Please help keep our
blog alive.
From only $3 a month
Hi Everyone
Today I have the complete delight of sharing our dear Skinnie Stallions continuation of his wonderful Stable Existence story.
As before I must point out that this is part of the bigger Andyverse of fiction and therefor does not follow the narrative of my art works.
That said, this is a super story well deserving of its place in the AndyVerse.
I have linked the previous parts below. and it will be completed next week.
Hope you enjoy this as much as do
Andy
XXX
But first three short but sweet clips. There is nothing to these but that I love them.
However Help! Help! Help!....Does anyone know where the first clip comes from because I would love to see more.
She just looks so hot and exhausted from her struggle
As a skater ,to me these are the perfect blend
Anyway, step aside people here come Skinnie Stallion
Previously
Orchid Dessert
By Skinnie Stallion
Part 1: Desert Stall
Andy shivered. His perspiration had long since evaporated but it was a different cold from the chilled air in his air conditioned stall. It was shiver from a deep sense of shame and embarrassment. The sling came to rest and its chains stopped jangling. “You, no happy Mees Andy?” asked the Shaykah.
“I’m sorry, your Highness,” mumbled Andy.
“You no worry about me. I enjoy myself. But no you. Why, Mees Andy?” enquired the Shaykah.
“I miss my Auntie,” replied Andy as the sling continued to sway gently. It was the only explanation he could find.
The Shaykah withdrew and looked down at Andy. “And Meestresz Aaliyah? You mizz Meestresz Aaliyah too?”
Andy raised his head slightly from the pillow on the sling so that he could look at the Shaykah causing it to begin swaying again and its chains to jangle. He looked a bit shamefaced: “Yes,” he admitted
“You liked Meestresz Aaliyah, didn’t you?” she said, wiping his bottom with first some tissue, then some wet-wipes, then tissue again.
“She reminded me of my Auntie.”
“You could for her.”
“Yes, your Highness.”
“But not for me.” The Shaykah looked sad. “Why not Mees Andy? Am I not pretty?”
Andy looked the Shaykah in the eye. “You’re very pretty, your Highness.” He was speaking the truth: the Shaykah was a beautiful lady. She smelt heavenly. Not like Jane or Mistress Aaliyah but she carried a rich, exotic scent. Admittedly, there was no aroma of latex nor leather: she wasn’t going to get that from a vintage Chanel suit. But she did look marvellous. It made it all the more confusing for him. Andy himself couldn’t understand his lack of response. He’d never had a problem like this. Never with Auntie. With Auntie, he’d never even needed manual assistance, even the very first time. His response had always been natural: a spontaneous eruption of pleasure whenever Jane decided his moment had come. (Privately, he’d always hoped that it would be same with Will. He wanted to be able to show his love for Will and how he felt about him. Auntie wouldn’t mind. In fact, he knew she’d approve and be proud of him. If only he could get that opportunity with Will. If there was ever going to be a first time? Probably not, he felt. Not now the Sisterhood had taken him and were content to trade him. And what were they doing with Jane?)
“Do I not excite you, Mees Andy?”
“You’re lovely your Highness. Honestly.” She was. She seemed sweet-natured and she looked divine. But he couldn’t respond to her like he did with Jane, or he had with Mistress Aaliyah. With Mistress Aaliyah, it had been especially intense. Perhaps it was knowing that he was going to be left again. That feeling of heartful longing and yearning knowing Mistress Aaliyah was leaving him in Dubai. Abandoned in the desert. Deserted. Perhaps she just wanted to give him a last special reward for winning his first competition in Dubai. Or perhaps it was just how much she knew he was in need.
“But you respond to Mistress Aaliyah, not me.”
“I’m sorry, your Highness.” Although he’d loved the relief from Mistress Aaliyah’s leather-gloved hand when he’d competed successfully in California, she’d made his final victory special. Very special. It had been so long. So long since he’d been with Jane. So long since he’d experienced that kind of intense pleasure. Months. Mistress Aaliyah knew what he’d been missing: the physical contact, the love, the passion. The submission. The abandonment to the will and command of a beautiful lady.
