Carrie's Story: An Erotic SM Novel by Molly Weatherfield

Author:Molly Weatherfield [Weatherfield, Molly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Erotic Fiction, General, Erotica, Sadomasochism, Fiction
ISBN: 9781573441568
Google: ZH_9fTivdXAC
Amazon: 1573441562
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 1997-01-01T14:00:00+00:00

The pickup truck's engine started. I held on tight. Pretty soon we were on the freeway, crossing the Bay Bridge. There was a little round window I could look out of at my side. At first I was frightened that people could look in at my bridled face, but passengers in cars didn't seem to see me-not even little kids, who were staring extra hard, trying to get a glimpse of the pony. Finally I decided, with some relief, that it was a one-way window. Probably it looked dark or like a mirror from the outside.

I didn't have a watch, of course, so I don't know how long we were on the freeway. Two hours, maybe? And the little window wasn't really angled to let me see the road signs. All I knew was that it was hot and sunny outside-I could tell by the bright sun through the window and the warm air coming through the vents in the carrier. From the little I could see, it looked very rural outside -we were somewhere in the Central Valley, I supposed. The ride became bumpy as we pulled onto a gravel road, and bumpier after Sir Harold unhooked some gate and we went uphill for a few minutes on dirt and stones.

Finally we stopped. He came back into the carrier and, wordlessly, detached me and led me out by the reins. I blinked in the brilliant sunlight, stepping onto a patch of grass. Ayoung man in jeans, cowboy boots, and an Aerosmith T-shirt was holding a pair of sturdy, thick-soled lace-up boots in his hands and grinning at me. He had dark skin and very white teeth, I could see as my eyes adjusted to the light, and he knelt to tie and buckle the boots onto my feet.

"Not bad, boss," he said. He was short and solid, the T-shirt stretched against a broad hard chest and shoulders. "No experience, though. That's pretty clear. What's her name?"

"It's Carrie," Sir Harold said. "We'll put her next to that blond, curly-headed one. Hey, is she named Carrie, too?"

"Cathy, boss," the young man said, grinning again. He seemed easily amused. Maybe working all day with naked girls in bridles and tails had always been his dream job. The boots were tightly laced on my feet. They felt solid, making me want to stamp my feet. The young man gave my pubic hair a friendly little yank and then got to his feet. We were standing near a fenced-in ring of ground, maybe thirty yards in diameter, and he looped my reins over the fence.

Within the ring, maybe half a dozen girls, bridled and tailed like me, were going through various paces, supervised by a few guys in jeans with riding crops in their hands. The girls were all doing different things, so it was hard for me to get a fix on the general principles involved. One was jumping hurdles. A few others were practicing various gaits, walking, trotting, and a kind of

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