation, took him by the nape of the neck, drawing him towards her. She smiled as their lips came closer, she delicately crashed her lips against his and introduced her tongue inside his mouth. The kiss she offered him was not a simple gesture of affection, but a declaration of supremacy, a bond sealed with the intensity of French kisses. In that instant, while her lips intertwined with those of the handsome young man, her other hand continued to feed her husband with the pieces of apple, in an act that seemed as natural as it was deliberate.
Her husband, now in the “friend zone,” understood her message clearly. His role beside her was not that of a loving husband, but that of a faithful servant, someone she appreciates and cares for, but without the privilege of her passion. There was no rebellion in her gaze, only acceptance and a serene loyalty. He knew his place beside her was assured, though in a different way than he had initially expected.
The handsome young man, as his lips and tongue intertwined with those of the wife of the man carrying him, felt the honor of being the center of her attention, of receiving her loving intensity. His heart beat strongly, not only because of the kiss itself, but because of what it represented. He had been chosen, at least at that moment, to be the recipient of her passion, to feel the fire of her presence.
Her young horse, who was being ridden by her on his shoulders, felt a renewed impetus upon seeing the scene. Despite the weight he carried, his body filled with vigor. It did not weaken him to be under the weight of his Mistress, but, on the contrary, it strengthened him to be the support of her divinity was an honor that gave him strength, that made him surpass himself while she gave her fire to another man.
The godfather, kneeling at her feet, watched it all in silence. In his heart, a mixture of feelings was raging: deep admiration for his goddaughter's natural authority, restrained envy for the handsome young man, and the recognition that she had the absolute right to choose and decide. He could not deny that deep inside him there was also a desire to be, if only for an instant, the object of her affection. So, he kissed her boots.
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The Goddaughter's Domination (3)
In his wisdom, the godfather understood that everything happened according to her will, and resistance was useless. Like the others, he also revolved in her orbit, waiting for his moment. And when she decided, he would be there, ready to serve her with the same dedication with which the others did now.
The godfather observed the scene with mixed feelings. Admiration, bewilderment, perhaps a hint of envy... Everything was mixed inside him as he contemplated the bond that his goddaughter wove between those men, the power with which she balanced each thread of her dominance. She is the undisputed owner of this moment, the sovereign who decides who rode and who carried, who received her favors and who longed to be worthy of them.
However, far from feeling rejection, the godfather understood that this was nothing more than the natural manifestation of her essence. She was a guide, she was destiny, and all those around her, in one way or another, gravitated around her will. He himself, even though he waited in the stable, knew that sooner or later she would return for him, to make him hers once again.
While the dominant nurse smiled with complicity and mentioned that she herself did the same with her husband, the goddaughter continued with her double action: one hand feeding pieces of cut apple to her husband and godfather, in a gesture of affection and dominance, the other hand maintaining control of the handsome young man, whose lips and tongue continued to be claimed by hers.
At this point, the young nurse and her mother arrived riding on the shoulders of submissive males. They saw the imposing goddaughter riding on the shoulders of a teenage horse, she passionately kissing a handsome young man sitting on the saddle of a human horse whom she fed by giving him pieces of apple to eat while a kneeling older man kissed the leather and licked the soles and high heels of her boots.
The mother, with an expression of subtle surprise and intrigue, asked the question calmly, as if seeking to confirm what her eyes perceived with difficulty: “Is her husband the young man she is passionately kissing?”
The daughter, with a serene and confident smile, answered without hesitation: “No, mother. The husband is the one who is underneath the one who is passionately kissed by her, and the one who is licking her boots is her best man.”
The mother slightly arched an eyebrow and smiled, immediately understanding the dynamic established by the goddaughter. She did not ask any more questions; the scene alone spoke eloquently. She smiled and said to her daughter, “She put her husband in the friend zone, and she has her best man and her marriage under her feet.”
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The Agreement and Riding the Horse to the Stall of the Barn (1)
The young rider came riding with the grace of someone who dominates not only her mount, but also the scene itself. Her mother, a woman of imposing bearing and mature beauty, followed with equal elegance, holding herself with dignity on her faithful steed with the confidence of someone who knows her own worth.
The goddaughter, with her intense and analytical gaze, fixed her eyes on the 33-year-old woman, 10 years older than her. It was not a simple casual observation; it was a meticulous assessment, a detailed scan of her every movement, her posture, the way the world reacted to her presence.
