At The Ranch

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Angie was visibly shaking when she got into my car outside her house. I hadn’t told her our destination for the afternoon; she just knew that something other than her usual bedroom session was in order. While I backed out of the driveway she stared at her hands quietly, darting a glance at me every once in a while with her pretty brown eyes. She wore a very thin summer dress and I left the air conditioner off, hoping she would start to sweat under the hot afternoon sun.

“Master,” Angie started, “I–“

“Shut up,” I told her. Another point against her. My subs aren’t supposed to call me “Master”. I guess she wanted to impress me with her obedience, another sign of her guilt. About ten minutes later she tried again.”

“I’m sorry,” she told me, a tear or two sliding down her face.

“If you speak again,” I said, “I’ll take you back home and we’ll never see one another again.”

Angie began to cry quietly but said nothing. I really don’t enjoy terrorizing a woman, but in this case I thought it necessary. About six weeks earlier I’d discovered that Angie had been playing with another man, an act strictly forbidden in our agreement. I’d found out while talking to Angie via an Internet chatting system — she’d accidentally sent me a message intended for her other lover. She probably realized what she’d done as soon as she hit the Enter key, but by then it was too late. Now she’d been waiting for a month and a half to find out what I’d do.

Our rule against playing with other doms or people isn’t based simply in possessiveness or ego. Fact is, sex just isn’t safe anymore. Angie understood that she was free to dissolve our relationship at any time if she wanted to take up with someone else, however, I wouldn’t expose myself or my other partners to some anonymous computer geek.

After a half hour of driving we were out of the city and pulling up to the garage outside my best friend’s ranch. He owned a huge expanse of land, nicely bordered by forest and mountains. Most days the place was crawling with tourists and fifth grade classes going horseback riding, but today the house and stable were pretty much deserted.

“Now,” I said, shutting off the car. “You’re a very lucky girl. Today you get to make a decision for yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” Angie said. She’d stopped crying but hadn’t taken off her seatbelt.

“I’ve had a talk with your friend about the value of close relationships and protecting oneself. Luckily for you, he agreed to help us out by giving up a little blood in the Memphis health clinic.” Angie looked up, puzzled, and I finally started enjoying the afternoon’s adventure.

“According to the great Dr. Anonymous, your friend is clean as a whistle and in great health. With that in mind, I’ve decided to let you choose between playing with him and belonging with me.”

It took a moment for this to sink in, then Angie grabbed my arm with both hands. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, the tears starting up again. adana escort “I want to be with you; I promise it won’t happen again!”

“You realize if you choose me you’re in for some pretty hefty punishment, don’t you?” I gently removed Angie’s grip from my arm while she nodded.

“Not to mention retribution for the favor that I now owe your ex-boyfriend?”

Angie nodded again, still crying. Her dress was quickly becoming plastered to her body; the relentless heat combined with her nervous tension was doing a wonder on the thin material. I was getting uncomfortable in the hot car, though, so I decided to move our small reunion party inside.

“In the stable, sir?” asked Angie. The sweet smell of hay and the dank odor of animals surrounded us immediately as we walked into the dim barn. I stepped carefully, of course. Trodding in horse shit is definitely un-domly.

My friend, the rancher, met us as we strolled through the stable. “All set up for ya,” he said, then spat a dark glob of something into the shadows. I guess doms and ranchers see dignity in an entirely different way.

“Thanks,” I said. “We should be done in an hour or two. By the way, are any of your stallions particularly horny?”

Angie gasped while my friend hee-hawed his way out of the stable. Bestiality’s not my kink, but Angie’s thinking was a bit distraught at the time.

A small room near the back of the stable had been arranged for my session with Angie. In the center of the room a large block of hay supported a small saddle. From the walls hung all sorts of fun-looking farm implements, including a coiled-up bullwhip of some length. I caught Angie eyeing the eighteen feet of leather rather nervously.

“Climb on the saddle and pull up your dress,” I commanded. Angie did so without hesitating. The saddle was high enough that her toes dangled a few inches above the ground. I slipped her feet into the stirrups, to which leather thongs had been added. These I tied around her ankles while she pulled her dress up to her shoulders. She was nude underneath, of course. I hate underwear.

“Bend over,” I said, needlessly, because Angie had anticipated this one. With her dress bunched over her shoulders she bent forward, dropping her hands and exposing a beautifully smooth back and the rounded flesh of her ass. Using two pair of handcuffs I attached her wrists to the stirrups, leaving her trapped on the saddle in a slightly uncomfortable position.

“Now,” I said, walking over to one of the walls and taking a riding crop off its mount, “why are you here?”

“To serve you, sir,” Angie replied. The dress hanging from her shoulders obscured her vision somewhat, so I moved to where she could see the crop better. After she’d caught a glimpse of it I slapped it across her flawless back, leaving an angry red mark and causing her to jump.

“Do you think you’ve served me very well?” I asked.

“No, sir!” adana escort bayan said Angie, already starting to whimper. “I’m

sorry, I broke the rules!”

