Saddled (The Stables Trilogy #3) (6 page)

It was beginning, she realized. The change. Like her very DNA was going to rewrite itself.

She’d been able to come with J.B.’s help, but without needing a large dose of pain to accompany it. It had still been an element, between her scraped body and his fist in her hair. But that was minor. That wasn’t the punching, slapping, slicing pain she’d needed previously.

It was just him, and, well, thinking of herself as a pony. As different. Maple the horse wasn’t Maple the broken girl.

Lunch came later. This time it was Mariela who delivered it. She refused to look at Maple, storming in and slopping some oats mixed with fruit and nuts into the trough.

The warmth of the food filled her belly and made her eyes heavy. She crept onto her pallet and pulled the blanket over her.

Maple hadn’t been sure she could sleep with the tail inside, but she quickly dozed off, warm and feeling more content than she had in a long time.

Chapter Eight

It was dark in the stable when J.B. returned. The light flicked on, and Maple had to shield her eyes as they adjusted. Her nap had turned into the entire afternoon.

The others didn’t look as well rested. In fact, they looked miserable.

“Okay, ponies, this is how it works. I train you one by one. When I’m finished, I’ll groom you and lead you back to your stall. You’re finished when your tail comes out. Lexy, let’s go,” he snapped, walking into her stall.

Maple could hear him dressing her. In her mind’s eye she pictured it. Bit. Bridle. Body harness.

He led her out by reins. It wasn’t smooth. J.B. was practically dragging her. Tears were already streaming down Lexy’s face, and he had barely started.

Maple joined the other interested ponies, each looking out her stall, eager to see what would happen.

“When you are a show pony, I expect your carriage to be immaculate at all times. We’ll practice with a bar first, and if you earn it, I’ll remove it.” To emphasize this, he grabbed a thin, metal bar. It sat flush with Lexy’s lower back. J.B. pulled her arms behind, fitting each over the metal so that the bar was hooked in the elbow.

Lexy’s lower back was forced to arch to accommodate the severe stretch across her chest. He fit her wrists with cuffs that linked together in front of her, pinning her arms tight. Lexy’s shoulders were taut, the skin smoothed tight over staining muscle. Her breasts were jutting out, nipples tight and on display.

“This is how you should strive to look in my presence at all times.”

He grabbed a crop. It’s slip of leather dragged softly down Lexy, beginning at her chin. “Chin up, eyes forward.” He feathered it across her collarbones. “Shoulders back, tits out.” With this, he lightly slapped each of her nipples. Lexy gasped, and her knees quivered. This earned her a stronger lash. “No! At
all fucking times
, Lexy!”

She nodded.

Another lash, even harder, on her stomach. Angry pink bloomed on her skin. But she was a quick learner. Lexy bit her lip but didn’t move, accepting the chastisement. “Good girl,” he murmured.

The lesson continued. “Arched back, rump out. Legs straight and long. This is how a proper pony looks.”

Despite her discomfort and obvious distress, Lexy’s face softened and she looked pleased.

That is, until the walking lessons began.

Maple stopped watching. She’d seen this before. Instead, she leaned against the wall of her stall to wait her turn.

The bar was in place. Her body was terribly uncomfortable. The sharp arch of her back felt unnatural, while her shoulders were already screaming at her.

Maple loved all of it. She was too familiar with pain for it to distract her. J.B. had been right about the tail, too. It was startling how quickly her body adjusted. The steel had warmed to her inner temperature. Now she still felt its weighted presence, but it didn’t feel as foreign. Her body had long ago exhausted trying to push it out.

“Lovely, Maple,” J.B. murmured as she held her body erect. She flushed with pride. How could he be so against this?

When she sought his gaze, she earned a flick to her nipple. Pain lanced through and it tightened into a bud, as if hiding from the next hit. “Ponies look forward, Maple.”

“Walk.”

It wasn’t fair that Maple had previous knowledge, but it was what it was. Her knee popped up first, then her foot swung robotically out before stamping down a little in front. “Nice,” he encouraged.” She took another step.

He walked her up and down twice. She only earned one mild slap for a turn.

Eager for more, she held herself at the end with as much dignity as she could muster.

“That’s good for tonight, Maple.” He gripped her reins and pulled her toward the grooming area.

Maple pouted. She had hoped for more time with J.B.

In the grooming area, he turned on the water and waited for it to heat up.

Maple hadn’t realized how difficult it was to not be able to speak to him. Her mind was racing with things from the day. Sensations, lessons, questions; all of these whirled in her mind but were cut short in her throat. Maple wouldn’t allow them to escape. 

She wanted to hear him, too. What did he think of her, and how had she done? What did he think about the other girls? Who would make it, and who might be held back for another round at auction time?

