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Subject: The Ride of Her Life, by Frank Goldman
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The Ride of Her Life
The Continuing Saga of Spurwood Girls' School

by Frank Goldman



"Leila, bring me a pony, will you? I'm off to class."
"Yassuh, but she a fresh 'un. Not broke in yet." The brown stabler laid
aside her broom and came to the edge of the barn's yard-high platform,
carressing her broad rump with her pink palms. "Tendah, you know. She in
for surprises heah."
"Well, it'll be the worse for her then, won't it? Bring her on anyway.
This heat forbids walking. What gives her over to your good care so soon,
Leila? Our students don't usually visit the disciplinarian on their first
day."
"Slapped a handler, sah, right off the train from town yestiddy. Sumpun
'bout imput 'nance." She big menial spat out the word in a chirpy falsetto
and narrowed her nostrils, affecting disdain.
"Oh, wonderful. Rebellious, eh? I really haven't time to do your work for
you, Leila, but if she's all you have, she'll have to do. I'll need a seat
belt, I suppose, and let's use the punishment reins on this little filly,
but don't produce them until she's comfy. She might pee all over your
immaculate porch at the sight of them. And I think a two-foot whalebone."
"Yassuh. What size saddle?"
"Has she been, ah, evacuated?"
"Yassuh. She clear as a bell. And," she added slyly, "she woman-sahzed for
her age."
"Then I'll leave it to your discretion, Leila, depending on how much
correction you think she needs. And spice it up. We'll give the brat a
vivid memory of her first day at Spurwood."
"An' how," smiled Leila. She disappeared in her bright print dress through
the black aperture of the rambling structure after her freshman charge,
barely creaking the dry boards of the old platform. For her not
inconsiderable size Leila moved deftly. As disciplinarian of last resort
in a girls' school housing only the worst of miscreants, clumsiness or
indecision would have ill become her.
Going to the tangled nest of bikes clustered at platform's end, I kicked
one free from the others, rolling it to the dock so our pony could mount
easily, though probably not modestly. A tricycle really, of lightweight
construction and ingeniously geared to allow a scared and strong young
girl to tow all but the heaviest of riders, the device was a common form
of transport on Spurwood's flat and secluded grounds. Definitely not a
popular conveyance among those students chosen -- rather arbitrarily, I
might add -- to serve in the pony pool.
I stepped round one of the large rear wheels and brushed dust from the
low-slung wicker seat astride the rear axle, settling comfortable into
position behind the elevated driver's seat tubing, unadorned for now and
at eye level. Releasing the sprocket and pedals -- metal shoes, really --
I swung them out to the horizontal, where self-locking hinges held them
rigid until we -- or rather I -- was ready to depart. For midmorning it
was already hot; my girl had a rather steamy journey ahead of her, though
not as steamy as mine promised to be.
And reluctant she was to begin it. She emerged slowly from the stable's
deep recesses, her face straight ahead, large terror-suffused eyes
blinking madly against our Southern sun. Leila's standard hobbler was no
great impediment. I had seen veteran troublemakers run in it, though
awkwardly. The youngster now restrained -- perhaps 16, but as Leila had
hinted, well into womanhood -- appeared impeded less by the device than a
natural fear of the unknown, and by the prospect of splinters in what
seemed to be, at a distance of some yards, well-turned and graceful bare
feet. She would soon learn to ignore such minor forms of pain.
The ends of the heavy steel bar nestled behind the naked girl's bent knees
were tightly fastened above and below the joints with adjustable loops of
riveted leather, holding her legs open in a lewd squat. Further
encouraging her servile posture was a simple figure-eight cinch strap,
knotted around her distended and bulbous breasts at the chest wall and
strung from between them to the bar's middle. It looked tight enough to
play a Bach cello suite on. If I knew Leila, and I did, the cinch was thin
and cutting, watered daily by her reprobates' urine, and baked to acidic
rawhide in the sun. A sweating and struggling girl who cut herself on such
a strap only struggled the more, in vain. The Spurwood girl who learned
nothing else in four years learned composure.
Each of her small wrists were secured by loops to the bar, behind it and
palms in, some inches inside her spread knees. Leila was gentle with the
new girls; she hovered behind the pony inching its way across the
platform, whistling absently and encouraging the youngster's progress.