“Exactly,” I said, raining the crop on her back two more times. The muscles in her still-untouched butt twitched as she squirmed under the blows from the crop.

“I’m sorry sir!” Angie cried as the crop landed three more times. Her back was covered with bright red splashes and I began aiming more carefully, catching the soft skin on the sides of her breasts with the leather toy. Angie cried and bucked in her saddle, insisting that she had had enough and would do as instructed from now on.

“Think you can remember the rules from now on?” I finally asked. Angie’s entire back had turned from pale white to bright red, as had her breasts, but her nipples were hard and jutting as they brushed occasionally against the coarse hay.

“Yes, sir,” my sub moaned. Her chest was heaving and I felt drops of sweat dripping down my own skin. I took off my own shirt and hung it over a peg on the wall while returning the crop to its place.

“I’m not really convinced,” I told her, and Angie’s body tensed up as she began to cry again. Searching the wall, I came across a short-handled whip with three leather ends. I trailed the tips of the leather across Angie’s back and her whole body tried to spasm out of the saddle.

“I can be good, sir,” she insisted.

I smiled. “I know you can be good,” I said. “The question is

whether nor not you will be.” With that, I went to work on her ass with the whip. Her hands clenched at the stirrups and pulled at her cuffs as the leather danced across the delicious creamy globes resting on the saddle. Her ass quickly began to match the flesh on her back.

Stopping to rest my arm, I rummaged through a barrel in one corner of the room and came up with a large branding iron. Angie’s hips were squirming from side to side and she was babbling non-stop about how good a slave she would be. When the end of the iron appeared before her eyes, however, she quieted instantly.

I bent over so I could look Angie in the face. “I think you’ve been punished enough for your extra-curricular play.” I reached up with one hand to squeeze Angie’s burning ass and she shuddered.

“Thank you, sir–“

“But you still need to make up for the favor I owe your Internet boy.”

“I’ll do anything, sir.”

“Oh, good.” I let the handle of the brand slide through my

fingers until the business end was in my hand. Angie’s eyes widened and she swallowed hard, but she didn’t say anything.

“I think it’s time for you to have a permanent reminder of whom you belong to,” I said. Angie’s eyes were glued to the branding iron and her entire body had started to shake. I smiled inwardly, dropped the rancher’s tool and stood up.

On the wall next to the door hung a green phone with a direct line to escort adana the farmhouse. I picked it up and the other extension rang twice before my friend answered.

“Send in my artist, would you please?” I asked him.

A few minutes later a young man wheeled a small metal cart

into our room. His face registered surprise for a moment when he took in the naked, sweaty ass tied to the saddle but he recovered quickly. I’d told him earlier what was going to take place and he’d seemed quite eager to participate. Angie, hearing the cart, moved her head from side to side but couldn’t see past the dress bunched over the back of her neck. The artist slipped the towel off the top of the cart to reveal a portable tattooing machine while I retrieved a quirt from its place on the wall.

“Now,” I told Angie. “This is your last chance to decide whether you want to be with me or your friend.”

Angie didn’t hesitate. “You, sir, I want to be with you.”

I smiled and motioned to the artist to prepare himself. Angie

moaned when I held the quirt in her line of sight. Her eyes fluttered open and shut as her tongue snaked out to lick the handle.

“To remind you of your decision,” I told the bound girl, “my friend here is going to brand you. It’s probably going to hurt, but I expect you to not embarrass me in front of a stranger. Anytime I hear a sound come from you I’m going to use this –” I whipped the quirt across her back — “on your back.”

Angie jumped in the saddle and the artist shook his head.

“Man, having her move like that could really mess up a nice tat.

Can you tie her down a little more or something?”

“Actually, yes.” I had had my rancher friend lay the hay bale atop a long, leather tie, the ends of which were lying on the floor on either side of our makeshift horse. I pulled these up and buckled them together, pulling them tight on the back of Angie’s waist. She sucked in her breath as the leather pressed up against her reddened skin.

“Okay, here we go!” The artist licked his lips and started his machine. He carefully cleaned off and dried the left globe of Angie’s ass before bracing one wrist on her thigh and applying the needle.

Angie groaned as the sharp little device licked her tender ass and I immediately cracked the quirt between her shoulder blades. She shrieked and strained at her bonds but the combination of the strap across her middle and the handcuffs at the stirrups held her in place. “Yeah, that’ll work fine,” the artist said. He knelt down beside the hay bale and went to work in earnest.

After half an hour and five more shots with the quirt the young man was finished. Angie slumped weakly in the saddle with my initials shining from her ass in a beautifully colorful script. The letters were about two inches high and bordered by a curved line on top and bottom. The artist packed up his equipment and trundled it out after one longing glance at the girl tied to the saddle.

“You’re sure this is what you want, then?” I teased, untying Angie and helping her to the ground. She clutched at my arm unsteadily but managed to smile.

“Yes, sir,” she said. She winced as the dress brushed against her back and rear.

“Then let’s get you home,” I said, “so you can rest for tomorrow.”

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