“What Meestresz Aaliyah do that I can’t?”
“Nothing, your Highness,” which was the truth. But if Andy hadn’t been wearing a rich foundation, the Shaykah would have seen him blush. It was how Mistress Aaliyah had treated him that made it special. Special, like Jane always made it special. Mistress Aaliyah had known how to tease and tantalise, stretching and popping him until he loosened and was ready. When to hold just inside his entrance and allow his anticipation to build to a yearning, desperate desire. She’d known when to go deep and give him long slow strokes. When to pause inside him, filling him to the fullest extent while she whispered words of affection and told him what she was going to do to him next. He’d always loved those moments with Jane. Jane made him understand that, at least for those moments, he was hers. She was inside him, filling him. She had him impaled so he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to move. He loved the intimate bond and being possessed by the woman he loved: the woman he’d always loved. She filled him with her passion. And he felt fulfilled like he never had with any other lover.
He was seduced by Mistress Aaliyah’s technique. Like Jane, she knew when to give him hard deep thrusts and make him squeal with that bizarre mix of pain, excitement and undiluted pleasure that came from being treated properly like a girl. How to make him feel like he was being ravished. And how to hold him on edge while she pleasured him, but also allow his shaking and quivering to reverberate back into her. She might have control of him but she could feel his pleasure too, together in perfect harmony. And she knew exactly how to hit the right spot. Repeatedly. A slow insistent massage, letting it build inside him. The right spot, when she was ready and he was ready, ready for the heights of ecstasy, ready for a fully submissive girl to release her goodness.
“What am I doing wrong, Mees Andy?”
Andy laid his head back on the pillow and shook it. The Shaykah could see he was in despair. “Nothing, your Highness.” The Shaykah’s technique might not be as polished as Mistress Aaliyah’s, or as tender and loving as Aunt Jane’s, but she knew what she was doing. She’d clearly had experience with girlfriends or maybe certain males in the household or in the stables. Jane had always known what he needed. She’d known when to withhold it too. He had to be good. Only if he was good would she give him the relief and the pure, unadulterated pleasure that he’d come to crave. Not the fleeting manual pleasures that he’d indulged in when he young and before Jane had considered him ready. Nor the manual pleasures that Mistress Aaliyah had rewarded him with after his victories.
“Do I need longer?”
“No, your Highness.”
“Do I need fatter?”
“Definitely not your Highness.” Wider did not necessarily mean better especially when it came to hitting the spot. It might be satisfying to feel filled, but for steady stimulation of the spot, diameter was less important that accuracy and rhythm. Although he and Jane had together tried wider, Jane said closer to the real thing was better, and that he was going to need to get used to that in any case. There was a reason the real thing was usually that size, she’d said. And she’d never failed. (He’d always hoped that Will never would either.) She always left him drained and satisfied.
“You want girl, Mees Andy? Would girl help you?”
“No, your Highness!” protested Andy. He knew those pleasures well, the more conventional pleasures that he’d had with girlfriends. Those times had been lovely, but they weren’t the same. Somehow his heart had never been in it. Even when he was performing, he often found his mind would drift to Jane. But not in that way. He knew that wouldn’t be right with Jane. He was Jane’s, not the other way.
“You no like girls?”
“Yes, I like girls. I love girls.” Those girlfriends at college had definitely liked him. Some had really liked him, maybe even loved him, but that strange detachment he felt meant that he never seemed to achieve the necessary level of passion with them. There was always Jane occupying his thoughts. He always stayed friends with his girlfriends but their relationships always just drifted into just that: friendship. Jane had waited until he was well through his time at college. She left him to get his experiences and find his preferences. She was happy for him to try the vanilla ways with his girlfriends; he’d even talked to her about them. He felt comfortable talking to Jane: they could talk about things that he’d never dream of discussing at home. She wanted him to understand his preferences.