This she did with rhythmic arcs of a springy yard-long wooden paddle,
whose last foot was stitched with very grainy sandpaper. She uppercutted
the girl's generous and jiggling buttocks with powerful and solid-sounding
thwockkss, dragging the pebbly paddletip up and off the quivering nates
after each smarting spank.
The girl fisted her hands and squeezed tears from her eyes at each swat,
clumsily swinging her pale and obviously pampered body forward in the
humiliating crabwalk. The hobbler in itself wasn't a painful getup but
inconvenient, serving to remind the wearer, usually confined here for
willful impulse, that hasty impulse had brought her here.
I had time to inspect my trussed pony, who took perhaps two dozen swats --
more, probably, then she'd accepted in her life -- as she and Leila inched
towards me. Reclined in the carriage, my view was ankle-height; she would
have been arresting from any angle, but was the more so for the expansive
display of her charms afforded me. Tall, full-figured and a little plump
for her age, bullet-breasted and heavy-hipped, she would have been
statuesque drawn to full height, as she had no doubt carried herself in
the world.
Leila broght her to a halt at the platform's verge, the girl's toes
bunching at the air beneath them. Her leonine, ringleted brunette mane had
been roughly twirled and yanked into a topknot to expose a tender,
freckled nape and a broad jawline which had probbaly been pointed to the
horizon most of her life.
So it was now, but by mechanical, not attitudinal, means: her full lips
moved fishlike along the flared base of a large butt plug that forced her
mouth open in an astonished and silent oval, below equally incredulous
green eyes. Buckled by straps to the rear of a leather collar, the plug
drew her head back in an attentive stare. The girl squatted quivering,
breathing stertorously through her snubby nose, leaking tears and sweat
onto the platform.
"She tastin' the lass dinnah she et in de free worl'," said Leila. "From
the sahz o' de stool she slid out dis mawnin', it uz a good 'n, too. It
neah broke de saddle strap holdin' dat plug in all night."
Leila dropped a chunky burlap bag on the platform by the girl's feet and
knelt over it, rummaging through its clanking contents. The girl's
flattened ears twitched at the ominous atonal chorus at her feet, and her
head strained to swivel around and assess the awful surprises being
readied for her.
Leila saw this, raised her paddle high, and brought it down almost
vertically with a sssssSWAPP on the blubbery shelf of the pony's outthrust
buttocks. "Ahs front, peeg," she drawled. The girl jerked at the blow,
stomping and yanking her tightly bound wrists at the heavy transverse bar
between her legs.
Out came a broad leather belt, which Leila quickly spun around the
uncomprehending girl's soft waist and hauled closed from the back,
leveraging a coffee-colored knee into her spine as she forced wet gasps
from the pony's stoppered lips. From the belt's sides depended single
sturdy straps that swung free, their buckles tinkling against the
weathered wood.
Leila next reached between the girl's spread knees and thumbed open a
catch stringing the girl's teats to the bar. The cinch leapt skyward with
a THRUNNGG, snaking and hopping. Its victim showed what small measure of
relief she could, shaking her heavy tits from side to side. Still
throttled at their base by the excruciating figure-eight strap, they only
joggled tightly, white globes full to bursting with tender musculature and
springy fat, skin drawn back and stretched smooth and thin as a soap
bubble. The aureoles were large and smooth, pinkish for a brunette's,
delicately veined; the nipples smoothly sculpted and erect, vulcanized now
by outrage rather than eros. They looked a powdered, pampered pair that
had been secretly and solitarily admired, cupped by the best lace New
Orleans sold. A single crop-stroke across these beauties now, I thought,
would welt this girl to her very soul.
Leila's big hands blurred at the girl's wrists and tossed their fetters
aside. The slave's arms hung, still deadened, as her mistress braced and
gripped her armpits, hefting her. "Slahd yer toes inna pedals. monkey,"
she commanded, "and hol' the hannelbars. You goin' fo' the ride of yo'
life."
Leila didn't even grunt as she swung the girl over my head and eased her
slowly down, levitating her in front of my perch. The girl's protruding
ass -- big, firm, violently pinkened by Leila's preparatory paddle-swats
-- rolled and dimpled no more than 18 inches from my nose as she seesawed
her still-pinioned knees, searching for purchase with her feet and
slowly-awakening hands.
She found both, sliding her hands into the curiously-gloved sculpted
handlegrips and arching her pretty toes downward into the shoelike bike
pedals. When Leila saw the girl was about to take her own weight on her
feet and hands, she nodded at me and let go.
