The Enslavement of Sarah

by Alyssa Disarro
- an excerpt from the book.
- full book available at pinkflamingo.com.
- special thanks to Lizbeth for the except.
- do not use without permission.
- with art by Mr. Green.

Chapter Four:  The Breaking

 

“Now sit at kitchen table while I make us some lunch,” he motioned to her. He noticed she obediently followed his orders; but, all the while, her eyes were looking around, and he knew she was planning, thinking, and plotting a way to escape.

As he threw some pots on the stove, his heart raced with inner happiness. Yes, she would indeed do very nicely. She was smart; she could learn; and, even better, she had spirit. “So far you do good job,” he said idly as he began chopping some garlic and throwing pasta in a pot of boiling water. “I know this scary for you, but I see you capable of being intelligent and learning. This pleases me,” he paused and glanced back at her. “But I tell you now. You can look around, and you can plan, but there will be no escape for you. I do things like this for a living,” he chuckled darkly a moment. “I am no amateur, eh?”

“What, making women your horses?” her voice actually spoke up on its own; and, for a brief moment, she thought he would come over and beat her senseless.

“No,” he glanced at her again with that damnable amused glint in his eyes. “No, you are the first woman I make my cavalla. I meant kidnapping, securing people, things like that.”

She was half surprised at his reaction; he was being so lighthearted about this.

“And to think I trusted you when you said you weren’t aserial killer.” This time she purposely threw the barb at him, as her own anger rose.

Again her comment did not upset him in the least. He just turned around and leaned on the counter and looked fully at her. “I no lie to you, Sarah,” he said as those piercing eyes seemed to, once again, look through her. “I not a serial killer. But I have killed before. It’s what I do for a living.” He turned back to his cooking as he sautéed the garlic and some olive oil in a pan.

“Why me then? Why the whole horse thing?” she asked and could feel the tears in her eyes and the fear in her heart causing her voice to hitch in her throat.

“I no discuss that anymore,” he abruptly said. “We eat, talk about something different,” he ordered; and, this time when he turned around, there was no lighthearted look in his eyes.

He half threw the plates of pasta on the table and grabbed a bottle of wine and a few glasses.

“I’m not hungry,” she said still sniffling some and trying to push the plate of food away.

He shrugged and sat down at the table as he poured two glasses of wine for them. “That your choice,” he said as if discussing the weather. “Then you go hungry, I not care. But if you have not eaten in three meals, I will tie you up, put tube down you throat, and force feed you. Is your choice,” he casually said and began to thoroughly enjoy his pasta.

Sarah just shuddered, pulled the plate back towards her, and began to pick and slowly eat the pasta and drink the wine.

“You see? I very easy to get along with,” he nodded and then neither of them said anything else the rest of the meal.

This small place must have been an old hunting shack; it had two small rooms and a small, dingy bathroom. In one room he had set up a mattress on the floor for her and some fresh bedding. She noticed he had installed several strong beams and 2 x 4’s which had strong eyebolts in them. That night he took several sets of restraints and bound her wrists and ankles. She dared not resist him. She already knew what he was capable of doing to her if she pissed him off. This was not cheap bondage equipment but strong restraints like the kind used in prisons and mental hospitals. Each restraint had a strong padlock that prevented it from opening, and he threaded a thick chain through the restraints and into the eyebolts on the floor. The kind of logging chains used to tether strong pit bulls.

“Good night, bella Sarah,” he said almost kindly as he pulled a blanket around her and gently let one hand trail against her shoulder. “You be good girl and get sleep. Tomorrow is going to be long day.” And then her kidnapper simply dimmed the lights and left, locking and bolting the door behind him.

That night he stayed up late in the living room just to make sure she would indeed settle down and not do something stupid to hurt herself. But he could not hear her; she was quiet as a mouse.

A smile crossed his lips again as he sat on the couch and began to take out and put together the various harnesses and bridles for human ponies that he had bought from a local adult shop. He enjoyed the feel of the leather and buckles beneath his hands as he opened a jar of mink oil and saddle soap and began the tedious work of softening and ‘seasoning’ the leather just as one would do with real horse equipment. After all, one did not want the leather to rub and cause wounds in the skin of their steed. Instead of the large rubber bit, he had actually gone to a tack shop and purchased a lot of items that would be used on real horses especially since they made bits and reins and other items much sturdier and in sizes even for miniature horses. He had gotten a sweet snaffle bit made of a softer polymer wrapped around the metal that would be thinner and much gentler on her mouth. He replaced many of the straps and reins with the genuine articles meant for horses.