“And ladies?” queried the Shaykah.
“Ladies even more than girls, your Highness. My Auntie is a real Lady, too.”
“What you mean Mees Andy: ‘real lady’? She not proper?”
“Oh, no. Not like that. I mean back in England she has a title. She was married to an English Lord, so she has the title ‘Lady’.”
“Like Lady Diana.”
“Yes, if you like. Not quite but similar.”
“She nice lady?”
“Yes, your Highness, she is nice. She’s more than nice, she’s lovely. She’s caring.” Only when he was experienced with girlfriends did Jane consider him ready. Ready to be taken to the next step and the next level.
“Do you not like being pony for me?” demanded the Shaykah. “You liked being pony for Meestresz Aaliyah.”
Andy raised his head again causing the chains supporting the sling in the breeding booth to rattle. “I like being a ponygirl. I didn’t at first, but Mistress Aaliyah trained me. I try to be a good pony.” He was conscious that at the moment his only concessions to equine appearance were his pony boots and his ears. The Shaykah was aware that he was hot in his corset after his turn on the manège. She’d removed it with his crotch strap and had even taken off his arm binder knowing he was unlikely to resist. It made it easier for him to get into the sling which she said would be more relaxing and comfortable than just bending over a rail. It also allowed him to hold on to the chains of the sling. It had been his first outing with the Shaykah. Since the competition and saying goodbye to Mistress Aaliyah, he’d largely slept in his stall for the last two days to recover: the journey and his jet lag, the tension of the competition had tired him and then the ministrations of Mistress Aaliyah had exhausted him.
“You liked being ridden by Meezstresz Aaliyah.”
“Yes, your Highness.” Andy felt ashamed. He felt he was letting his Aunt down, but it had been so long.
“Eet voz zo egziting zeeing her inside you, and zeeing ze pleasure you vere getting. She ride you a lot?”
“No. Not at all. After the gymkhana here was the first time.” He could tell the Shaykah was astonished. It looked like she was trying to raise her eyebrows but they stayed resolutely fixed. ‘Botox’, he thought. Auntie didn’t need Botox. After winning the competition, Mistress had let the Shaykah, as the proud owner, lead him on his reins from the paddock to the stalls. Mistress had then tethered him and simply bent him over a rail.
“Vot? Zat voz first time! You virgin? No!”
“No, not my first time, your Highness. The first time with Mistress Aaliyah. My Auntie used to look after me.” He’d loved the tenderness that Mistress Aaliyah had shown him. Not just when she’d ridden him but throughout his pony training. It had been like playing with Auntie. When he was younger, he’d always been able to reconcile the games he played in private with his Aunt with how he was in public. He enjoyed their make-up games when he was younger. He enjoyed playing dress-up as he got older. He knew other boys would call him a sissy if they knew about those games. But they didn’t need to know. It had been a such a short step to more adult games as he became more feminised. Games where he was Auntie’s girl.
“Really? But your rozettesz?”
“They were by hand.”
“Your hand?”
“No, Mistress Aaliyah’s.” Jane had never needed a hand. She preferred that his thing stay tucked away as much as possible since it spoilt his feminine lines. She accepted that he responded to affection in a certain way, but thought things needed to happen naturally, as they would for a girl. Jane wanted him to be her girl. Jane had convinced him to go out in public with her. At first it had just been just clothing: more feminine cut jeans and tops. Then it had been shifting his hair-style to a basic page-boy and then to a pixie bob. Curls and extensions only came late later when he started to go to her hairdresser. Then little dabs of make-up: just some eyeliner at first, then a light foundation, to a little mascara, a lip pencil, and then it was the full regalia. It was just a short move to wearing heels. Jane considered it pointless for him to be wearing make-up and not wearing heels: they improved the line of his jeans so much. It took time to build confidence but soon he was happy to wear latex or PVC. And then Jane had moved him on to dresses. Not maid’s dresses for wearing at her house, but proper dresses for wearing when they went out together. If he was going out by himself he could wear pants and heels. If he went out with her during the day, it could be pants and heels often matching pairs with hers. But in the evening, it was normally dresses. And normally latex. Heavenly polished latex. And if he was good, he would receive his reward. It hadn’t taken long for Andy to realise that he wanted to be good.
