The Girl in The Window - Story Fragment

[imreadonly2]

Cardman wrote a wonderful sequel to The Girl in the Window, on Literotica, called "Out Of The Window." As I inspired him, he inspired me. Joe

The horse stalls at the Spinning Wheel Ranch are quite a bit less private than my Manhattan Penthouse. The stables were, I think, originally built for horses, or at least they look that way. The wooden gates are about 4 feet tall, so I could poke my head over the top, like a horse, if my collar wasn't chained to the metal pole that forms the back gate. I didn't mind the chain, actually, as I had enough slack to move all around the stall, and sleep in the straw in the near corner and poop and pee in the far corner. It was close to my feed bag, and my water trough, and best yet the bars were spaced far enough apart that I could masturbate myself by rubbing my snatch on the metal bars of my stall.

I was bridled, with my hands bound behind my back, with each wrist tied to the opposite elbow. It was pouring rain outside, and I heard one of the stable dudes talking about the remnants of a tropical storm blowing through, so today would be a lazy day off. Without anything to do, I passed the time by pleasuring myself on the metal bar, while remembering the shameful thrill of my time on the auction block. I imagined I was back at The Big D, with the auctioneer cracking the whip, rolling in the sand, winning my brand, trying to please the buyers.

"That's it, girl, show 'em the pink. Give it a good rub. What will ya' give me for some wet, hot, pink pastrami, fresh from the deli?"

I felt the whoosh from the whip crack as I rolled into the next required position, plastering a huge slave smile on my face as the men laughed, and the auctioneer mocked me.

CRACK!

"Now that's a fine bid. Do I hear ten more! Smile, girl. Show the buyers those pearly whites! Thank you, Sir, for that kind offer, but this is quality pussy, and I'll need more than that. Look up at the screen, gentlemen That's our little Princess at the New Yawk Met gala, where all the New York Billionaires show off their fancy clothes. Nice boobs, but here in Texas we know how to show off a heffer's titties. That's it, shake those titties, girl. Bet ya' when you squeeze her udders, champaign comes out."

"A fair price from the man in the cowboy hat. But do I hear more? Show the little lady how we deal with her sort here. Her billions aren't goin' save her pampered ass from the branding iron. It's already heatin' up, folks... Give me five more, and we'll get that ass of hers in the air."

CRACK!

"This girl's worth a fortune! Go ahead and spread those butt cheeks. Show everyone how tight your little piggy bank is. Wink it, so we can see if some gold coins drop out."

"And to think she had said that polishing was for the maid," her mother's voice said.

"Now you can see what she really is," a familiar male voice replied. "The auction block and the branding iron don't make a girl a pleasure slut, they just reveal who they are."

I was confused. My mom hadn't been at my auction. Indeed, she hadn't found out about my fantasies until after my enslavement, when she had, to my surprise, seemed to be highly amused by my enslavement. Why was she watching me humiliate myself on the block?

The answer appeared as I opened my eyes.

My mother stood a few feet in front of me, her elbows resting on the top of the gate, her chin resting on her hands, with a satisfied smirk on her face. The was dressed impeccably, as always: knee high black leather riding boots, skin tight white riding breaches, a white blouse, a formal green tailcoat with a tan collar, and our family coat of arms on the pocket. A matching green cap with a chin strap completed her impeccable ensemble.

The man standing to her left was, if anything, even more impeccably dressed. Lord Arthur Woolington was dressed for an English fox hunt, complete with top hat, ruffled white shirt, and red riding jacket. Although there was no smoking in the barn, I could smell the aroma of his pipe from several feet away. He was smiling at me too, but unlike my mother, who seemed amused, Lord Wellington's smile seemed satisfied.

Lord Wellington was a hateful man, and he and I both loathed one another. Mother and father sucked up to him because he was old money, and the vestige of an aristocracy that they were very much excluded from. He was always promising to get them membership in White's Club in London, although they always seemed to "just miss" in the voting. "Better luck next year, old sport. Try a bit harder not seem so... New York in the interview, perhaps?"

