: Orlando
: Sarah's Steed
: Pink Flamingo Publishers
: 9781945648540
: 1
: CHF 2.50
:
: Erzählende Literatur
: English
: 89
: kein Kopierschutz
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB/PDF
Sarah’s husband has always dreamed of having his wife dominate him, but it was never something that she wanted. That is until one day she surprises him, locks up his penis and enslaves him. His fantasy has become a nightmare! He is taken to a ranch where Bridgett, the cruel female proprietor, turns wannabe slave boys like him into ponyboys. She also believes in a full training regime, including toilet service, personal female satisfaction and a rigorous program that trains a slave as to how to properly satisfy a man with his mouth. Instead of a fantasy that leads to sexual satisfaction, his life becomes a hell beyond his wildest imagining. Used as a pony to race against others for sport, used as a toilet, used as a vessel to satisfy other men and, above all, a tongue to give pleasure to jaded women. When his training period is over he returns home as his wife’s slave. Sarah seems perfectly happy with the new status quo. But when she takes a lover, he’s forced to serve both of them. Not surprisingly, she gets bored and enslaves the lover, too. Can his life get any worse? Yes, it can. She divorces him and sells him to the pony ranch owner, Bridgett, where he spends his days as a pony and his nights are spent between some woman’s legs or with his mouth wrapped around some asshole’s penis. No hope for his own sexual relief. Then, when his wife comes to visit, he contrives a plan to get her to take him back. All goes as he planned but in the end, she leaves him at the ranch, explaining that, after all, he is just a slave and any time she wants the great attention he can give her she can stop by and get it. He is broken. His life is over. The end? Well, not really as…

Chapter One

Friday Evening

 

I woke up from a horrible dream in which I was suffocating and drowning at the same time. As the fuzziness of sleep retreated I realized it wasn’t a dream after all. The bitch, who had me chained up in her bedroom, had her pussy planted on my face and was pissing in my mouth.

Only a few hours ago, I had been a guy who had just wanted my wife to pretend to be dominant and control me. To treat me like a slave. To whip me and force me to serve her for a few hours and then have us fall into bed for some mind-blowing sex. It was a heady sexual fantasy, one that I could never get enough of. It was those twisted desires, however, coupled with my incessant badgering and my continual disappointment with her efforts that united to place me in this position. Now, here I was, strapped to a frame at the end of some evil woman’s bed serving as her toilet.

 

***

 

Six hours earlier I had been relaxing on the couch, watching TV with a beer in my hand. The work week was over and I had big plans to do what I usually did all weekend, a whole lot of nothing. My plans changed dramatically when my wife came through the door with an expression on her face that focused my awareness and started a blossom of burning in my chest. Her normally soft green eyes were icy and her flat expression was a mixture of contempt and derision. That fierce look was exactly what I had been begging her for. It drove to the core of every fantasy I had ever had and my dick took instant notice.

“I want you naked, in your collar, with that worm locked up and kneeling by our bed in five minutes,” she barked. “Leave the keys on my dresser.”

I was stunned. Who was this lovely stranger who looked like my wife but sounded like every wet-dream I’d ever had? Reason deserted me. I didn’t bother to think about the implications of this dramatic reversal in attitude. I didn’t entertain any thoughts what might have caused this about face in her feelings toward the domination games I craved. My reasoning mind went immediately astray in a haze of sexual smoke. The ruling part of my body skipped ahead to the frustrating buildup and great sex that was coming and I rushed to get ready. My clothes were history in a heartbeat and the collar was only a few moments more. It took longer to get my raging erection down enough lock it up.

Locking my dick up required running the hasp of a special high-tech padlock through the pierced hole in the end of it and then through the permanent ring that had been soldered just below my scrotum. It was a simple but particularly efficient method of chastising myself that I had invented in a sexual fog one day.

It was mega effective. Removal of the padlock, without having the key, required a bolt cutter that could cut hardened steel, or by ripping the hasp out of the hole and completely disfiguring the end of my penis. My poor little boy immediately started to ache, straining in anticipation of the teasing, denial and eventual release to come. I loved this feeling and hated it at the same time. The feeling of giving up control, especially control of my sexual relief, and not knowing when I would get it back was a sexual fantasy that never ceased to bring me to the brink but, it was a frightening fantasy. For that reason, I didn’t like ever giving up the keys. Turning loose of the keys was scary. Without them I was dependent on her to release me and sometimes that meant hours of denial.

Nevertheless, her tone had sent a message that this wasn’t something to screw with, that she was playing my game for real this time. I had wanted her to act this way so badly and for so long that I had no intention of disappointing her. I placed the keys on her dresser, moved to the side of our king-sized bed, knelt and waited.