We had done this before, of course, and were ready. The girl couldn't have
known. Her whole body tautened and strained upward, and I heard a
flatulent spluttering whine thorugh her butt-plug gag. I kicked closed the
hinged heel-restraints on the bike pedals and heard them ratchet home over
the naked coolie's insteps, while Leila yanked tight her wrist-restraints,
fettering the girl's hands in the closed grips. Our little miscreant
wanted to jump into the next county, but she had nowhere to go.
The miniscule needles carpeting  the grips and pedals would have been
minor irritations to a washerwoman or country girl, but they were shocking
insults to leisured young city girls given to hand cream and pedicures.
While too short to cause deep punctures or severe bleeding, they were
sharp enough to stab and harry at tender skin, like a burr chestnut rolled
between the palms. They were barely tolerable if the sufferer constantly
shifted her weight between all four stinging fulcrums, as our pony was now
doing, but several minutes of this defensive squirming was normally the
limit before an escape was necessary.
But escape to where? I knew from many previous trips on Spurwood's
devilish rickshaws that sooner or later, depending on the driver's pain
threshhold, she simply had to distribute her weight elsewhere. This girl
was already circling and squatting her magnificently rotund heart-shaped
ass, frantically searching for a seat that should be, must be, somewhere
under her. Still collared to her shitty muzzle, she couldn't see below or
behind her, and she strained down against the bar still pinioning her
knees, creaking the leather straps.
What a difference, I thought appreciatively, 24 hours and a little legal
leverage can make. Only yesterday at this time the little bitch before me
would have disdained my admiring so much as her earrings, and she was now
begging me to inspect every velvety millimeter of her exposed underside.
Leila had shaved bare her soft pink pussy-cleft and convex baby-fat mons,
both of which were raised up and forced rearwards, doggiestyle, by her
desperate attempts to arch off her needly perches. Her labia were fat and
close-set, pillows of dewy denuded flesh that audibly snicked open and
closed now as she struggled. The redder vaginal cusp flared reluctantly
between the lips' moist aperture, narrow and velveteen, topped by a puffy
hooded clitoris.
Leila dropped the phallus, fixed to a sturdy pipe, into its seat tubing
with her gloved hand. I tightened it down, bringing my nose within inches
of our driver's still-gyrating bottom. Fully fleshed as her buttocks were,
they appeared smaller once the huge dildo was affixed, stern and
implacable, under them. It stood waiting, inexhaustible, its knob perhaps
a foot from my jaw as I sat forward, the girl's abundant globes eddying
and kissing at eyebrow level.
Leila undid the bar at the pony's right knee while I unbuckled the left,
and the black overseer slid the girl's fetter away, allowing her to squat
even more lewdly. This she immediately did, scissoring her cramped thighs
wide and splaying her asscheeks and delectable cunt down, toward the
unknown. 
Off-center a bit, she poked the giant cock into her right buttock at
first, and I watched it sink into the unresisting globe before she jerked
back up, startled by the unexpected object. She experimented again, this
time more slowly, and this time the cockhead bumped the perineum and slid
slickly forward, nosing apart the shaven cuntlips. Again she shot up and
hovered, trembling, thinking, fearing the worst. She knew suddenly what it
was under her.
"Phobos and Deimos," I said to Leila languidly, drinking in the impudent
fatness of the 16-year-old's hesitant buttocks. "The two moons of Mars.
Fear and panic. The Greeks were anything but clinical in their heavenly
nomenclature."
"De Greeks," Leila chortled, "'bout to learn sumpin from dis gel."
The girl heard, and though inexperienced sexually she must have known some
sexual allusions at least. For she began to heave and snort, furiously
pulling at her bonds in a tantrumic last-ditch bid to escape her assigned
task. The bicycle shivered and squealed, and its front tire skipped and
hopped in the dusty courtyard as the buck-naked girl wrestled it, trying
to pedal away, to jump off, to run back into Leila's dark stable and be
hanged upside down again from her knees, anything, anything but this.
"Duck, perfesser," Leila said casually, hefting her paddle in both hands
and measuring the girl's ass. I wriggled backwards in the seat and did as
she said. A brown blur painted itself with a cccrrrrrAAKK  into the girl's
bouncing sulcus-flesh, where buttocks cupped thighs. The impact
reverberated through the bike's skeleton, and I saw the girl's ass flatten
under the paddle and rebound. Leila quickly gave her another double-armed
backhanded srrraaaaackkkk , higher up where she couldn't fully clench her
jutting, deeply-set buttock crowns. The rear wheels, with my weight on
them, nearly jumped off the ground. Ripples from the stroke ran round the
girl's full hips, bloated as they were by the tight waist-belt, and
violently jiggled her thighs. Wide bands of red pebbles leaped up and
glowed where the paddle had struck.
