Saddled, Chapter 3 (Patreon)

When I am stressed, I do tend to run for more porny plots, and it's even better when I can edit and not write.  Stress affects writing rather significantly.  So I bring you more Saddled.  Chapters two and three are revised from a piece I wrote in my Wordpress account. Chapter four will be new.

The stable was well-kept, but John didn’t see any sign of grooms or workers. The call list precluded voyeurism or photography, not that Davidson had saved much money by excluding those two common kinks—he had put much more exotic fare on the menu. Most of the stalls were empty but two horses watched him as he passed. He got to the very end where two stalls stood open, and a door led into a large tack room.

“Where to?” he asked.

“I’ve laid your tack out in that stall,” Davidson gestured to the right. John looked inside and a metal cart like a librarian might use for those old fashioned filmstrip machines stood in the middle of the stall. The stall had a strip of fine gravel along the front of the stall, and it looked like a black rubber mat on a concrete floor. The cart held a dizzying array of leather straps and boots all lined up and waiting. John gave one terse nod. The faster they did this next part, the better. John feared losing his nerve and punching Davidson, possibly in the balls.

“Which bothers you more, the idea that you will be wearing a bridle and suffer a bit in your mouth so I can lead you around like the animal you are or the fact that I will wear that plug up your ass?” Davidson gestured toward the halter and the plug on the top shelf of the cart.

Looking at them, John realized the answer was not what he would have expected from himself. He’d had so many people request to fuck him that letting it finally happen was almost anticlimactic. “The bridle,” he answered.

“Go pick it up then. Finger it. Feel how well made and sturdy it is. I had the agency send your specifics, and I made it specifically for you.”

John knew that too well. The measuring process had been embarrassing to say the least. The bridle was dark brown, but it wasn’t leather the way it looked. The fabric on the inside was cool and smooth, and the outside layer was some sort of mesh. John pulled on it, but nothing yielded whereas leather would have stretch to it. The straps led down to a metal bit. Two u-shaped metal brackets allowed the center bar to slip far into his mouth. The metal was thin, flat and coated with a thick rubber or plastic, but John’s guts contracted at the thought of having this in his mouth.

He fingered the bit and it slid apart into two separate bars. It took him a second to figure out the mechanics. The bit was attached to the inside of the u-brackets, and some internal mechanism then led to the outside of the bracket where two large rings led to reins. Pull on the reins and the two halves of the bit separated. It would force his mouth open.

“Clever, yes?”

“Sadistic,” John corrected him.

“It doesn’t cause pain, ergo it is not sadistic. It is, however, very controlling. Put it on.” Davidson’s voice turned hard, and John realized this was the point of no return. Any number of people had ordered him to strip, but if he did this, he was giving Davidson control over his body he’d never allowed anyone. He hesitated, and one of Davidson’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rose up. It was a challenge. John could yield or give up the contract.

John started sorting the straps. The u-brackets slipped over the corners of his mouth and settled around his cheeks with the bit pressed deep into his mouth where it pinned his tongue down. It tasted like oil, like French fries that hadn’t been allowed to drain before some server dropped them on his plate. The rings settled around his jawline, and John let the reins dangle as he brought the head straps up around his face. Two straps from the u-bracket went up and over his cheeks to meet at the bridge of his nose, and then they turned into one strap that went up and over.

He used his fingers to align the strap that went around his forehead and the one that went up and over his head, and then he reached behind him to work the latches. Someone had designed this so that pieces only fit together if they were supposed to, and it took him some time to get the collar clasp shut and then attach the strap that went over his head, and then there were two straps that went from the rings along his jaw down to the collar.

Davidson seemed to have infinite patience as he watched John struggle. When John finally finished, he couldn’t turn his head much without pulling on the ring, which in turn, forced his mouth open. It wasn’t painful, but the whole contraption was amazingly constricting and annoying.

“Come here. Let me see if you have it right,” Davidson ordered. Feeling like an idiot for not fighting, John walked over. Immediately, Davidson caught the reins and pulled them down. John bowed his head, but even then, the bit forced his mouth open and the edge of the collar dug into his neck. He then had to stand like that as Davidson checked the straps, sliding a finger under each in turn. His touch was clinical and quick. He stopped to tighten one buckle so John had even less room to turn his head to the right. He then loosened the collar, which made it easier for John to keep his head bowed.