But now, her attention was divided. Something about the newcomer captured her interest in a different way. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, the confidence in her walk or the experience reflected in her eyes.
Without taking her eyes off the newcomer, the goddaughter gave her command to the godfather: “Go to the room to wait for the ladies while I talk to them.”
Her tone did not admit a reply, and he, without hesitation, gave the last kisses to his Mistress’s boots and bowed his head in obedience before retreating on all fours, demonstrating the docility his goddaughter expected of him.
The ladies were left alone with their horses, and the conversation between them flowed naturally, although deep down, the goddaughter did not stop analyzing every word, every gesture, every nuance in the older woman’s voice.
The air was charged with a subtle tension, not of conflict, but of something deeper: the meeting of two powerful presences that measured each other in silence, exploring the limits of their relationship and the space each occupied in the world around them.
The three ladies, now aligned in mutual understanding, turned their attention to a practical, but no less important matter: the fate of the godfather. They discussed seriously the care and conditions under which he would be kept in the barn stall, ensuring that his stay was commensurate with his position. They also discussed the manner in which he would be treated and the circumstances under which he would be ridden, establishing rules and agreements that would guarantee both his strength and his docility.
While the words flowed with the naturalness of those who exercise their authority with wisdom, the goddaughter maintained her unwavering demeanor, scratching her submissive husband's head with subtle dominance while her lips and tongue continued to explore those of the handsome young man in passionate French kisses.
The mother of the rider, after listening to each detail carefully, nodded in approval. “I like your approach” she commented calmly, addressing the goddaughter. “I see in you a woman who knows how to govern with intelligence.”
The young woman smiled with satisfaction. The woman's judgment was no small feat; her words, far from being mere compliments, carried the weight of experience and recognition.
The mother and daughter exchanged a knowing glance before turning to the godfather.
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The Agreement and Riding the Horse to the Stall in the Barn (2)
The morning sun softly illuminated the room where the godfather waited patiently. His heart beat in anticipation, knowing that soon the time would come to set out on the walk that would take him to the young rider's barn.
The sound of firm and determined footsteps announced her arrival. The door opened and, framed by the light outside, appeared the young rider and her mother, both dressed in impeccable riding outfits.
The young rider wore a modern and sophisticated outfit: a fitted black jacket highlighted her slender figure, combined with a white silk blouse and tight beige riding pants. High black leather boots covered her legs up to the knees, enhancing her elegant bearing. On her head, a short-brimmed hat completed her image of a perfect rider.
Her mother, a 33-year-old woman, radiated beauty and authority. She wore a burgundy jacket that contrasted with her radiant skin, a high-collared shirt, and cream-colored riding breeches that hugged her curves with distinction. Her dark brown boots, impeccably polished, matched her whip, which she held casually in her hands.
The godfather, upon seeing them, felt a mixture of awe and admiration. Their presence was imposing, and the combination of their elegance with their confident bearing only intensified the respect he already felt for them. There was no doubt in his mind: he was in the hands of extraordinary riders, and the role assigned to him filled him with a strange satisfaction.
He bowed before them; and, kissed the daughter's black boots, and the mother's dark brown boots.
The young rider smiled knowingly as her gaze rested on him. She knew that the older man was ready to assume his role without hesitation. “I hope you are ready,” she said in a playful tone, but with the firmness of someone who had already decided everything.
Her mother observed the scene with a serene smile. She had understood, over time, the value of dominance and obedience. Seeing her daughter in her natural role as a rider filled her with pride, but she also found in it all an interesting opportunity. “It will be a pleasant ride,” she added in a velvety voice. “I am sure you will know how to behave properly.”
The godfather nodded humbly, feeling the weight of her words. In his mind, there was nothing but the desire to fulfill his role with honor and obedience.
The riders were ready. Now all that was left was for the ride to begin. With the same naturalness with which a rider rides his mount, the young woman climbed agilely onto the shoulders of her veteran horse, a man in his fifties, who, with a deep and resigned sigh, received the weight of his rider without hesitation.
The mother, with the elegance that characterized her, approached the godfather with a firm and serene look. He, understanding his destiny, slightly inclined his head in acceptance. With skill, she positioned herself on his shoulders, feeling how he adjusted his posture to hold her with stability.