It was funny, she mused. Neither of them had been talkers before. Maple had been too comfortable in her small and fragile shell, carefully constructing walls to bury herself within. J.B., too, was more the silent sexy type than conversationalist. Yet they could talk so freely about art, and after yesterday…

They’d exposed so much of themselves, and resolved so little. Now it felt complicated, like they’d cemented their relationship while also ripping it apart.

J.B. eased her out of her tack. The dull ache in her jaw eased as the bit slid out from between her teeth. Rubber, she knew from horrible experience, was superior to metal and she was grateful that’s what J.B. used. She tried to relax the muscles of her jaw and neck as he unbuckled her harness, slipping the buttery leather off.

The sense of freedom was immense. On the physical level, she didn’t feel that much different. But internally, each bit of tack that he removed was like shaving off a layer of pony to reveal the woman underneath.

The tack, it turned out, wasn’t just for show. It was what aided in creating the subspace she needed, that place inside of herself where she could let go. Become. In the subspace, her body responded before her mind. It was a place that was animal. Base.

A pony.

Don’t be stupid, Maple. It’s only the first day. You’ve barely begun to understand
.

But was her criticism true? She wondered as J.B. eased her forward and began to work out the tail. The tugging sensations forced her to close her eyes. She wouldn’t come, not twice. Her body was on automatic, out of her control. It
wasn’t
fair to think she was ready for the mindset for J.B.’s training.

She’d been through training before, with Tony. This was different. Pain was there, yes, but it was mostly subtle in comparison to the way J.B. encouraged them, his gentle prods and easy praise. But with both experiences, the fear/pain and the praise/care, she still fell rapidly into the space that was eager to please.

Speaking of care…

Being groomed was her first time truly experiencing the care that J.B. had told her about. The water was hot and he began to gently hose down her body. The water ran in rivulets as he guided it over her naked skin, feeling much like a caress.

It was heaven after the chill of the stable and warmed her worn and sore muscles and joints. It sprayed through her hair, weighing it down. He shut off the water and grabbed the soap. Squirting liquid in his hands, he started with her neck and shoulders, his thumbs and fingers softly massaging the soap over her tensed body.

Each firm sweep of his hands helped her relax more. Dirt, grime, and sweat disappeared under his masterful touch. The sweet almond scent of it filled the air, and Maple allowed herself a tiny smile; that was her doing. She’d replaced all of his soaps, shampoos, and oils with high quality ones.

He’d obviously approved, because he’d kept her choices.

The soap he was now guiding under her arms, around to her breasts (
oh, God, it felt so good, his thumbs dragging over her hard nipples
) was sweet almond oil mixed with moisturizing goat’s milk. She’d chosen it because the smells were still rustic, barn-like, but it was the height of luxury for human skin.

His hands smoothed over her belly, her lower back, before sweeping between her legs.

Maple bit her lip to stifle the moan. His fingers worked quickly, roughly-- doing a job. But that’s how she loved being touched. Rough, impersonal, and she was already feeling aroused. J.B. seemed to purposefully avoid her clit, to her enormous frustration.

As he moved down her legs, leaving her aching with need, Maple remembered her first time grooming an old ponygirl. Kendra. How Kendra had used Maple’s hand and washcloth to grind out a quick climax.

It had embarrassed Maple, a deep stain of shame, partially because it had interested her so much. Now she understood. At the end of the day, while J.B. claimed he wasn’t training them in a sexual manner, it was a lie. Maybe not for him-- he did seem to keep his emotions under control. But for the ponies? The attention, the guidance, the constant
touch
, whether hand or crop?

It was sexual TNT. Dynamite.

Now, in the grooming area, as he cleaned her feet, massaging her heels and toes in the most luxurious way, Maple was more than primed for detonation. Her body was quaking, tiny tremors of desperation, needing his touch to set off release.

But he stood when he was done, rinsing the suds away and leaving her throbbing.

J.B. grabbed the shampoo, pouring a generous squirt directly onto her hair. His fingers rubbed it in. Maple saw his nostrils flare, the hard outline of his cock in his jeans, and closed her eyes.

“Pony’s don’t close their eyes,” J.B. admonished softly. He met his gaze. His face was tight, the lines and wrinkles heightened. In his thirties, the hard Texas sun had already sent him the same stern and ageless look of Clint Eastwood. It was divine, sexy and stoic. It betrayed so little emotion that when Maple saw the torture there, the struggle etched into his frown, she couldn’t help but to feel triumph mixing with her sadness.

She didn’t want him to feel so torn.

But she was happy he was.

Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the stupidest thing she’d ever agreed to.

It was pitch black in the stable when she was jerked from her dreams by the creak of her stall door opening.

Her blanket was ripped off, stunning her, freezing her body like a possum in headlights. Before she could cry out, a warm body crashed down on hers and a hand smothered her mouth. The skin was bare, it’s heat rubbing against hers, but the friction was far from enticing. Menace, cool and cruel, was radiating all around her.