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Introduction:

Intended as the first part of a multi-parter
My name is Emma and I am 22 years old. I was brought up in a well to do middle class family and now live on my own with a private income. I do not need to work and I spend a good part of every day at the stables tending to and riding my grey gelding. In practising my dressage on the horse I love the feeling of exerting firm discipline and control on the animal, and executing the various manoeuvres of the different dressage tests in preparation for competitions. This gives me a sense of power, of being in charge.

I have long golden hair that almost reaches my waist, and a trim neat figure with firm pert breasts above a taut midriff, long slender legs and a cute tight pair of firm muscular buttocks. I think my button nose and heart shaped lips give me an enticing look, and I like the way men look at me, with an undercurrent of admiration and desire.

But when my story starts, I am troubled. Perhaps because of my slightly haughty nature and upbringing, because I had always attended girls’ schools and know little of how to get on with men, and because I yearn for something else I cannot quite define, I do not have any close male friends. But I am restless and my frustrations are clearly deep seated. I have started having weird and powerful dreams, vivid enough that I can remember every detail when I awake.

In these dreams I am somewhere I don’t consciously recognise; the places always seem atmospheric in some undefinable way, as though a hazy mist obscures the view and I am groping to understand where I am and what I can see; and I always feel rather than know for certain that I am not fully or properly dressed. There is this feeling that maybe I have no underwear on beneath loose flowing skirts, or clinging silk blouse; or that my blouse is partially unbuttoned showing more of my cleavage than I would normally show; or that my skirts are lifting in a warm breeze displaying my skimpy panties or revealing thong. And there is always someone else there, just watching me, saying nothing, doing nothing, someone that I sense is a young man, powerful, in control, but faceless, no identity that I can grasp. The feeling excites me, and I try subconsciously to make the dream move on a stage but I always wake up before anything else happens, my skin flushed, my nipples tingling and needing me to caress them, dampness between my thighs and the overpowering urge to rub myself there too, to assuage the effects of these erotic moments that seem to besiege my nightly slumbers.

It is just very frustrating for me that the details are so vague, that I cannot identify the stranger who silently watches me, nor even the full details of my own role in these dreams.

And then one day I took part in a dressage competition at a venue about 10 miles from my own stables. There were probably about 20 horse trailers and maybe about 40 horses in all. As ever at these events most of the competitors were young females, but there were a number of young men, some of whom I recognised from other competitions. A number of the young women were accompanied by boyfriends or husbands, to lend moral support or more actively to help with grooming or tacking up. But this day, as I unloaded my horse from the trailer and got him ready for the competition I became aware of a tall young man, probably about my own age, dressed all in black, black jeans, a black roll-neck sweater, black shoes and a black fedora. He was wandering around the horses on his own, not obviously with any of the riders, not talking to any, but stopping every now and then and watching them as they prepared the horses. I noticed that he stopped about 30 yards away from where I was tacking up my horse and silently watched me. I hardly dared to look in his direction but as I busied herself around the horse I stole glances and he was still standing motionless watching me, quite directly. At first I felt annoyed, but there was something familiar about him and despite myself, I found my breathing quicken, and began to feel the flush of arousal as though his watching me was somehow altogether more intimate. As I finished my preparation of the horse, and went round the trailer to my 4X4 to don my riding jacket and my hat and gloves, I realised, almost with disappointment, that he was no longer there watching me. But I was left with a strong feeling that his watching me was so very like the dark stranger in my dreams.

I mounted the horse, went to the warm up area, and took the horse through his paces before being called to the competition arena. When the judge rang her bell, I entered the arena and trotted the horse up the centre line, before turning left round the arena. Immediately I saw him standing at the side of the arena watching my performance intently. Almost in defiance, and despite some primeval urge to respond to his presence, I decided to totally ignore him and concentrate entirely on the dressage test, riding what I thought was a rather good test. At the end, after bringing the horse to a halt in front of the judge and bowing, I turned to leave the arena and allowed myself to glance around again. He was still there and he gently touched his hand to his fedora in salute before turning and striding away. That gesture did more to unsettle my emotions than almost anything he could have done then.