When he was finished, Davidson patted his hip before letting go of the reins. “Boots next.”

John nodded and headed back to the tack. There wasn’t a stool or chair, so he sat on the floor. The black pad had more cushion to it than John had expected, but the lack of furniture was a psychological tactic that wasn’t lost on him. John pulled the boots over, studying them for a second to get a feel for what he should do before he pulled them on. The bottom of each was an actual horse shoe, and even the outside was designed to look like a horse’s fetlock. The tops of the boots matched his skin color remarkably well, and then they became darker toward the bottom until they ended in black hoof-like soles where the horse shoe attached.

Without the bridle, John would have been tempted to say something inappropriate. 

However, all this was on the call list. He slid his foot inside. His heel stopped at the fetlock, and his toes slid in several more inches. Added to the three inches of sole, the design was going to give John several inches, maybe as many as six or seven. It was also going to make him dangerously unsteady on his feet. He used the hidden laces along the inside to tighten the boot, starting at the ankle and moving all the way up to just below his knee. He tied a shoelace bow at the top and then turned his attention to the other boot. When he finished, Davidson came over and held out a hand. “Up you go.”

John struggled to stand. He had no experience in high heels, and the boot material was so rigid that he could barely move his ankles, but eventually he managed to stand with his feet widespread, even if he rocked a little.

“Like a new born foal, how appropriate,” Davidson said approvingly. He ran his hands down John’s sides, and John couldn’t hide the shiver.

“Let’s get you ready for a little exercise. Give me your right hand.”

John held out his arm and watched as Davidson slipped a horse hoof glove over it. It forced his hand into a small fist, but it wasn’t, like his boots, a hard hoof. It did have the same coloring, though. Davidson laced the bondage glove over John’s left arm.

The black ran to about halfway up his arm where the glove itself extended to past his elbow, ending in a tight strap. He had another thick strap around his wrist, this one with black rings ready to tie John to something. This was expensive gear. John wondered if he would have been charged for it if he’d gotten here and chickened out. Davidson secured John’s other hand quickly.

“You need a little practice, and I need to get a little work done. I have a script that the writers have left in such shambles that it’s going to take a script magician to fix it.” Davidson grabbed the reins, and for the first time, John was struck with his absolute helplessness. He couldn’t undo the straps around his head. He couldn’t kick without falling on his ass. He couldn’t throw a punch with any force when his hands were wrapped in padding. Worse, he couldn’t talk. He’d been bridled and denied everything that made him human.

“Good boy. You’re okay now.” Davidson cooed at him, his hands warm as they stroked John’s chest. “Just breathe. Good boy.” Without warning, he then grabbed the reins just under John’s chin. He could feel Davidson’s hard knuckles pressing up into the underside of his chin and the bit opened, forcing his teeth apart.

John tried to cry out and only managed to make an inarticulate sound. “Good boy. Come on now.” Davidson gave a tug, and John tried to pull away. Fear made his skin crawl, and he slipped and went to one knee. Thank god the bottom of the stall had padding because he landed hard. But Davidson still had the reins, and now that forced John’s head up as Davidson stood over him.

“Good boy. Come on, up you go.” Davidson pulled on the reins, and John didn’t have any choice but to struggle back to his feet. He swung a punch toward Davidson, but yanked his arm back with a cry when Davidson landed the crop across John’s upper arm hard enough to leave a welt. He’d be punished physically for refusals to follow orders. He’d be cropped until his skin turned red and welts appeared. Those had been words on a paper, but now John was watching his skin pink up under the lash mark.

And still, Davidson had a calm voice; all the earlier hints of frustration were gone. “Good boy. Get moving.” This time he added a sharp tap with his crop across John’s hip. It wasn’t a lash that left a mark, but it still startled John enough that he stepped forward, and from there, Davidson took advantage of momentum, pulling John by the bridle fast enough that he could only keep stepping forward and hope he didn’t fall on his face.