Finally, satisfied with his things in order, Furio turned out the lights and went to the next room to get some sleep himself.

 

She had been awakened early by the sounds of him padding around the small cabin and the smells of coffee brewing and bacon cooking. She had to take a piss badly, but she was going nowhere until her kidnapper decided to come in here and release her. After awhile, she grew restless and rattled the thick chains a bit; and, sure enough, he unlocked the door and entered the room.

“Buon giorno, bella Sarah.” He smiled in a friendly way as if the two of them were old friends. She noticed he was dressed much more casually today than she had seen him before. He wore a pair of well fitted, faded black denim jeans, a very tight black T-shirt with a grey flannel shirt over it, and a pair of hiking boots. Much the same type outfit she wore when she would work with horses. Today, his hair was down and loose around his neck and shoulders; and, while it softened his harsh look, it didn’t make him any less intimidating especially because of his size and muscular strength.

“Come, I untie you.” He swiftly knelt down and skillfully unshackled her in a matter of moments. “I am sure you need to use bathroom, and I have breakfast going for us.”

He motioned her to her feet, and she stood there, watching him warily. “Now listen to me,” he said, his eyes taking on their dark look whenever he used his serious tone. “I want you to take off clothes and put on what I have bought you to wear. I am being nice in giving you the, how you say, dignity of doing this yourself because you have been good girl so far. But if you not follow my orders, I will rip off you clothes and dress you personally, and you not like that.”

He reached outside the door and tossed a bag of clothing on the mattress near her. “You put you old clothing in there. Anything you wear from now on is what I give you. You understand, eh?”

Sarah nodded her understanding, which seemed to please him. Taking the bag, she walked into the bathroom to take her morning piss and do her morning hygiene. She could see he had already bought a brand new toothbrush and other things for her, and it began to occur to her that this was no spur of the moment thing. He obviously had been planning this a long time. She looked in the bag and saw that the ‘outfit’ he had in there was nothing more than a sports bra and bicycle or jogging shorts. She groaned inwardly knowing her body was pretty much going to be on full display for him; it was like walking around in her underwear. Although she was at least grateful he was giving her something to wear. She followed his instructions and dumped her old clothes in the bag and walked out barefoot in just the grey sports top that barely covered just her tits and the tight grey spandex shorts.

She stood in the kitchen and could not even meet his eyes. She could feel him taking her all in.

“Why so shy?” he asked as he placed food on the table. “You have very beautiful body, Bellissima.” He smiled and made the standard Italian gesture of kissing his fingers and looking at her appreciatively. “It shows you strong muscles, the womanly curves of you. And for what you will be doing soon, it will be comfortable and practical outfit, trust me, eh.”

After breakfast, he motioned her into the living room and, once again, picked up the collar and faced her. “You remember what we discussed yesterday. What the rules are? Once this on, you are horse. No talking, no using your hands as a human would.”

She shivered a bit at his simple restating of the rules, remembering what his ‘light rebuke’ of her had been, and she certainly didn’t want to earn ‘strike two or three’.

“Ah, but you see,” he continued as his eyes got that inner spark in them, “I know you mad at me, afraid of whole situation. Express it as a horse would. Yesterday, at one point, I sensed you so mad you want to kick me, yes?”

Sarah blushed and could not even look at him at that point. Was she so easy to read? Indeed, she had wanted to kick him.

“You will not be punished for acting like horse, Sarah,” he said clearly but succinctly. “True, I tame you and train you, but I would not beat shit out of horse that was frightened or angry, and I not do that to you as long as you act as you should. As a cavalla.”

She glanced up at him then. Was he giving her permission to fight him, to do whatever, but on his terms?

“Yes, now you understanding,” he nodded. “I know you are a very, very smart woman. Use that intelligence, eh?”  He put down the collar and pulled some other items out of a box. They looked like ankle splints and other strange items, some of them involving chains and more restraints. “Today, I want these on fast with no fuss, so I put these on before I put you collar on. Come and stand here and be good girl; otherwise, I get mad.” He motioned her to stand before him.

Obediently, she walked over to him and stood with her shoulders drooping as he began to deftly put the ankle supports on her legs, a pair of very light, flat soled sneakers and then began to put on a series of straps that resembled a harness. Two straps went over her shoulders, one thick one around her waist, which indeed looked like a harness, built for a human. There were series of buckles and “D” rings on the harness at various locations, just like on a horse harness.