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The Fury of the Goddess (1)
As the riders rode out to their horses, the goddaughter watched the scene intently. Her eyes flashed with a gleam of dominance as she watched her godfather being ridden by another woman older than her and who was not her. A latent sense of possession and authority swept through her being, and without hesitation, she decided that her own entourage of men should feel her dominance immediately.
With firm and calculated movements, she punished all three: her colt, her husband, and the handsome young man. Each of them received the correction in silence, not daring to protest. The goddaughter pulled her husband's hair until she almost tore off his scalp, she repeatedly dug in and slid her two spurs into her colt's thighs, tearing them and making them bleed, and she imprisoned the handsome young man's tongue with her teeth. There was no need for words; they understood that his devotion to her implied absolute submission.
The young colt, despite his growing strength, bowed his head, accepting his fate. Her husband, with a mixture of submission and admiration, received the punishment as a test of her devotion. And the handsome young man, who had already known the sweet weight of her on his being, surrendered to her authority without resistance.
Satisfied, the goddaughter allowed the punishment to be carried out, making sure that none of her men forgot their place. Meanwhile, mother and daughter rode with the majesty of those who know that true strength lies in the absolute control of those who serve them.
Riding the doctor, the nurse approached the goddaughter and taking her by the shoulder said: “Relax, stop punishing them because they are not to blame, later you will dominate and punish your godfather. Remember, he is only a man. Dismount and allow me to heal your horses.”
The goddaughter felt the nurse’s firm but gentle hand on her shoulder and, for a moment, her dominant gaze softened. She took a deep breath and looked at the woman who, with the wisdom of someone who understands the art of command and submission, offered her advice.
The doctor, serving as the nurse’s mount, maintained his composure, supporting the weight of his rider with the discipline of someone who has been tamed with patience and skill.
The goddaughter looked down at her horses: her young colt, her husband and the handsome young man, who remained silent, shedding tears which ran down their faces, accepting their punishment with resignation. She felt a pang of reflection, the nurse was right, they were not guilty, they did not deserve to bear the fury that should really be directed at their godfather.
She sighed and, with the grace of a queen granting a pardon, reached out and caressed each of their faces in forgiveness. Then, with a graceful gesture, she deftly slid her leg free and dismounted. “It is well,” she said in a calm voice. “Take care of them and make sure they are in perfect condition.”
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The Fury of the Goddess (2)
The nurse smiled with pleasure and dismounted from her own mount, leaving the doctor free for a moment. She knelt beside the men serving the goddaughter and began to assess her condition with the skill of an expert.
Meanwhile, the goddaughter crossed her arms and looked in the direction in which her godfather had been taken. His time would come. The lesson he had to learn was still pending, and when the time came, he would know the true meaning of submission to her.
Once the nurse finished healing them, the 3 men placed themselves at the feet of the goddaughter and kissed her boots while she plotted how to treat her godfather tonight. A little further on, the nurse remained on her knees.
The goddaughter looked down on her trinity of devotees, prostrate at her feet in an act of absolute reverence. His lips brushed the noble surface of her boots with submission and surrender, a gesture that reaffirmed his authority over them.
She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the moment. She felt the power running through her veins, like a calm but intense fire. They are hers, and in her devotion she found a mixture of satisfaction and responsibility.
But her mind soon wandered to the night that was coming. Her godfather… He had to learn, he had to understand that his place was not that of an ordinary man, but that of someone who had to submit entirely to her will. What should his lesson be? How to make sure that he never forgot to whom his destiny belonged?
She stood up and opened her eyes and looked at the nurse on her knees, who watched her with complicity. That woman knew what she was thinking.
“Tonight,” said the goddaughter in a tone more to herself than to the others, “he will know what it means to be mine.”
The kneeling nurse nodded, and the men at her feet remained silent, oblivious to the thoughts that wove another's destiny in the mind of their sovereign.
“Why are you kneeling as if you wanted my permission to kiss my boots?” the goddaughter asked the nurse, she blushed and stood up.
The goddaughter hugged the nurse and said: “You shared your riding skills with me, you made me a great rider, don't make me think you trained me to be your rider and you to be my mare,” the nurse, no longer so dominant, smiled shyly and lowered her gaze, looking longingly at the goddaughter's boots, the goddaughter lifted her chin and then kissed her lips, both joined in a strong hug, while the nurse thought: “if you only knew, if you only knew.”
Then they rode out into the countryside outside the city walls, the goddaughter or wife on her colt, and the nurse on a doctor, but this is part of another story.
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