It’s a large, flat brush.
Is that a…?
A horse brush. He’s teasing my clit with a fucking horse brush.
“Grooming is an important part of everyday life on the ranch,” he murmurs. “A fine, gentle brush is a must on the most sensitive areas.”
He pushes down the back collar of my shirt and his lips descend on my neck. His teeth immediately nip as well.
“Of course, you still have to apply pressure to make sure the job is done.” He begins to move the brush in circles over my clitoris and I jolt forward. The bristles are still somewhat rough and I can’t decide if it feels good or disturbing.
But the way he keeps nibbling on the back of my neck and whispering in my ear… and how his other hand has begun exploring at the lips of my pussy, a spasm rocks through my body.
“That’s right,” he whispers soothingly, his fingers teasing at my entrance, massaging and dipping just the littlest bit inside. “You’ll notice the mare start to respond to your touch when you’re grooming her just the way she likes.” He presses the brush hard against my bud and wetness gushes over his fingers.
“Grooming can be a sweet time of connection between Master and mare,” his teeth nip harder still, right at the skin behind my earlobe, which sends shivers up and down my entire body, “because she learns to trust that he knows just the way she likes to be stroked.”
He dips one of his long, thick fingers inside me. “Grooming, just like all of horsemanship, if you’re doing it right, should be about trust and pleasure, for both involved.” He pulls back with the brush until he’s applying the barest of touches and then he teases around and around my bud, then up and down, then around and around. I gasp and press forward for more pressure, but he pulls it away again, at the same time slipping another finger inside me.
And then both brush and his fingers disappear. My senses go on alert. I wait to hear the sound of his buckle and his pants being undone. Instead, I feel something at my entrance pressing in. I startle slightly and his hand comes to my back.
“Shh, girl, hold steady, you’re all right.”
What the hell? Did he undo his pants and I didn’t notice?
But when I look down and crane my neck so I can see between my legs, I see that it’s not any part of him sliding inside me. No, it’s some kind of wooden pole with a… is that a condom over it?
I jerk forward and it hits an awkward, uncomfortable angle.
“Steady,” he warns, his hand firm on my back.
But when I look behind me and I see that holy shit—he’s feeding the grip handle end of the fucking pitchfork inside me.
“What the fuck!”
“Language,” he snaps, eyes coming up to mine, a scowl on his face. “Trust and pleasure.”
“Well did you stick any farm implements up a fucking horse’s cooch?”
I get the eyebrow lift for that one. “No, I am not into bestiality.”
I breathe out heavily. That’s a relief, at least.
“Bend over,” he orders. “Eyes closed.”
I lift my eyes to the ceiling. Am I really going to… I mean, holy crap, this is just beyond—
“Over. Now.”
It’s not a req
uest.
I lean forward on the bench, propped on my elbows and squeeze my eyes shut.
“Good girl.” He pats my ass and then the pole continues its penetration.
My eyes flick nervously behind my eyelids. Those pitchforks were heavy. And he’s— I mean, he’s—