“This just a light, training harness. Like what you call, lunging harness,” he explained as his large fingers expertly strapped the contraption on her. She noted that he was very careful and instinctual in making sure no straps were crossed, turned, or digging into her. The final items were two wrist restraints that were lighter than the heavy duty ones in her bedroom. These he threaded about a foot of light chain and then attached the chain to the part of the harness around her waist. Now her hands were rendered much more useless. She could use her arms for balance but could not reach up any higher than her own elbows.

  “Very good.” A quick smiled thinned his lips as he seemed satisfied with his work. “Now…” he picked up the lead rope and collar, “let us see how trusting you are from yesterday, eh?” He deftly put on just the collar and then stood back with the lead rope in his hand; and, once again, at that point, he stopped speaking to her in English and spoke only in Italian.

She expected him to close in on her and just snap the lead rope on, but he didn’t. In fact, he just backed out of her space and watched her, occasionally speaking to her in his foreign tongue. She just stood there staring at him; and, after a few moments, he began to slowly circle to the left of her, keeping a distance of around five feet, the lead rope held loose and low in his hand as if he wasn’t even going to use it.

As soon as he turned, so did she, keeping him in her sight at all times. Occasionally, he would come in a step or two closer; and, if he did, she backed up. With a smile, he would back off again and seemed to repeat the whole crazy circling game. She had already figured out that the strange word ‘calmarsi’ was some kind of soothing word, probably meaning “easy” or to be calm.

He came in close again, with confidence and steadiness, the lead rope held loosely at his side. ‘Okay, he wants a horse,’ she angrily thought, ‘I’ll give him one.’ With a harsh squeal, she lunged forward at him, teeth bared, fully prepared to kick the shit out of him and bite him if she could.

Sure enough, he easily moved off to the side of her attack as easily as a matador avoids an angry bull. She fully expected to see him angry or disappointed, but he was not; in fact, his eyes seemed alive with delight at her angry fire. She charged him again; but this time, he swung the lead rope and it gave her ass a quick, stinging lash. Not cruelly, but just as one would rebuke a feisty horse that knew better. “Ah, cattiva!” he chided her.

Now he did move in slowly, and she wanted no more swats with the lead rope, so she backed off from him. ‘Oh geeze, I am even responding like a horse!’ her mind shivered, for she was certain this was exactly what he wanted. Once again she found herself pinned back against the wall with nowhere to go. But this time, he stayed around five feet in front of her, again his voice soothing, gentle. He made a gentle whistle and held out his hand towards her. She didn’t move. Instead, she just stayed against the wall and trembled.

He moved in closer, close enough that he could reach up and touch her and that is exactly what he did. Again he caressed her, soothed her, gentled her with his touch and voice. He bought the lead rope up and gently let it brush against her, but still he did not snap it onto her. Instead, his fingers kept soothing her, touching her lightly on her neck and shoulders as he continued his soothing banter. He smiled and took a large step back and, again, held his hand out to her.

At first, she stayed pressed against the wall trembling with fear and humiliation. It seemed like hours she stood there; but, yet, he did not move a muscle. Still he kept talking to her in a steady voice, which was almost forcing her into a state of drowsy calmness. Finally, she turned her head and looked at him full on. Studied him as she did that first day they had met, the strong lines and angles of his face, the blue-grey eyes, and the now familiar scent of him.

Still his hand just remained out palm up towards her as if he was offering his hand to her in friendship.

Finally, slowly, ever so slowly, she unpeeled herself from against the wall and took a hesitant step towards him. The warm smile he flashed her nearly shook her to her core.

“Si, molto bene, cavalla,” he crooned softly and then took another step back. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out another cube of sugar and held it out to her. He was going to make her come to him. She wanted to groan inwardly at his turning her into exactly what he wanted; but, instead, she did what she knew would not get her in trouble. She snorted fiercely at him, just like an exasperated horse. A part of her was dying to know just exactly what it was he kept going on and on about in Italian, but a part of her didn’t really care. She was focused more on the tone and sound of his deep but soothing voice.

After a few more minutes, she took another step towards him; and, once again, he took a step back. They repeated this motion until he finally had her back in the center of the small living room. Finally she stepped up to him, and he didn’t retreat back; instead, he allowed her to gently take the cube of sugar from his smooth hand, and he rewarded her by caressing the back of her neck. Quickly, without her even realizing it, he had snapped on the lead rope. He chuckled lightly and then patted her on the back, and he began to lead her to the front door.