“But first time with Meestresz Aaliyah? Really?”
“Yes, your Highness.” And it was the first time in other ways. It was the first time Andy had performed like that in front of an audience. Mistress Aaliyah had wanted to show him off in all ways, not just in the showground arena. The first time with Mistress Aaliyah had been in the stall when the Shaykah was still with them. Chantelle might have seen Auntie kissing him and, while Auntie might occasionally have tethered him in a basket at the foot of her bed when she was with Chantelle as both punishment and education, Chantelle had never seen him and Auntie together. Not like that.
“But she no lube you?!”
“No, your Highness. I was already greased. Mistress Aaliyah made sure my tail was well lubricated before we went out into the paddock.” Mistress had ridden her pony without needing additional lube. He might have tightened initially, but that was just embarrassment at having the Shaykah, whom he’d only just met in the paddock, watching. But Mistress had whispered and calmed him, and had been very gentle. She reminded him it was all about giving her pleasure, and by the time of her first deep thrust he was lost in the moment. The smell of leather and latex intoxicated him. Her entry had been smooth. He found it comforting to have Mistress close to him and inside him. It was like being with Auntie. He felt exquisitely vulnerable bent forward in his heel-less pony boots. Only the rail and Mistress’s tight hold on the reins of his bridle prevented him from toppling forwards from her thrusts. Mistress had asked the Shaykah to hold his 1st place rosette for its ritual anointing. This time there had been no need for her leather gloved hand. Mistress Aaliyah hadn’t paused until his rosette was damp and glistening. The Shaykah had watched in awe. She had her owner’s trophy and something extra to show the Sheikh.
“But the first time?!”
“Yes, your Highness.” First it had been with the Shaykah observing as the proud owner. But Mistress had shown him off two more times that afternoon.
“And then for the Sheikh and the Sayid Mustaqirun.”
“Yes, your Highness.” He guessed that ‘Sayid Mustaqirun’ had to be the term for the stable master. Three times Mistress Aaliyah had made him perform: for the Shaykah, the Sheikh and the stable master. Three times she’d ridden him to heights of pleasure. Three times his eruption had been spontaneous and natural, although each time it took him a little longer to reach fulfilment. Each time he spurted less. Each time he thought he was spent until she started again with the next visitor. Each time it was if she wanted to make him happy and leave him exhausted. He’d certainly felt totally drained at the end, and it was no wonder he’d slept after she’d given him a final goodbye kiss.
“You like?”
“Yes, your Highness.’ He couldn’t deny, though it had been much more embarrassing to be ridden in front of men. Chantelle may never have watched, but he was never concerned that she knew. He was sure his mother knew about him and Jane but he was never worried. Mother knew he loved Jane and she loved him. It was only natural. But with Mistress Aaliyah it had been different. His affection for Mistress Aaliyah might have grown but it had been lust. A pony’s love for his Mistress. A pony’s lust for his Mistress. And men had seen that. A pony being ridden by his Mistress. A male pony. A pony submitting to his Mistress. A male pony responding to her ministrations. A male pony clearly enjoying being ridden. A helplessly submissive male pony unable to disguise his pleasure. After each ride, Mistress Aaliyah discussed his welfare and fertility with her visitor. She’d insisted on no harm coming to him: no tattoos, no piercings, no branding, no damage nor tears, no drugs, no hormones. Medical treatment and vaccinations allowed but only after consultation with The Sisterhood.
“Would it help if I use my hand while I ride you?” asked the Shaykah. “Do you need hand?”
“No, your Highness.”
“What am I doing wrong, Mees Andy?”