I saw the instrument fly into Leila's right hand and point at the sky just
as the girl preened forward away from the bottom-punishment, her chest
outthrust, her face ratcheted up in a burbling butt-blugged whine of pain.
God, Leila had timing. Lips set, the black menial swatted the pony's
breasts with a WHECCKKK that spattered an echo like a damp firecracker's
across the open courtyard. From behind her, I saw for an inexpressible
second tit-flesh balloon under her armpits, then disappear as they bounced
back.
The girl spasmed. A nervous mist of urine suddenly sprayed wildly from
between her legs, twirling hot droplets of pee across my pantlegs and
raining down her own thighs. A helpless SPRADDAPAP of a fart broke from
her rectum and slowly keened away to a hiss with the giddy shower of pee,
bathing my face with sour fruit and buttermilk odors, not entirely
unpleasant. I could but imagine the effect the stroke had had on the
girl's heavy and tenderized tits, ballooned and haltered as they still
were by the tourniquet-like straps.

"Duhty little monkey," Leila scolded, clattering the paddle onto the
barn's stoop. "If you wuzn't already fixed, you'd lick Mastuh off." She
slid her brown hand between the girl's piss-glistened legs, mopping the
acrid dew from the insides of her thighs and scooping more from her
wettened sex lips. I saw her gleaming hand go gently to the girl's face,
where she slowly massaged the warm urine into it, finally wiping the damp
detritus on the girl's heaving and no doubt bruised breasts. We waited,
saying nothing, listening to the girl's desperate nasal panting and
watching her tire. She was a plucky one, I thought: no Spurwood pony in
recent memory had resisted the needles quite so long. To draw her down
onto the waiting phallus would have been a simple enough exercise, but
coercion would make it less humiliating for the girl. Much naughtier, and
I needn't add more entertaining, was to let the little bitch initiate her
own anal punishment.
This she did, but only after a diverting attempt, common among first-time
drivers, to silently plead for softer duty. Bucking her hips back and
slowly descending on the organ, she first eased the cockhead between her
cuntlips and swirled the fleshy rose around its stolid eye, opening and
lubricating her fat labia. Getting no immediate reprisal for this
unpermitted act, she quickened her eager humps, snickering the tight glove
of her young quim over slick cock's knob.
Leila laid into my outstretched right palm the familiar handle of the
prescribed riding crop. A favorite of mine, it was a licky and wobbly
length of cylindrical whalebone that tapered to infinity, shrunken over
with drum-taut calfskin and tipped with an indestructible tassel of
knotted sinew that snapped and bit like a rabid animal. I had used it
often with wonderful corrective effect.
I remembered a biggish new girl belted over one of our older blocks had
once broken her knee restraint at this vicious crop's welcoming kisses,
frantically kicking out at me with her near leg and squealing for respite,
spooling out a yard-long hose of pale yellow behind her. The remaining
cuts and more had searched the intimate folds her strapped legs had
hidden, bucking her through the ordeal like a hornet-stung mare.
I had explained to the brash young juvenile, between metronomic licks of
the crop's knotted tongue, that we had reasons for restraint here at
Spurwood, that our laws, like those of physics, made sense and were broken
only at the rebel's misery. This lesson had been driven home by her
wearing of the foreshortened knee strap as a continence belt the rest of
term, the half-inch rawhide hiking her cervix to her stomach but for
chaperoned latrine visits, carving her broad, flabby belly into mock
buttocks for the amusement of all onlookers. Leila had also pierced the
girl's big nipples and wired her thumbs to them, hands reverently crossed,
to frustrate fidgeting and encourage contemplation of her dire plight. She
had broken no more school equipment the remainder of her stay.
The squatting young miss now in front of me was also testing our laws, and
would soon find them as iron as gravity's.
I let her force the cockhead, not without difficulty, into her slickened
and reddening pussy-purse. She bounced gently up and down on the broad
mast, carefully purchasing millimeters of the head, over which her bare
twatlips were gradually closing. This was the largest prong that had ever
been up her -- and probably ever would be -- but it wasn't to last as long
as she thought.