Her heart began to slam within her chest. What game was he playing? Would she be able to escape? Could she escape? As he opened the door and led her outside, the first thing she noticed was that they seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. All around them were thick woods with just a single disused rutted and overgrown dirt road that lead up to the place. She noticed a small car parked near the back of the building and what appeared to be some long disused and rusted dog kennels out near the back. But what he was leading her to was even more shocking; it was a smaller version of a horse pen. It was the only thing that looked fairly recent. The white gleaming fences stood five feet high with evenly spaced slats. Even the footing inside was the same used in horse arenas, the soft sand/dirt mix she was so used to. The whole thing was a thirty foot circular pen with a single large gate on it.

She balked for just an instant, her mind spinning with indecision. Should she risk fighting him? Should she try and yank the rope from his grasp and run or maybe just try and jump on him and wrap the lead rope around his neck and choke him to death.

He paused and turned around so he was once again fully facing her. This time there was no humor in his eyes, no lighthearted look. In fact, she felt the opposite, the look he was giving her was the same one he had given that homeless drunk that day, a look of implied malevolence and his total control and domination of her. He whispered something in the lowest of tones in Italian, and he just briefly moved aside his flannel shirt revealing the butt of the 9mm Beretta pistol tucked into a shoulder holster. “No even try it,” he said in English. And then confidently turned his back to her and resumed opening the gate.

Her body trembled, and she thought, for a moment, her feet would go out from under her as she swayed from fear. She knew at that point that he was fully capable and prepared to do her grievous bodily harm if she ever tried to escape or harm him. She knew it with dread certainty then that he was exactly what he had said, some kind of professional hitman or mobster; but, either way, he was not a man who would be fooled nor defeated in any kind of escape attempt. And even worse, he seemed to always know exactly what was on her mind as though he was two steps ahead of her. Nothing ever got past those penetrating eyes of his.

At least Furio was back to speaking in Italian and in a calmer, soothing tone as he led her in and secured the gate. She decided she was going to play nicely by his rules. Once again, he walked up to her and briefly caressed her as though soothing away her dark thoughts, getting her centered back on the here and now, centering her thoughts back on him, her trainer.

This time, as her body trembled at first, she actually leaned in towards him, and her head nuzzled in against his chest as though she was seeking solace, wanting to see the lighthearted side of him again and not the dangerous Furio.

“Shhh, shhh,” he soothed her and caressed her warmly. Again, he fed her a few cubes of sugar that she accepted gently from his fingers. As he had been caressing her, she had not even noticed he had deftly unsnapped the lead rope until he stepped back from her. Again with a playful gleam in his eyes.

For the next hour, they worked outside, and he literally taught her to come to him through motions and the sound of his voice, or he would send her out along the rail at a trot or canter. Soon, as soon as he whistled, she would come over to him to be rewarded by a quick pat or soft caress.

Finally, he picked up a long 50’ lead line and a large buggy whip. She knew exactly what these items were! They were used for lunging or exercising a horse.

While the whip looked scary, it was never normally used on the horse except for either a very light flick at its heels or maybe to crack it in the air to get the horse going. It was more for giving directions than punishment. At least she hoped and prayed he would not be using it to beat her with.

He sent her out along the rail and, indeed, he lunged her, having her walk, trot, and even canter. He was being nice to her and very patient while she learned. Her human brain was indeed able to begin to learn the individual commands in Italian. If he said “passo” it meant to walk, “trotto” was a trot, and “galoppo” meant a canter.

Within half an hour of his workout with her, she was breathing hard and was coated in a sheen of sweat. She was really beginning to feel she was worn out, but her trainer was a step ahead of her and was already gently reeling her into the center of the ring. Using a dry cloth, he rubbed her down as he spoke warm words of praise to her. “Molto bene, cavalla,” he smiled at her and patted her gently.

Thankfully, he had indeed treated and trained her as one would a real horse:  fairly, firmly, and with consistency. If she did mess up and stumble or get a gait wrong, he would patiently correct her with his voice or let her mind work out the solution. He switched out lead ropes and led her out of the pen and back inside the house. She glanced one more time at the beautiful freedom outside but made no moves of resistance or balking.

Carefully, he unhooked the leather training harness from her body and tossed it gently on the couch. He gathered a few more clothes and a brush and led her back towards her bedroom. Once there, he gave her a new command that she had never heard him use.

