Gimp

thanks Will Crimson. First of several “ideas”…. ~nilla~

“hmfph.”

She humped her way down the hotel hallway. ‘humped’ indeed, she thought to herself, scowling furiously. Fucking broken ankle, anyway. She had thought of composing a million reasons how she’d managed this feat of ultimate klutzdom. She could compose an ode to a broken ankle, or create a Spy-Master persona, and pretend she’d done it escaping from a scientist gone mad, and his intelligent sea creature with all those invasive limbs…..

But no.

The reality was, she was a klutz. And now was sounding like Peg-Leg the Pirate as she galumped down the hallway. Somewhere behind one of the endless doors was her Master. And wasn’t this going to be so fucking fun? Sex in a boot. Not a thigh-high patent leather with heels up to the sky boot. But a stocky, thick, heavy, support-the-broken-ankle boot.

He opened the door as she approached, crooked his finger to come in. Eyes gleaming, he pulled her close, kissing her hard. Her angst began to evaporate under the upsurge of feelings for this man.  The ankle was forgotten as her body remembered all the delightful pains He could, and would, inflict.

“Sit.” He pushed her into the chair in the corner. Taking her leg into his hands, he began unfastening each velcro strap. Each released with a zzzzzzp, breaking the silence of the room. Her breathing deepened as, one by one, the ties binding the boot to her foot were released. Three weeks of healing had passed, swelling and bruising had faded, and all that was left were a few more weeks for the bones to knit.

Looking at her, he eased her foot from its protective gear.

“Not too bad. Hurt?”

“no Sir.”

“No hurt?”

“ummm…a little bit. From time to time, Sir.”

“Like when you’ve been overdoing things?”

“yes, Sir.”

“Would you take my car out and bring it back devoid of oil and gasoline?”

She knew where this was going.

“No Sir.”

“Would you take my dog, and not feed him? Not give him water?”

“No Sir.”

“Then why would you overdo and harm yourself? You are as much mine as my car, as my dog. And not only do I expect you to take care of yourself–I demand it.”

“yes…Sir. I–”

He cocked his head. She dropped her gaze. She hadn’t taken perfect care, that was the truth. Pushing a bit too hard at times. Maybe setting progress back. She sighed.

“I’m sorry Sir.”

He nodded curtly. “Good.”

He rose, crossing to the black bag on the bed. She couldn’t see what he had in his hand, but as he knelt in front of her, she could see that he was holding something bright pink.

“Sir?”

“So I remember and you still have protection.” He wrapped the neon bandage around her ankle with precision. “This is what they use for horses.”

That should have been warning.

Somehow it slipped by her, with his hands tenderly ministering to her sore leg. Rising again, he took something else out of the bag.

“I had this made for your foot.” It was a thick slipper-like thing, that looked a bit like a horse’s hoof. “Of course there is a mate for your good foot. Not exactly sexy–but we’ll fix that.”

His smile sent shivers straight to her pussy. Again his hands dove into the black bag. He pulled out a shiny thick collar, and a long length of black silk rope.

Somehow she was naked but for the pink tape and the slippers. He wound the rope around her breasts, tugging, drawing it tight, weaving it through the silver ring in the collar and around to the back of her. He patted the bed beside him, helped her kneel.

“Close your eyes, slut.”

He slipped a mask over her eyes, stealing her sight, then took each wrist. She felt the heft and jingle of wrist cuffs, the unmistakable scent of leather. With a tug, he lifted her right hand; the clink of hardware as he fastened it to the wide collar around her throat made her pussy drool. Moments later her other wrist was contained. Hands at her throat, blind, she could only respond.

She was definitely responding.

There was a shuffling sound as he moved the bag from the bed, the mattress shifting as he moved away. His hands guided her so that she lay face down on the bed, then stroked down her bottom. She felt exposed–and oh so vulnerable.

Wetness drizzled onto her asscrack, his fingers smearing the lube. Still she was shocked when he began to push something very large into her bottom.

“Oh!” she gasped.

“Ankle hurt?”

“No….ooooo…”

“This hurts more than your ankle did when you broke it?”

“uhhh..nooooo…”

“Well then, I think you can bear it.”

He pushed harder and she felt her anus grudgingly giving way. Her ass felt full, distended. She shifted, seeking relief, but the shocking feeling of something swishing against her thighs made her freeze in place.

“What? What the fuck  is that Master?”

“Horse tail. For my sweet little pony.” He pulled on the rope which had been loosely tied around her back. The rope stretched taut around her tits, making her whimper.

He jiggled the rope.

“Almost forgot. Up, ponygirl.”

He pulled her up to her knees. The feeling of the tail pooling around her calves, swishing against her ass and feet distracted her. A sharp pinch on each nipple drew moans from her. His fingers  flicked the aching nubbins, creating jingles. He’d put bells on her nipples? That bastard! She hated stuff like that. It was…inane.

It was also, shockingly, erotic.

His hand on the back of her head eased her back down, head and wrists on the bed, ass in the air. He tugged the rope again, setting her nipple bells to jingling wildly.  There was a warm chuckle from behind her. Even as she began to protest the humiliation, there was sharp sting on her bottom.

“OH! OH MASTER OW!”

“Riders up,” he said, cropping her again. The bed shifted as she felt the warmth of Him behind her. “It’s time” came His voice from what seemed like far away,  “to take my pony for a ride.”

She was already riding, off into the mists of subspace.