For the rest of that day I could not get him out of my mind. I was intrigued and did not think of him in any sexual way, but my subconscious was clearly on a different wavelength. That night my dream was particularly vivid. I was walking in an indeterminate landscape, and was vaguely aware that I still had my riding boots on and my crisp white dressage blouse, but mildly concerned that I no longer had my jodhpurs on, and my long slim legs were naked from boot to skimpy thong. I always wore a thong when riding as the jodhpurs were thin stretchy material and anything else showed a distinct panty line, which was unsightly. I know I have an attractive bottom, and hugged by tight jodhpurs it was I feel sure one of my best assets. As I slowly walked, the black figure appeared ahead of me, facing me, only this night it wore a black fedora. With a gasp I realised it was the young man from the dressage, and then I also realised he was carrying a long dressage whip. He touched his fedora in salute just as he had done earlier, and I stood still, wondering what he wanted. He approached closer and I was rooted to the spot. I had not really registered what his face looked like that afternoon and now he was still faceless, a shadowy figure in this vague landscape. No words were spoken, but I felt that I sensed rather than heard his command. I parted my legs and stood, my booted feet apart, then placed my hands on my head, pressing my elbows back to thrust my chest out towards him. He nodded, then I felt him slowly reach out with the whip and invite me to kiss it. The last couple of inches of a dressage whip is not woven leather like the rest but is a frayed end and I kissed it, knowing that by so doing I was accepting his intentions to do with it whatever he pleased. He started by lowering it and brought the tip to the inside of my left knee. I wanted to squirm, to step out of range, but I could do neither as the tip of the whip ran teasingly up the inside of my thigh, just brushed gently across the crotch of my thong, then down the right thigh. I trembled at the caress of my crotch, the frayed end of the whip still sufficient to make itself felt on my sensitive labia. Then he lifted it and slowly outlined the curve of my breasts, pressing firmly against my blouse in my hands raised position. As the whip touched me there, it dawned on me that I didn’t seem to have a bra on beneath my blouse, and I felt the erotic response of my nipples growing and in turn thrusting against the cotton of the blouse.

He took the whip away and nodded again, and without any words being spoken, I brought my hands down and unfastened the buttons on the front of the blouse, all the way down, before placing my hands again on my head, elbows pressed back. Now the tip of the dressage whip returned, and excruciatingly slowly lifted one side of the blouse to expose my right breast. The whip slowly encircled my pert firm breast, before just tickling over my tumescent nipple, and I knew that I had never felt so aroused in my life.

To my utter dismay, I came to from my sleep and the dream, although able to remember vividly every tiny detail. My body was lathered in sweat, beneath my nightshirt my breasts felt as if they were two sizes bigger than I had ever remembered, and my nipples felt tender and tingly. I pulled the nightshirt off and then my panties, which were also soaking, and lay naked on my bed. For the next hour I tried to go through the dream again and again, but now my fingers were active on my breasts, teasing out my firm nipples, and between my legs, on my clitoris and between my swollen labia. I came to orgasm several times before I eventually fell into a dreamless sleep.

It was the following weekend and I was once again entered into another dressage competition. I wondered all week if I would see him again, and though after the dream part of me was afraid of my reaction to seeing him, most of my being couldn’t wait for another encounter. I deliberately arrived early though that was not the best thing to do for the horse, got him rubbed down and tacked up, and left him tied up with a haynet while I had a look round the site. I did not get very far when I saw him again, to my surprise with a younger girl preparing a horse for the competition. He still had on black jeans and sweater, but no hat today, and I wandered around the trailers till I could watch him, but not be obvious about it. The girl was maybe about 16, and my first reaction was that she was remarkably similar in figure and looks to myself. Perhaps the young man had a particular liking for our type of girl. She had on tight cream jodhpurs that showed her firm buttocks and no panty line, a neat white blouse and stock that sensuously clung to small firm breasts, and as I watched she bent to clean out her horse’s hooves. I gasped, partly in embarrassment, partly in shock, as the man casually ran his hands across the girl’s fully stretched and curved bottom. The girl wriggled and laughed and when she stood upright again the man said something then just as casually palmed her breast through her blouse. The girl just stood, her head thrown slightly back, her eyes half closed, obviously used to and enjoying this treatment.

I returned to my own horse to finish my preparations and as before took the horse to the warm up area. I was unsure of my own reaction to what I had just seen, partly jealous, but partly feeling that in reality the man had behaved much as he had in my dream, exerting some unspoken power and control over the girl. The girl was also warming up her horse by now, but the man was nowhere to be seen. I found myself wondering if his very existence was a trick of my mind, a figment of my overheated sexual imagination.

The girl was on before me and seemed only to do one test, whereas today I had two tests. As I went through the moves on my first test, I could see the man standing at the edge of the arena watching me intently, and though I was concentrating on my paces, I realised that he had not put a hat on today. When I had finished and was leaving the arena, I steeled myself to turn and look him directly in the face. He was certainly only a year or two older in appearance than me with a handsome manly face, a small moustache and goatee beard, and piercing blue eyes. He looked me straight in the eye, then nodded and smiled before turning away.

I returned to the warm up arena to await my next test, and as the other girl was finished assumed that she and the man would have by then departed. However as I was called and rode round the arena awaiting the judges bell to start, I saw with a jolt that both he and the girl were now standing at one end, ready to watch my test. Determined to impress them, I concentrated totally on the manoeuvres and ignored them altogether until I had finished and bowed to the judge. Then as I walked the horse back down the arena and looked in their direction, I saw that they were both looking directly at me and smiling. Almost out of some devilment I smiled and nodded back as I simultaneously noticed that he had one hand on the girl’s buttock and the other round her and holding her breast. This was being done in such a way that I could not avoid seeing it, and I assumed with a frisson of anticipation that I was meant to see it. He was sending me some covert signal about his power over women and I knew that he understood my eagerness to receive that message. In acknowledgement I raised my whip and touched my riding hat with it, and the man bowed to me as the girl continued smiling.