“Giu,” he simply said and began a slow steady downward pull on the lead rope. To her ears, the word sounded like “Jew”. She was uncertain of what he wanted, but he kept that steady pressure pulling her downwards. “Giu, abbassarsi,” he said soothingly. She had no choice but to start dropping down to her knees as he was pulling her downwards. At first, she was confused and simply sat down, but he gave her a sharp, “No!” and guided her onto her hands and knees so she was on all fours. He quickly threaded the lead rope through one of the large bolt rings, so she would have no choice but to either stay on all fours or lay down.

He patted her shoulder and kneeled down next to her and began to rub her down with the towels. After a few moments, she felt his strong fingers taking off the sports bra and then working to take off her shorts and that is when she panicked. “What is this crazy Italian doing now?!” Her mind screamed. “Is he going to rape me?”

In terror, she lurched forward trying to kick out with her legs nearly tangling herself in the rope. She hit the end of the lead rope and nearly snapped her own neck with the force of her terror. He quickly wrapped his arm around her neck and the other around her waist holding her stock still as if she had been cemented in place. His sheer strength and power stunned her and made her feel truly and utterly helpless.

“Shhh, shhh,” he soothed in her ear, his face nearly up against hers. “I no going to hurt you,” he spoke briefly in English and then switched back to his “calmarsi” in Italian.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to ease up from his unbending hold when he saw she wouldn’t be fighting. She stood there on all fours, naked and trembling, wondering just what in the world he was up to.

He slowly got another towel and some type of bottle and moved slowly back to her side. Once again he began to softly towel her dry, letting the towel move casually over her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, and her inner legs. Again it was not done lewdly but efficiently. After that he took the bottle and opened it, pouring some of the contents on her bare back. Still kneeling next to her, his strong hands began to rub the warm, sweet almond oil into her skin as he rewarded her with a soothing massage to relax her muscles from her earlier workout.

 

He could see her trembling at his touch at first, could sense her fear. Still he kept speaking to her soothingly, softly. “You did so well, my little horse. I am only rewarding you. Easy, be easy,” he spoke in his native tongue to her. His eyes took in her naked body, and he could not help but feel the fire that roared deep inside of him. So badly he had wanted this for so many years, but he knew he had to move slowly; if he moved to fast, he would ruin her, make her far too fearful of him. He wanted her trust, her obedience, but also wanted her fiery spirit intact.

She was so lovely, so beautiful, the soft curve of her strong back, the powerful hips, the strong muscles in her shoulders. He was fighting his own inner battle, and he was finding it very hard, indeed, to keep control. Still he kept concentrating on massaging the oil on her back, her legs, and down her arms. At one point, he was half leaned atop her back, and he knew he could hold out no longer. He wanted to wait and train her some more before he rode her, but he had to get astride her. He had to feed that desire that had consumed him so long ago. “Easy, my little one, easy. My beautiful little mare,” he soothed, but he could feel his voice groaning with want and even arousal. He knew she couldn’t understand what he was speaking to her, but he also knew she was listening to him; he could feel the tension between them like the pause before a sudden summer thunderstorm.

He stood up and swung one leg over her back so he was standing astride her. Immediately, she pulled back on the lead rope, panicking just as an unbroken horse would. He placed his hands on her shoulders, “steady, steady, my horse,” he calmed her.

“I’m just going to ride you, it will be okay, I just want to feel you,” he continued speaking in Italian. Her body trembled briefly, but she quickly soothed under his voice, snorting a bit, pawing a bit nervously.

Slowly, he began to lower himself onto her back. At first, when she seemed to realize what he was about to do, she tensed and looked like she might panic, but his voice steadied her, and he gripped her hair as one would a mane on a horse, giving her a quiet sense of his command over her. “Easy, mare, easy. I just want to sit on you for a little bit, that’s all,” he crooned gently as he now began to allow his full weight to rest on her back. At first he kept his feet on the ground in case she collapsed or hit the floor in panic, but she didn’t. In fact, he could feel her muscles beginning to tighten as they felt his weight on him.

“Good girl, very good.” He released her hair and now slowly began to pick his feet up off the floor. He could feel her back bend beneath his 185 lbs, and he could feel his cock raging with arousal as it strained within the confines of his jeans. His own breathing was now ragged as he placed both hands on her shoulders and allowed himself to sit fully and deeply on his small horse. ‘Oh, sweet Madonna, how he had wanted this, to be doing this, to be riding his own human pony.’ Just this simple act of sitting astride her naked body was driving him crazy with arousal. He knew she could feel the hard bulge of his arousal as it was pressed against her spine, and that she could feel the raging heat of his body as he sat astride her feeling her muscles easily supporting him, the strength of her, the spirit of her. Unconsciously, he completely picked up his legs so his knees were almost pointed downwards, and he began to grind himself a bit in that sexy curve of her spine.

