RLS 05: Horse

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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The RLS Series is a collection of _real-life_ stories retold by the Flogmaster. Names and places have been _changed_ to protect the naughty. All are based on the personal memories of individuals and are written in the first person. Literary license may have been taken for a more dramatic presentation.

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(****, M/f, Intense, n/c cropping)

A girl loves horseback riding so much she disobeys her father, and must pay the price. (Approximately 1,804 words. Originally published 1995-10.)

I love horses. There's something about riding an animal that you can never find using mechanized transport. Partly a sense of adventure, partly a degree of mutual respect. Riding a horse you are only partially in control. After all, it is a living, breathing animal beneath you!

I've been riding since I was a little girl. We lived in a rural part of one of the New England states. My father and mother breed horses for a living, so it was natural that I grew up loving them. While I was growing up, however, I was a daredevil. My father did everything he could to stop me--everything short of forbidding me to ride.

One day when I was about sixteen or seventeen years old I came in from an long afternoon ride. It had been exhilarating and I was flushed with excitement. As I slipped off my horse, Adrian, I was surprised to see my father waiting for me in the stable. The look of his face told me I was in trouble and I racked my brain trying to imagine what I had done now.

My father is quite strict. Horses are dangerous animals and must be treated with respect. There are rules to dealing with them and my father is adamant that all the rules are to be followed to the letter. He never gives an order twice. You obey the first time. So it was with some apprehension that I approached him. Though I was a "big" girl now I knew from an experience the previous summer he still had no hesitation in taking me over his knee.

"Hi, Daddy, whatcha doin'?"

"Eleanor," he said sternly, "you were trick riding again."

A cold fear passed through me and I stared at him. I could not lie to him. I am a decent person and generally a good girl. I love my father. Tears came to my eyes. I stared at the floor and played with the dirt with my toe.

"Y-Yes, sir."

"Eleanor you could kill yourself doing that! All alone out there in that field--what would happen if you were hurt? It'd be hours before someone found you. How many times do I have to forbid you for you to obey?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy, really I am, but--"

"But nothing, daughter! You continually and deliberately disobey me! I saw you myself out in the west pasture this afternoon, and I talked with John and got him to admit he saw you practicing last Saturday. This is not a one-time violation, girl. How many times have we _not_ caught you?"

I stared at the ground and patted Adrian's muzzle. At least he wasn't mad at me.

"Put the horse away, girl." My father gestured to Adrian's stall and so I stepped forward and led the horse inside. In a few minutes I had taken the saddle off and all his gear and hung them up. Next I started to rub Adrian down but my father stopped. "Hold off a bit on that, girl. Step out here."

Obediently I came out of the stall. I stopped short when I saw my father was fingering my riding crop. "I've been thinking," he said slowly. "There are only two possibilities here. One, I can forbid you from riding--"

"Daddy, no!"

"Or I can punish you with this." He held up the crop and I felt my face drain of blood. It was a strong English riding crop, very stiff. I carried it with me but I'd never used it.

"I know how much you love riding, girl. I don't want to have to do that. But somehow I've got to make you understand that I will not be disobeyed when it comes to your safety. Do you understand?"

I nodded. I could scarcely breathe.

"I think I know your answer. Am I correct?"

Again I nodded.

"All right. Turn around. Stand up on the lower rung of the stall and bend forward. You can grasp one of the rungs from the other side to hold you bent over the wall."

My heart was pounding wildly. I couldn't believe this was happening. Just moments ago I'd been riding happily, lost in a heaven of contentment, and now my stomach was almost ill with dread as I slowly got into position. My face was flushed. This was horribly embarrassing, but I knew that my father was right. I had been disobedient. I still couldn't believe he was going to do this, but I would not--could not--be banned from riding.

I was still wearing my riding outfit. Light brown flared pants, very tight, and a loose white shirt. My breasts are small but I was well aware that my ass is quite prominent. I loved for my boyfriends or potential boyfriends to see me in my riding outfit. The pants really show off my figure. But now I wished desperately for an ordinary pair of jeans. Thick, heavy jeans with pockets in the back. Not the skin-smooth, thin cloth that covered my rump now.

I was in position and with bated breath I waited. I was almost bent double over the top of the wall with my round ass sticking out above and behind me. Adrian stood nearby and munched on some straw. So he got to watch. Somehow that broke something inside me and I started to cry.