They walked out of the barn through a side door and followed a short path to a second building. The indoor arena had skylights and huge doors on opposite sides of the building that allowed a breeze to drift through. A balcony ran along the sides, and the building had a series of metal tracks that hung down from the ceiling. The smallest of the concentric circles had a lead hanging down and Davidson headed right for it.

“Arms up,” he ordered, and John raised his arms. Davidson clipped the lead to the wrist cuffs. “Good boy,” he patted John’s side, and John had a nearly overwhelming urge to kick the man. Maybe Davidson understood because he backed away, a smirk on his face. Ignoring Davidson, John took the opportunity to rub his face against his arm. The bridle made his face itch, and the satisfaction of scratching made it easier to ignore the rest of the indignities.

Machinery clicked and then the lead pulled tight, pulling John’s arms forward. He fought, but he had to take an awkward step before getting pulled off his feet. That led to another step and another and another as the machine pulled him in a slow circle. John glared up at the track.

“That is designed for horses, but go ahead and keep fighting it. It’s amusing,” Davidson said. John tried to turn his head and look at him, but the bridle wouldn’t allow him to look over his shoulder. He could only walk, still unsteady on his feet, as the track led him back around. Along one side of the arena, there was a long bench, and Davidson settled there with his laptop. He wasn’t even watching.

John jerked his arms as hard as he could, and all he accomplished was losing his balance. One foot went out from under him, and he dangled from his arms for a second until he could get his feet coordinated again. When John looked up, Davidson was watching him. However after a few seconds, his attention went back to his laptop.

The lead forced John to walk and then to move into a gentle jog and then to walk again. His thighs burned and his tongue hurt from fighting the bridle, but the machine didn’t care. It just made him move at whatever pace Davidson chose.

John was complaining in little grunts by the time the machine stopped. Unfortunately, it stopped where John had his back to Davidson, so he was stuck staring at the wall as he waited for whatever came next. If he was going to be honest, he’d expected to get fucked by now, but Davidson clearly enjoyed the foreplay—or what passed for foreplay in his world.

Trying to stretch out his sore shoulders, John squirmed in place and cursed himself for fighting the lead. He wasn’t going to break it, but he was wearing himself out more than he needed to.

“Good boy. We need to find a name for you, don’t we boy?” Davidson said as he started wiping down John’s back. John jerked away, startled by the touch, but Davidson continued to groom John. He had a soft cloth, and starting from John’s shoulders, he rubbed John down. Normally John was the one giving massages, so the touch was unfamiliar and it made him want to jump out of his skin. Davidson came around the front and repeated the the grooming, massaging and cleaning off the sweat and the dust that stuck to it.

“How about Thunder?” Davidson said in a thoughtful voice. “Cliché, I know. But then you do look thunderous much of the time.”

John rubbed his face against his arm. Davidson must have taken that as an invitation because he folded the cloth over to a new side and started wiping down John’s face. His fingers slipped under the straps, which pulled things uncomfortably tight, but it also eased the itching that had been driving John mad.

“We could call you Itchy. That might be amusing,” he said. John glared at him and grunted.

“I believe that is an equine version of a ‘no.’” Davidson said with a laugh. He moved behind John, and John held his breath as he waited for the big event. He was finally going to get fucked after years of insisting he would never do that. However, doctor’s bills had a way of convincing a person to do the unexpected.

Instead Davidson came back around, something in his hand. “You spent too much time trying to see what’s going on around you. You’re going to break your neck not paying attention to your own feet,” Davidson said in the sort of chiding voice a person normally used on children. John was tempted to bite him. Davidson reached up and messed with the bridle, and John immediately knew what he’d brought. Blinders. Now he wouldn’t be able to see anything not directly ahead of him. Davidson was fastening the second one in place when John jerked his head up, trying to dislodge it. Without so much as a comment, Davidson caught the reins and pulled John’s head back down and finished his work.

When he finished, he ran his fingers through John’s hair and smiled. “That’s better. Good boy, you know it’s for your own good.”

John snorted.

Davidson still had the reins, but he jerked his head again. “Shhhh,” Davidson soothed him. “I know. You ran wild too long. It’s okay there boy.” Davidson threaded the reins through John’s arms and then walked around to the back. Now John really did throw his head up. The gesture annoyed Davidson, and that was enough to make it supremely enjoyable.