She snorted and shifted for a moment, and her head swung around and looked at him. Their eyes locked; and, like so long ago in Avellino, Italy, he could tell that she knew intimately that he was aroused. It was almost like her eyes looked at him with a look of playful spirit, and then she allowed her back to relax even more allowing his weight to fully sink into her, and his cock to grind right up along her spine.

He began rocking and grinding on her back again, slowly, ever so slowly at first. He did not want this moment to end in thirty seconds flat. He felt her brace beneath him, and he thanked her and continued to talk to her in Italian. “That’s it, my sweet, sexy mare, be a good girl. Furio just wants to ride you a little bit. You are such a good girl, so good; I will take such good care of you. Just be steady for me, my beautiful one.”  His voice was rough and harsh but this time with arousal, want, and lust, not anger.

He could not control the fire that raged inside him any longer. Unzipping his fly, he pulled out his hard cock and allowed it to rest against the smooth skin of her back. Already he could see some pre-cum leaking onto the hard muscular back beneath him that was supporting his weight. ‘Yes!’ he thought as the fire consumed him, and he leaned forward allowing his cock to settle onto the groove of her back. Now he began to grind and rock harshly against her, his weight driving into her back as he ground and masturbated himself atop her. Again she cooperated with him fully and allowed her back to bend oh so very tantalizingly, allowing his cock maximum contact with her back as his ass rode and pumped on her.

“Feel me, my little one,” he growled at her. “Feel how aroused you make your rider!”

He could feel his balls tightening as his cum began to shoot out against her back, the massage oil and his own cum acting as a hot lubricant as he ground and rode and pumped on her bare back. Still he kept pumping and rocking on her until he thought he would go mad from the intense pleasure and sensitivity from his cock grinding against her, the feel of her between his thighs. He clenched his thighs hard against her as the last of his orgasm washed over him; his breathing came in ragged gasps in his powerful chest. Still he just sat there on her, sat there feeling his dominance over her, feeling the special bridge they had gapped, and also feeling pleased at the gift she had given him. He had not been wrong in his assessment of her at all! A part of him wanted to sit astride her until she could no longer hold his weight and collapsed beneath him fully broken and dominated, but his more rational half knew that he had a special treasure with this one. Now he would care for her, clean her. He would ride her again; only next time, there would be no jeans in the way. He would ride astride her back naked and be able to give in fully to every sense of arousal between them.

Using one of the towels, he cleaned off the front of his jeans and her back. Then tucking his cock back in his pants and zipping his fly, he finally got off her and stood up. He kneeled next to her and cupped her head in his hand, as his other hand caressed her gently. “Molto bene, mia cavalla.” He smiled at her. “Bravissima.” He gave her a quick pat on the shoulder, and his strong fingers began to take off the collar from her neck.

 

Sarah stood there on all fours as she felt him take off the collar and lead rope. Her mind was swirling in a hundred different directions. At first, when she had been kidnapped, she wasn’t sure WHAT to expect out of this strange man who she knew could be a cruel killer if he wanted. What was he going to do to her? Beat her? Rape her? Murder her? When he first told her he wanted her to be his ‘horse’, she still didn’t understand for certain the why of it. But after what just happened with her and Furio, it finally dawned on her. This whole thing was totally arousing for him, to have a female and treat her as a horse, to train her; and then, when he got astride her back for the first time, she could feel his want and need as clearly as if they had been speaking telepathically.

She knew he liked real horses; he knew how to train them, take care of them, and ride them, but he certainly wasn’t sexually aroused by them. But to have a human female to act in the same role, someone who could understand the sexual tension and nature of the desire and fetish was totally different. A real horse could never comprehend or understand a human becoming ‘aroused’ over it, but a human could and would know. And that simple act of knowing, sharing, and complying was arousing in itself.

When he had been astride her back, growling at her in Italian in that lustful way, and they had locked gazes, she knew then, truly knew, he would not rape her or harm her. So far, he had been totally upfront and honest in everything he had said or ordered. So she decided to give him exactly what she felt he wanted. She had heard of human ‘pony play’ before, and she had been mildly curious. Now, she understood it; and, at that moment, she gave Furio her gift of truly understanding and sharing it with him. A part of her own soul had been just as aroused in knowing that he was getting off on her body, that she was causing these feelings of passion within him. And it had felt so damn hot when he had rode and pumped on her back, cumming on her. A part of her craved his dominance and control over her as well as his tender understanding and patient training methods.