Bastard! I knew Lord Wellington, the child of long line of worthless, inherited wealth, resented my father's drive, ambition, and success. He told me as much when he got drunk at a party one night, and grabbed my ass, saying that "In the good old days, your father would have been my tailor, and I would have humped you out in the barn, with your ass in the straw, and your legs in the air. Let's check out that tight little purse of yours." Yet still my parents sought his approval. Oh, how I despised him.

My mother had placed a large umbrella with The Spinning Wheel logo inside my stall to dry, but it was Lord Woolington's accessory that caught my attention. It was a carriage whip, about 3 feet in length, with a polished silver handle with a horse head on the end.. He was holding in his right hand, and it was dangling into my stall, the wicked looking little tips of the "popper" almost touching the straw.

The stylish outfits of the two aristocrats watching me pleasure myself on the pole made me feel all more naked, a point driven home when mother observed. "I like the silver rings and brown leather of her bit gag and bridle. The brown matches her hair, and really brings out her eyes, particularly when her eyes are bulging out like that."

"Well, she was always something of a clothes horse," Lord Woolington observed dryly, eliciting a laugh from my mother. "Although I must confess that I like this outfit much more than her normal attire. For once she isn't overdressed."

"Why isn't she stopping?" my mother asked, directing the question at Lord Woolington and not at me. "I remember I walked in on her once when she was ticking her fancy with a vibrator, and she stopped instantly."

"She can't help it," Lord Woolington said. "Once she's in rut, she has to finish. Making her stop now would be like pulling two dogs apart."

It was true -- I was so into my fantasy and so close to cumming that I couldn't stop now. Or at least, I wouldn't. After all, they had seen me already, right? What was the harm in finishing? Nothing, probably, but it might be interesting to find out.

"You might want to pick up your left foot, girl," Lord Woolington suggested. You'll get more weight on your snatch, and polish the pole more smoothly.

Reluctantly, I lifted my foot, shifting my weight as my pole pressed against my hot, wet pussy. Damn him, but it did feel good. I was almost there... if only they weren't watching!

"That's it," he said, chuckling at my blush. "Give it a good rub. No need to be shy now."

"So much for rescuing her," my mother said with a chuckle. "It looks like she's having the time of her life. What's that jingling sound?"

"They belled her nipples," Lord Woolington explained. "It's a slightly different tone than the bells on her harness. Personally, I'd give her a nice nose ring, and bell that, so we could enjoy the music whenever the beast moves her head."

"I remember how very particular Natalie was about the music at her wedding, and the reception. Drove me crazy. How nice that she will now have music wherever she goes."

I could be "difficult", if having standards is difficult. I could tell my mother was taking an enormous amount of satisfaction in seeing me being taken down a peg. Their overly pleasant conversation was just distracting enough to keep me from coming. I rubbed harder, hoping to finish, and end my humiliation.

"It's hard for me to think of her as an animal," my mother said, "even if she is legally just livestock. Look at her drooling, and her nostrils flaring! Seeing her racing around a track suddenly doesn't seem that odd. And she certainly does seem to be enjoying polishing that pole."

"Of course," Lord Woolington said. "She no longer has to maintain the charade of being a well educated and proper lady. Sugar Snatch is free to show the world what she is: an animal in heat, ready to be put to stud. They have an excellent breeding program here."

Because of my bridle, and my training, my whimper came out as whiney, causing my mother to laugh.

"Do tell!" my mother said, looking at me with a mischievous look in her eye.

"So, do you want to be a grandmother?" Lord Woolington inquired.

"Do I ever," my mother said. "Of course Natalie needs to go back to school, and finish her education first. She keeps putting me off."

"Bosh!" Lord Woolington said. "Look at her. The only education this filly needs is the whip!" he said, raising the lash and shaking it for emphasis.

At the sight of the whip, I whimpered / whineyed as my bottom clenched at the threat, causing my mother to chuckle. "It does seem quite a bit less expense than Barnard," my mother conceded, clearly warming to the idea. Natalie is a handful. Less drama and more obedience would be a welcome change. And they certainly do seem to take good care of the ponies here. I wouldn't have to worry about what she's eating, or her being safe, or getting the proper exercise."