Once back at my trailer I felt sure the man and girl must come round to speak to me, but they must have had the girl’s horse loaded ready to depart as they immediately left without any more contact being made. Deep down I was disappointed though I did not know what I really expected or how I would react to some approach being made. Seeing the man openly caress the young girl intimately had left me feeling aroused and now that they were gone strangely deflated. When I had got my horse in the trailer, ready to go, I went back and looked at the riders’ lists and identified the young girl as Rachel Smythe. I was however no wiser about the man’s name or where they came from.

I thought a lot that evening about the way he had caressed Rachel, almost saying to me that he could do what he pleased without Rachel objecting, and I let my imagination create various scenarios about their relationship. To my disappointment, however, the day’s exertions had left me tired out, and I slept soundly without dreaming at all.

During the week I had a training session at a nearby stables and to my surprise Rachel was there with her horse. We got talking and Rachel told me that the man, Ranulph, owned a riding school about 10 miles away. She implied that Ranulph was interested in me and that he may suggest to me, if I played my cards right, that I move my horse to his stables. She would not be drawn on any other details and said Ranulph may be in touch.

That night I had another dream. I still had my riding boots on but otherwise I was sure I was naked. I was walking through the misty landscape when two people appeared in my path. I stopped and one disappeared behind me; I though it could be a girl, but the person had a swirling black cloak and hood and I could not tell who they might be. The other person, a man, stood facing me. He was as ever dressed in black, with a fedora, but he now removed his hat and I became aware of his piercing blue eyes. Instinctively, without clearly seeing any more of him, I knew it was Ranulph, and I presumed the girl behind me was Rachel. He nodded and I felt impelled to put my hands on my head again and spread my legs. The girl behind me reached round and grasped each of my naked breasts, and slowly and wonderfully teasingly started to stroke them in ever decreasing circles towards my burgeoning nipples. Without prompting I spread my legs, aware of Ranulph’s steady gaze on my nudity, and he smiled. From somewhere he again produced the dressage whip, and without preamble flicked it up between my legs, gently nipping my labia and sending tremors of erotic sensation through my body. He flicked me there for several seconds, and then I thought I heard him tell me that in future he wanted me shaved down there. By this point Rachel had reached my nipples and was drawing each of them out to a point, leaving them highly sensitive to any further attention. She then dropped her hands one to my pubic area and the other to my bottom, and commenced a thorough fingering of my clitoris, labia and rectum. He then shifted the whip to flick at my breasts and more particularly my large nipples, and as they engorged even more with the tickling bite of the whip, I realised as if in a flash of inspiration, where my destiny lay. I needed to be dominated by this man, to obey him explicitly, to give myself to him totally, to let my newly discovered submissive nature rule my behaviour henceforth, and to abandon my lonely existence for the pleasures of being commanded to explore my burgeoning sexuality. Suddenly I was no longer afraid, no longer shy and timid, but eager to please and eager to be the sexual plaything of Ranulph and indeed whatever he might introduce me to. In my dream the twin assaults on my erotic being by Ranulph and Rachel brought me to the brink of orgasm as I awoke, to find myself fingering my breasts and clitoris and riding wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure.

The next day I went out to a nearby town and bought what I would need to shave all the body hair from my body and leave my skin silky smooth. I usually kept my body hair well trimmed for hygiene reasons, but I had never removed it. That evening I had a long steamy bath, then lathered all round my public area and between my legs and around my sex lips and anus. It took a while to use the lady-shave razor to remove it all and I then used a wax preparation to complete the smoothing process and extract any remaining small follicles. Having rinsed it all, and dried myself with a hot towel, I viewed the result in the mirror and got quite turned on by my own appearance. I could not say I looked like a child as my body was obviously, very obviously that of a young woman, but everything was on display, my sex lips engorged by the attention and excitement, opening just enough to expose my clitoris, also protruding in response to the inevitable stimulation. I felt sure that this was exactly what Ranulph would want, even though it was the man in my dream that had indicated I should do it.
6 comments

READERReport

2005-08-28 23:52:07
Excellent story, good job. It is very erotic. Good Job,

READERReport

2005-03-06 23:53:35
Most excellently written, the erotisim of the tease was very well placed. Thank you - I'm off to Pt 2.

READERReport

2005-01-08 12:47:51
thath was hott

READERReport

2004-12-11 12:55:48
Sweety dreams! A real teaser. I loved the self-restraint in your story. True eroticism. Not at all like the repetitive trash in many stories. Good writing but, yes, a little too much non-erotic detail.

READERReport

2004-12-03 15:29:26
The dreams took too long before the action begins.

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