I felt the quirt brush my bottom and I tensed. "Twenty strokes," my father said and I gasped and almost let go of the wall. "Hold tight, Eleanor. If you let go or cry out the stroke won't count. And you'll get an extra one." I whimpered and waited.

THWACK! The blow was a blinding flash of pain across my rump. I could barely keep still. My ass was quivering and I realized I was sweating profusely. I let out the air I was holding in a sudden woosh. I gulped oxygen and prayed this would be over soon.

THWACK! The second stroke was even worse. Harder, if I wasn't deceiving myself, and better positioned. It fell right across the lower portion of my butt, right above the thighs. It felt like someone had laid a red-hot poker across my ass.

"How many is that dear?"

"T-Two!" I gasped.

"Good. Please keep count for me. You know I'm terrible with numbers."

THWACK! "Three!" THWACK! "Hmmmfourmmm!" THWACK! "FIVE!!!"

"Good dear, we're a quarter done." I began to sob at this point, the agony of my buttocks unbearable. I didn't see any possible way I could take twenty strokes. I could already feel the welts rising under my tight pants, itching against the cloth.

THWACK! "Six!" It hurt like hell but somehow it wasn't so bad. The pain had reached a sort of peak. Seven and eight were similar, but nine was diagonal stripe across the middle my rump--right over the welts of the previous strokes. "Hhhmhhmhmmmm," I groaned and wiggled my bottom as best I could. "N-N-Nine," I managed to get out, and then broke down to continuous weeping.

THHWACK!! I gritted my teeth and moaned deep inside me. The searing pain seemed to go through my whole body, tingling every nerve. I especially noticed how it affected my crotch area. My sex was pulsing and alive as though it was receiving pleasure from my agony. All I consciously knew was that my ass was killing me. I begged my father to stop.

"That's enough, please Daddy, please! I can't take any more. My butt's on fire!"

"You are right, dear. I think that's enough for your bottom. The final ten will be on your thighs."

"Nooooooo!" I screamed. I couldn't help myself. I heard him cluck disapprovingly.

"Come on, girl. Take your punishment like an adult. Enough snivelling. I'm going to do these quickly, okay?"

My father had been waiting for me to stop wiggling between each stroke. This gave me a chance to recuperate before the next blow, which was wonderful, but it also dragged out the punishment and made each fresh blow all the more dreaded. As he began to thrash my thighs there was no pause between each stroke--just wave after wave of intense pain. I couldn't even really identity the strokes. I just felt the pain moving up and down the back of legs, sometimes right below my bottom, sometimes closer to my knees.

Fortunately I was not required to keep count, which was good, because I had no idea how numbers worked at that point. All I could do was bite my lip to keep from screaming and bounce about obscenely on that wooden railing.

Suddenly it was over. My father's echoing voice came from a million miles away. I felt like I was in a fog. I was drenched with sweat and tears and pain racked my buttocks and legs. Although it had only been twenty strokes and probably just took a few minutes, it felt like hours had passed. I felt like he'd beaten me raw. I was certain when I got to my room and looked at myself in the mirror I'd have no skin left.

"All right, dear. You took that very well. I'm proud of you. I love you very much, you do know that, don't you?" He hugged around the shoulders and I leaned my head against his chest. I was trembling and I couldn't stop crying.

"Now look at me, Eleanor." He bent over and held my face in his hands and stared deep into my eyes. I stared at him, rather frightened. More lectures? More punishment?

"I've been thinking, dear. Do you really want to trick riding, I mean, like professionally?" I nodded silently. What was this about? "All right, dear. I'm going to see about having someone teach you. Perhaps on Saturdays and a couple times a week. Does that sound good?"


"I know dear. But if I forbid you, you will just want to do it all the more. At least this way you will be trained properly and you will have adult supervision during your training _and_ practice. You will not attempt any trick riding on your own. Is that clear?"

The biting tone in his voice sounded suspiciously similar to the crack of the riding crop. I nodded eagerly. I would obey. No question there. Even if I could only do trick riding once a month I'd obey! At least he was letting me do trick riding--better yet, training me at it. I stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

"T-Thank you, Daddy. I'm _really_ s-sorry. I'll never disobey you again, I _promise_."

And that, my friends, was one promise I have kept.

The End

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