Davidson tightened the reins so much that John’s chin was forced down to his chest and his mouth came open slightly. He let out a growl of fury and waited; Davidson had made his point.

When Davidson’s footsteps moved away, John realized that the reins had been attached to something. John was now stuck with his head bowed submissively. The anger rolled through him. All these kinks had seemed less devious when written down on a call list, but John was finding this job more than a little overwhelming. Davidson walked around to the front again. The blinders meant that John could only see him when he stopped right in front.

Nature had given John a good two inches on Davidson, and the boots gave him another five or six, so it allowed him to glare down at Davidson from a good height. He pressed forward until his arms were pulled back and he strained against the machine. But Davidson didn’t back off at all. In fact he smirked. Then he reached up and pulled at John’s vulnerable nipple. “What a beauty you are. How about Storm? No. That’s the woman superhero. I’m tempted to name you Nor’easter. Or I could name you after a famous hurricane like Andrew or Katrina.” His lips twitched at the last suggestion. If John could talk, he would call this asshole every name in the book.

Davidson patted his hip and walked behind him. “Do relax before you pull a muscle. How about a military name like Major or Gunny?” Davidson’ hands stroked over John’s shoulders and then firmly kneaded his neck. The medicinal smell warned John before his skin started to head. The ass was putting Ben Gay on him, as if truly worried about helping ease John’s muscles. He had a simple solution—loosen the damn bridle. Instead Davidson leaned against his back and massaged the medicine into his skin before stepping back.

“I need to go wash my hands very well before we do this next part. Otherwise you will be very uncomfortable,” Davidson said with humor in his voice. So he was ready to start using John’s ass. At least he was washing his hands, because BenGay up the butt would be more pain than John would endure for any amount of money. The machinery clicked, and John screamed in frustration as the lead pulled tight. Again, he had to walk, this time his head bowed and his mouth open just enough to let a thin stream of drool escape.

As much as John wanted to fight, he knew he couldn’t, so he settled down and walked in giant circles as Davidson went to wash his hands. His mouth quickly tasted of dust and straw dust, and the most humiliating part was that Davidson wasn’t even enjoying the show. This wasn’t painful, but it was damn dehumanizing, and the client wasn’t even in the same fucking building.

And all John could do was cooperate.

The machine stopped, and again John was facing the wall. He sucked at the bridle, trying to keep his spit from slipping free, and he waited.

Davidson’s hand on his leg was no surprise, so John didn’t jump this time. He waited for the taunts, but none came. Davidson hooked something to John’s left boot and he pushed a bar up to the back of his right boot and locked something in place. He pressed against the back of John’s right knee, and John snorted his unhappiness, but Davidson kept doing it until John stood balanced on his left foot. It wasn’t like he was stable in these boots, so he didn’t appreciate it much, but then a machine started clicking, and John’s right foot started sliding along the bar. A mechanical spreader bar. Davidson had too damn much money.

John waited until it got to the end of the bar, and then he let his weight fall back onto both feet. He was spread obscenely, and his arms pulled over his head because the stance had stolen several inches of height. However, John wasn’t sure how sex was going to work. There was nothing to hold John in place while Davidson thrust into him.

Davidson walked around to the front and let his fingers trail over John’s chest. “Naming a horse is an art, and I’m not sure I have the knack. Every time I think you’re going to be practical, you fight. Every time I’m sure you’re going to fight, you’re practical. Well, good or bad, you’re my boy, aren’t you?”

John didn’t have enough slack in his bridle to do anything but watch. Davidson smiled and used his cloth to wipe the line of drool on John’s chest. Sticking the cloth in his pocket, he raised his left hand where he held a mass of dark brown padded straps and black rings. A harness.

“I don’t suppose we need to keep that beautiful neck bowed while I do this,” Davidson said, and reaching behind John, he did something. Suddenly John could raise his head. He did, and then nodded several times to get the kinks out before he let his head fall back as he stared at the metal tracks above him. Monday evening. He only had to hold out until Monday evening.

However, he couldn’t believe the jolt of relief and gratitude he felt for something as insanely simple as the ability to nod his head.