“I don’t know your Highness. Nothing. I don’t know,” and he burst into tears. It was all too much. He had lost Jane. Mistress Aaliyah had abandoned him in the desert. Men had watched him being ridden. And now he just felt weak and useless. All his energy had gone.
“There, there, Mees Andy,” she said patting him. . “This will be our little secret, Mees Andy. No need for the Sayid Mustaqirun to know. No need for Sheikh to know. At least not for now.”
“Thank you, your Highness.”
“But we can’t have you wasting anything.” She slipped a little metal device on him before helping him down from the sling. It wasn’t difficult with his softness and he didn’t resist. She put the key on a chain round her neck. “Let’s hope you improve.” She gave him a little kiss as he stood unsteadily in the stall, naked except for his corset, pony ears, pony boots, and bridle. She didn’t want the under-performance of the stable’s latest addition to reflect badly on her. She had to give him more time to acclimatise. It had to be tiredness, and maybe the desert air and the desert heat.
“Have a drink and some rest.” She led him across to kneel at the anatomical drinking spigot sticking out from the wall very similar to the one he’d grown used to sucking on in California. “Drink!” He pressed his tongue against the head and eagerly gulped down the cool water. “You suck so nicely, Mees Andy.” When he was refreshed tethered him and got him lie to down covered by a blanket. She’d instruct the Sayid Mustaqirun to keep him well fed and watered. He needed plenty of greens, avocado, pomegranate and eggs with his oats and carrots. No need for vitamin supplements if his diet was right. The stable-boys could look after him until her next visit.
Part 2: Desert Dreams
The next two weeks passed in a strange blur for Andy. He was exercised regularly during the day: an early morning tack-walk and trot with a couple of the stable-boys while it was cool and there were still traces of over-night dew on the sand of the paddock; a swim in a pool; long stints on a exercise bike and Nordic track. When he wasn’t feeding or being groomed, he spent the rest of his time curled up in his stall trying to sleep or watching strange soap operas and films on a little TV perched high up in his stall.
The stable-boys seemed just as caring and attentive as the stable girls had been back in California, and very focused on his welfare. Several times a day, they checked on him. They always came in pairs. They dressed and undressed him, they showered or hosed him, they shaved and depilated him, they made sure his device was secure, they did his hair, did his make-up, they checked his tail, they perfumed him, they made sure he was gagged except at feeding time. They were comfortable greasing and inserting his tail when he went out for his promenades. They giggled with each other as they worked. They seemed to enjoy watching the soap operas on his TV. They chattered excitedly when certain glamorous, well dressed and, in Andy’s eyes, over-made-up ladies appeared on the screen. Andy had no idea what they were saying since none of them had any English.
He wondered what kind of life the stable-boys lived. Each wore a white abaya but cut-off at knee length which made it look more like a dress than a man’s robe. Each wore riding boots but with a practical three inch heel rather than the five inch stiletto heels Andy and the other stablegirls had worn in California. They were definitely boys. Although each had varnished nails, heavily kohl eyeliner and long fluttery eyelashes, most had wispy moustaches as if it affirm their manhood. They didn’t seem at all perturbed at seeing Andy in the stalls or handling him. They were unperturbed by his little device and seemed in fact to regard to it with envy. Andy wondered how they had been trained.
His sleep was restless. He kept trying to understand his reactions and behaviour. The Shaykah was a beautiful lady. She was every inch the trophy wife. She was mature, although younger than either Auntie or Mistress Aaliyah. She was experienced. She even talked with Andy about her teenage daughters.
Most days, he tried to perform with the Shaykah but to no avail. Each time ended in tears.. Most nights his dreams were filled with thoughts of Auntie. Restless dreams of past pleasures. After learning to be Auntie’s maid, he’d grown to understand what it meant to be hers. No just her maid but her plaything. Someone and something to give her pleasure. Knowing she could possess him whenever she wanted just heightened Andy’s feelings for her and kept him on edge. He’d been so happy to be hers. So happy that she understood his affection for Will. But he would always be hers.
To be concluded next week............................
