The Riding School
Part One
It was sunrise.
Mistress was already striding through the fields. Her small white dog ran and danced and chased his prey joyfully, held back each time by Mistress from actual murder, as Krissy marvelled that a woman who was so wantonly cruel to him, could be so thoughtful towards animals.
It was difficult not to take personally. Krissy was dressed in a full latex body suit with long sleeves beneath his country clothes. His cock had been bound into a smaller, tighter cage known as “The Nub”, and the nipple piercings, which Mistress had recently made him have, chafed as he walked. Painful as this was, the sensitivity was not without pleasure. Krissy was starting to see the point to them.
The knapsack also contained a number of other items which Mistress had not let him see.
“Surprise, Krissy! You’ll find out.”
As he stumbled along, his legs hurt from the unaccustomed flat boots.
“Your calf muscles have shortened, Krissy. We need to stretch them.”
Krissy puffed and panted with effort through his collagen bee-stung lips as he hoped, as ever, that he would not be seen. The flat cap which Mistress had pushed down over his blonde extensions did little to hide the cartoonish glamour of his face. Every time he went on errands to London, Mistress always sent him to the dermatologist or the tattoo parlour to add a little more. Eyeliner, lipliner, filler, Botox, microdermabrasion, laser treatment for his beard which felt like the smack of a thousand cuts. Smooth-skinned, puffy-lipped, and doe-eyed; Krissy, the former Alpha Male, was the pastiche of a beautiful woman.
Mistress had stopped in front of a large corrugated iron building. It looked like a barn, but as Krissy peered closer, he saw a green sign with “Equestrian Centre • Lessons • Off-road Trekking • Livery • Cross-country Course”, in white lettering.
Krissy’s heart sank, as he simultaneously felt the familiar thrill of shamed excitement.
“What are we doing here, Mistress?”
“Discipline, Krissy. As always — discipline.”
“And we’re going slightly off-piste . . . “ Mistress gestured at the sign.
“More akin to dressage is what we’ll be doing with you."
“But I can’t ride, Mistress . . . “ Krissy started to whine, and then trailed off as he saw the sardonic look on Mistress’s face, and realised that a horse would not be involved. The small white dog sat back and had a sneezing fit which felt to Krissy like mocking laughter.
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The Chronicles of Krissy — Part 1
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