Davidson whistled as he put the straps over John’s shoulders and around his chest just below the armpits. It left his nipples exposed, and John was certain that wasn’t a coincidence. A center strap went down his stomach and ended in a ring just above his belly button, and that joined with a thick strap around his waist. The straps had the same cool feel as the bridle, so he suspected that they were the same material, even though they looked leather. That would make them hard to escape.

Davidson just kept whistling as he started tightening things. John could hear clasps snapping shut and each one made him feel more helpless, which was pretty stupid. He was already tied to a fucking horse exercising machine, so there wasn’t such a thing as more helpless than completely fucking helpless.

Something cool and silky slid across his ass and John jerked his head up in surprise. “Do you like that, boy?” This time it slid across the back of his thighs, and John groaned. He liked that a little too much. The soft, cool whispers were welcome after all the hard straps and metal bits. “Yes, my boy likes that. What a good boy you are.” Davidson came around and John could see something dark brown. “Does my beautiful boy know what this is?”

If John hadn’t had a bit shoved deep in his mouth, he might have suggested hair extensions, but then Davidson held up the end with a large, black plug. A tail. It was a tail. John froze.

“Calm down boy. Good boy,” Davidson cooed at him. He tried to stroke John’s cheek, and John snapped his teeth. He might have bit Davidson, but the bridle made it awkward to move his head to the side. Davidson laughed as he pulled his hand away. “There’s my wild stallion. Not broken yet, are you? Don’t you worry. We have time.” Davidson walked away, and John listened carefully. There was the snap of gloves and the click of some sort of lubricant. “I do hope you gave yourself that enema I requested.”

John had, but he couldn’t answer. Davidson slipped a cold finger inside him. John snorted and tried to pull his feet together, but that was impossible with the spreader bar. Instead he could only stand and twitch as Davidson slipped another finger in him and then started spreading. John sucked air in through his nose and tried to relax. He should have broken the rules and stretched himself, but he’d wanted any potential tip Davidson might offer. Now he regretted it.

His ass burned as the muscles tried to accommodate Davidson’s fingers. John tried to twist away, but he only rocked forward and then immediately rocked back, impaling himself on Davidson’ fingers.

“Shh boy. Good boy. You’re okay now.” Davidson stroked his hip and kept working to stretch him. John clenched his ass, but that made the fingers feel three times larger, so he relaxed again.

“That’s a good boy.” The fingers came out and then more cool lube was being pressed inside. At least Davidson was being thoughtful about the amount of prep John would need. This time the fingers slid in and out easier, and John started to take deep breaths. He could do this.

The fingers came out, and now something rounder pressed to get inside. John bore down like he was taking a crap, and the plug slipped past the first ring of muscle. But this was hard plastic, not someone’s pliable and flexible fingers. John groaned as it forced him open and pushed in. He wanted to clench down, but he knew that would make it hurt, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to get himself to relax, so he pushed back.

“Good boy,” Davidson said, his tone almost proud. Oh yeah, the next time John got a shot at it, he was going to bite the man, tip be damned. The plug finally slipped in and John’s ass closed over the neck of it. He could feel sweat gathering along his spine, and he leaned forward and rested his forehead on his arm as he let the cuffs take his weight.

“Such a beauty you are. I’m going to love seeing you strain under me the first time I mount you. And knowing that this is a virgin ass makes it even better.”

John snorted, but he didn’t bother lifting his head. Davidson returned to whistling as he played with more straps. Then he came around to the front, and John watched the top of Davidson’s head while he slipped a wide metal ring around John’s cock and balls. It didn’t constrict them, but it certainly reminded John of just how far outside his comfort zone he was. David attached one strap from the ring just above John’s belly button down to the ring around his cock and balls, and then he pulled a strap up between John’s legs. That would be the one that locked onto the base of the plug. John gave an experiment push, but he couldn’t tell if the size of the plug or the straps kept it locked in place.