"Quite so," Lord Woolington agreed. "The Spinning Wheel is the best thing for her, no doubt about it. She's lucky to have a mother with the good sense to see it."

My mother nodded. She was quickly warming to the many advantages of keeping me belled and in harness. Reducing me to a cart pulling pony girl had gone from being a suitable punishment for all of the grief I had caused her to the perfect solution to all of my mothers concerns about me.

"Still, I did want to have a grandchild someday."

"Do it, then!", Lord Woolington said, as if he were ordering the maid to pour the tea. "She's obviously in rut. The girl needs to be put to stud right now, today, this minute. What on earth are you waiting for?"

My mother had baby rabies, and was constantly pestering me about a grandchild. The shame of being "put to stud" like a farm animal made me rub all the faster, even as the reality of it preventing me from climaxing. "My friends Lisa and Max adopted a black baby from Africa when their daughter got busy at her law firm," my mother observed, mulling the idea over. "She's always showing her off, her new little underprivileged baby to cuddle with. They've become quite the status symbol. Everyone is quite jealous. Bringing up a 3rd world child is the new Tesla."

"That's perfect," Lord Woolington said, tapping the top of the gate with the whip handle for emphasis. "We could breed Sugar Snatch with some big black studs. You'd have a black baby, that you and your husband could raise as your own."

"How would that work?" my mother asked. "You said studs? Plural? So, there wouldn't be one father?"

"No, of course not. "That's not how the do it here. No emotional attachments in animal husbandry. They'd bring in 2 or 3 studs, hood them, and her too, and then put her in the breeding stocks and get them humping. You could supervise, of course. When she'd been seeded, they'd hang her up by her heels, and keep her swinging back and forth, so the swimmers can do their work. Wash, rinse, repeat. They'd do it over-and-over, until she got knocked up. The slave vet, or one of the breeding experts, would make sure it was done right. Quite fun to watch actually, even if she isn't ovulating."

Impregnated like a dog or cat or pony, under the supervision of a slave vet. The disgraceful "fun" he was suggesting, and the thoughtful way my mother was actually considering the outrage, made me rub all the harder, even as it stopped me from coming. Lord Woolington, checking his watch, continued. "Actually, they are going to have a birth at 4PM, if you want to go over to the breeding barn. The 4H club manages the Pleasure Sluts. They are going to induce labor, and tie the girl down in her stall, with a bit in her teeth so she doesn't make too much noise. She'll birth right into the straw. Tickets are $3."

"Oh, I do have to see that. It's raining too hard to take her out in the carriage, anyway."

"Bosh!" Lord Woolington said. "The buggy is covered, and they'll tack her up in here. We'll stay dry as a bone."

"Yes, but it's so muddy!" my mother said. "I was slipping and sinking into the mud all the way over here. How will Natalie be able to pull the cart up and down the hills?"

"Sugar Snatch will have no problem with it, particularly after I introduce her bottom to my favorite whip!"

I whimpered as Lord Woolington flicked his wrist, causing the whip to CRACKLE in the air like a pistol shot. Seeing my reaction, Lord Woolington laughed, and CRACKED the whip again.

"See? Sugar Snatch may not be very bright, but she understands the whip. She'll understand it even better when I drive her up Horsewhip Hill, ha-ha!"

Lord Wellington turned to my mother. "You had better get going, my dear. It's almost 4, and you don't want to miss the fun. I'll look after Sugar Snatch while you watch the little slut make a mess in the straw. Bring back some pictures!"

Lord Woolington said nothing, but smiled at me as my mother left, playing with the end of the lash in his fat little fingers. When the door closed, he spoke.

"On your back, girl, in the straw, legs spread, feet in the air. Let's do it right now, with your legs wrapped around me, and your big branded ass wiggling in the straw. I know your sort are cheap, but let's see how tight and wet that purse of yours really is."

[jeepster]

Loved the back and forth in these stories by you two! Keep doing what you do!

[timerider]

Great story, another socialite on trail of decent. excellent.