She spraddled wider and eased another several inches of the engine up her,
engulfing the cockhead completely and beginning her distended slide down
the bulbous prick. The muted whimpering in her throat was, I suppose, a
mixture of pain, dread, and perhaps surprised relief that we were allowing
her this compromise.
We weren't. I let her stuff maybe half the greasy cock into her vagina,
enough to unwittingly coat it with the still-dormant lubricant, before I
hit her. I backhanded the loose-limbed crop into her left buttock,
watching it lap a valley into the unsuspecting flesh, bite with a crisp
WHICCKKK and spring back, shivering. It was little more than a reminder
stroke given the awkward positioning and lack of roomn, but I knew it was
agony for the untrained girl and that the searing pain would build and
stab to a peak after a slow four count.
I waited exactly that long and carved the spiny shaft harder diagonally
and down across the right buttock, which was forced out against the bluish
weal stitching itself over the left, now cringing doglike. The whalebone
wheezed into the bouncy right rump with a raspy whine, puckering the globe
and squeezing a last dry hiss of cmplaint from the frightened girl's
bowel, vised as it was by her clenched cheeks and prodded inside by the
monstrous cock.
The girl didn't wait for the third stroke. She struggled off the member
with an audible SSNOOOPP, squirting the black tube from her as if it were
on fire. She would soon think it was. I gave the crop a practice WHEESH in
the air next to her hip, signaling what further delay would bring.
She lunged her anus to the cockhead and buried it immediately, the big
white inverted heart of her ass spread wide open and pushing as it had
never pushed, a mournful groan rising from her plugged throat. The anus
widened, yielded, and clamped closed over the massive head, and Leila
ordered, "Hol', girl." She was screaming now into the gag.
She obeyed, while I drew the tongue of her leather garter belt through the
bike's clamps and buckled them taut. She was now impaled for the remainder
of the ride, try as she may, and would, to extrude the burning serpent
from her. Her only "choice," could it be called that, was how many inches
of the punishing seat-dildo she wanted plumbing her young belly as she
pedaled. She could drive the highly-geared bike either sitting or
standing, as it were, but could hold neither posture for long. She was to
be a slave of Spurwood's terrain, a frequent target for the whip, a victim
of the acidic venom soon to catch fire in her pussy and bowels -- in
short, a very busy young lady.
Spurwood's rickshaw was actually ideal training for servicing the male
member. I had seen it work many times. Shy and hesitant movement on the
seat-cock only slowed the driver's progress; they found within moments of
departure that only rhythmic and enthusiastic pistoning on the phallus,
with brief rests between, got them anywhere. We only taught our students
what life would later teach them.
The needles were driving her down. She had been too long on them, and must
sit. She shoved half the slippery cock up her at a single ardent stroke
and took the rest by fractions, bouncing and whimpering, the small of her
back canyoned and her entire weight pitched into the task. I could see her
bowed belly curving up beyond the oiled crotch and impossibly distended
anus, and it was slowly inflating, cock-pregnant, yielding its innermost
depths to the phallic burden.
Have I neglected to describe the resting-place awaiting our driver?
Forgive me. Imagine a broad panty-crotch extending forward from the anus
and cupping the mons like a glove, a countoured pussy-nest that would bear
weight long enough to relieve feet and hands. A panty-crotch whose tines
fanned up and out in a concave rictus of gleaming Sheffield steel, dotted
with waiting needles exactly like those the girl was escaping. 
Such was the unholy base of the phallus onto which she finally settled,
penis-glutted, whinnying. She sat, stone-still, her knees and elbows veed
up off their tormentors, her spongy crotch helplessly gripping the needled
seat buried in her bare labia. I think she was truly beyond surprises by
now.
I stood behind her and reached down, cupping a bottom-cheek in each hand,
touching her for the first time. She jerked. They were hot, a little
downy, smooth but for the single welt scarring each. I yanked them apart
and she grunted, settling deeper still on the rude prong up her arse. They
can always take more.
I put my lips to her left ear. "Get used to that plug up you, Miss," I
said gently, receiving a mournful and glassy sideways stare. Her face gave
off a feral odor of piss and sweat, tear-diluted. Brownish drool ran over
her chin from the gag's base. "We have study desks similarly equipped," I
added, "for fidgeters and slackers. I think you'll qualify for one of
them." As I spoke Leila poured into my right hand a pool of light chain
with two heavy rings sewn along its length.