Davidson switched to humming as he unlocked John’s ankles. John’s knees had started to hurt, and he quickly got his feet under him. And he promptly lost his balance and dangled from his arms for a second before he could pull himself back up. The plug pressed deep into him. John was experienced enough to know that it was hitting his prostate, but the sensation wasn’t pleasant. It was like an itch just out of reach, and since that itch was inside John’s cock, it was driving him mad. He threw his head and stomped a foot to get Davidson’s attention, but that only made a vibration travel up his leg and into his cock. And it made his tail swing so those silky strands brushed across the backs of his legs. The tail hung to just past his knees, and the long strands were about as maddening as the plug.

“You’re okay, boy. It’s your first time. It’s going to be the same the first time you’re saddled. It’s all too much at once, but you’ll be okay. You just have to get used to it.” Davidson petted his hip, but he kept his hands away from John’s mouth. Smart man.

He moved to the side where John couldn’t see him because of the blinders, and then the reins pulled again. This time John’s chin was forced all the way against his chest and the bit opened all the way so that John’s mouth came open. Davidson locked it that way and walked around to the front where John could see him.

“You are beautiful with that curve in your neck.” He reached out and ran his fingers through John’s hair and let his fingers trail down over his cheeks before he traced John’s lips with his fingers. “Such a beauty you are. But you’d fight this until you’d pull half the muscles in your neck, wouldn’t you?”

John snorted, but that made a line of drool slip free and fall. It ran down over his stomach and vanished into the strap. “One circuit. Knees high, chin tucked, like a proper horse. One circuit.” Davidson tapped him on the nose, and John got the message. He would play nice, not only because he was being paid to but because the amount of power Davidson had over him was really quite breathtaking. John was never doing a solo bondage scene again, and he didn’t care what they paid him. Davidson walked away, and after a second, the machinery started.

John wanted the reins loosened, so he tried to follow orders to earn that. He walked with his knees high, but that drove the plug farther into him, and the tail swished over the back of his legs, reminding him of a woman’s hair. More drool slipped free, and John actually tried to focus on that instead of all the other sensations. Davidson was right about one thing—it was too much. If his hands were free, he’d either masturbate like mad or rip the plug out of his ass. But as it was, he was caught in a whirlwind of sensation that he had no control over.

The track brought him back around, and Davidson held up a controller and pressed a button that stopped the machine.

“I’m naming you Spirit,” Davidson said. He pulled the cloth out of his pocket and started wiping John down. John let out a long grunt that he hoped didn’t sound too much like whining. He didn’t care what he got called as long as the reins were loosened. The dust of the corral was getting in his mouth and making his nose itch, and his neck would start hurting if Davidson kept him this way too long. Davidson could call him Rainbow Sparkles for all he gave a shit at his moment.

“Shhhh, Spirit. You’re fine. Wild horses usually do have trouble taking to the bridle.” John rolled his eyes, but he didn’t know if Davidson could even see that because he was standing on the side. When the reins loosened, John let out a happy moan and threw his head up, shaking out the stiff muscles by nodding vigorously. John stopped when it occurred to him what he looked like. He’d seen real horses make that exact gesture so many times that it horrified him.

Davidson laughed, although John had no idea if the man had followed his train of thought. The reins pulled tight, and John tried to jerk away, but that only forced his mouth open. “That’s my Spirit,” Davidson said with another laugh, and he fastened the reins. John relaxed and found that he could almost close his mouth. Davidson did something, and John had a fraction more slack. His head was still tucked close to his chest, but he could close his mouth the whole way. He found himself grateful because he didn’t like drooling on himself.

“Okay. Time to get used to your new body,” Davidson said. He pressed the controls, and the lead moved, forcing John into a fast walk.

His body. That’s how Davidson described the tail that swept over his legs and the boots that forced him weirdly off-balance. John closed his eyes and let the track pull him around in giant circles. He felt like it was hours that he walked around and around. Sometimes the machine allowed him a slow walk, other times he had to trot on unsteady legs as he tried to keep up without getting pulled off balance. It was either heaven or hell, but John couldn’t tell which.

Chapter One: https://www.patreon.com/posts/15366025

Chapter Two: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-15673943

Chapter Three: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-15676022

Chapter Four: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-15691314

Chapter Five: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-15919034

Chapter Six: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-16207252

Chapter Seven: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-16538533

Chapter Eight: https://www.patreon.com/posts/16939268