I reached around the girl's waist and palmed the metal objects, shaking
out their attaching reins. Called "tit bits" for want of a better
description, they were handcuff-like ovals of flat steel, hinged at their
junctures and springloaded beyond rattrap strength. Squeezed open and
pushed over the breasts until they could gather no more flesh, thin
serrated jaws clamped and held upon release. The unfortunate wearer felt
her teats bitten and weighed down by a pair of demonic infants starving
her very chest of tender skin, voracious imps dislodged by no amount of
pleading or shaking.
The girl gargled on her gag and suddenly began humping the full length of
the penis up her. The slumbering poison sap had awoken, goading her to
desperately buck against its heat, escape it, appease it. No mercy could
be found in the dumb mixture, of course, and even less in me. Ass cheeks
flowered wide open, braced again on hands and feet, the squatting teen
avidly rode the buttcock as if trying to exhaust it, limpen it, expel it
from her burning entrails. Slucking up to its tip only to be jerked short
by her gartered belt, she shook the implacable knob with her sphincter,
then with a groan forced herself down its full length, bumping off the
spiky base and squirting back up. The searing lotion demanded movement,
the big penis punished the same; the maddened girl might as well have been
tied over a block and buttfucked by our biggest field-hands, for all the
choice she had in the matter -- and when she was given such duty, as she
would be, she would beg for more penises and grip them gratefully lest she
be returned to the pony pool. This is fact, dear reader, not conjecture.
"You move that big bottom nicely, young miss," I whispered in her ear,
cupping her swaying breasts with the bits, yawning now in my hands. I'm
fairly strong but I always had trouble holding the things open for long.
Her arse-cheeks helplessly stroked my stomach as I walked the open clamps
up her tits, letting her feel the cool metal and small, sharp teeth. Her
nipples were rubies poking into my palms, her aureoles hard rubber balls,
her lovely breasts big honey-laden silken sacs. I put my right cheek to
her left and watched her eyes, bulging and pleading, swivel down to her
chest.
"You'll feel a pinching, not intolerable," I told her quietly, "and when I
release the pedals of this conveyance, you will take us to class. We will
encounter various forks in the path en route, and I shall direct you with
a tug to your right or left breast. You will stop, for as long as I
desire, when I pull on both. The scenery along the way, for myself at
least, is quite entrancing and deserves leisurely study. Try to ignore
they whipstrokes to your bare bottom. They mean nothing, other than that I
enjoy whipping you. A vial of ammonium spirits in my possession will
ensure that we reach our destination, should you think fainting will
relieve you of duty. Oh, and your first act in class," I concluded, "will
be to relieve me with your mouth, on your knees in front of your fellow
students. And if you miss so much as a drop while swallowing, you'll get
today's duty for the next week. Am I understood?"
She shook her head "Yes" violently, whimpering assent loudly though the
cock-gag, her eyes pleading into mine.
"Good," I answered, and released the bits. They jumped from my hands and
instantly the girl's two breasts were four, each cleft in half and bubbled
into two smaller globes, punctuated by the steel teeth. I heard the faint
metallic creak of springs as the jaws settled into their soft pillows, and
the girl's outer globes began to pout and slowly turn upward, distorted
pink fruit seeking the sun. I knew, if she didn't, that the outer halves
would be as purple as King Henry's robe by journey's end. She kinked her
elbows in as far as her fetters allowed and hunched her shoulders down,
trying to mitigate the bits' fresh steel bite compunding the dull ache of
her chest strap. Her lips were drawn back now in a concentrated trembling
frown, a hint of pearly teeth showing where they clenched the butt plug's
base.
I eased back into the rickshaw, looping the girl's reins loosely in my
hands, holding the crop in my right. I gave an investigatory tug on each
and felt a springy rebound, hearing her grunt gutturally. She was sitting
again, the spikes spearing her pussy, the wooden meatus up her ass to its
last millimteter. A steady river of sweat runnelled down her back and
bathed her bare buttocks, dribbling off her into the dust.
"It's been. . .interesting, Leila," I told the overseer, who was standing
and smiling at the girl, arms crossed and paddle held high like a
standard. "We'll see you this evening, after the young vixen here has been
soundly lectured in Spurwood comportment."
"Ah think she done already been," Leila laughed, picking up her bag and
turning for the stable.



The End

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