My name is Tamanna Narayan. I am the daughter of a famous Indian business tycoon. Horse-riding is my favourite hobby. Last Friday, as I stormed into the leather shop in Colaba, the heels of my riding boots echoing off the tile, still fuming at the morning’s incident. A broken riding crop, a sore hip, and mud and grass stains on my jodhpuri pants. All because that stupid pony had missed a step and thrown me. I was so mad that I hadn’t even bothered to change, and had driven directly to the shop.
As I reached the middle of the store, the nearly overwhelming smell of leather awakened my senses and I stopped to breathe deeply, which calmed me immeasurably. I love everything about leather: its smell, its feel against my skin, its uses, and the way it can be made into the softest of clothing or the strongest of boots. And even the sound of it: the snap of a whip, the ‘splat’ of a cat, the creaks as it moves against itself.
Awakening from my momentary reverie, I moved on to the back of the shop. As I reached the counter, I saw a young girl sitting behind it, working some lacing through a garment of some type on top of the counter. She appeared to be a few years younger than me, and was quite pretty. As she looked up at me, she moved the piece she was working on aside, clearing a space. I could see that she was wearing a leather vest covered with quite intricate patterns; it was very beautiful, and closed with what appeared to be a short chain, also of an intricate design. Surprisingly, she was wearing nothing under the vest, as the inner curves of her large breasts were very visible when she looked up at me.
“Is there something I can help you with, Miss… ?”
“Yes. I need a new riding crop,” as I threw the pieces of the old one on the counter. She picked it up and examined it closely.
“Well,” she said. “If you are interested, we can actually recycle the leather. None of the leather braiding is actually broken, or even torn, so it can all be re-used. The cane centre of the crop is, of course, broken and we can’t simply fit a new one in its place. But, we can unbraid all of the leather from the old crop, revitalize it, and rework it into something new … a quirt, perhaps. They are quite popular these days, and quite useful. There is probably enough leather here to make one of a decent size with two tails.”
“You can actually do that?”
“Oh yes. We try to never simply throw out any leather that could still be used. It takes a long time to properly break in something new, and leather has suppleness and a patina that can’t be matched by other materials. Our chief leather worker is a true master.”
“Okay then, I will do that. This was my favourite crop, and if its spirit can live on as something else, then so be it. Now, I still need a new crop, so what are my choices?”
“We have a wide range of crops, just over there on the left.”
“Could you show me some samples? It’s been so long since I’ve had to buy a new one.”
“Certainly, Miss. Let me just come out from behind the counter.” As she stood, I could see that she was wearing flowing leather pants, themselves intricately tooled like her vest. The leather looked to be very soft and supple from the way it moved as she walked. The real surprise came when she walked out from behind the counter, as I could see that she wasn’t wearing pants—they were a set of chaps, and her delicious bottom was quite bare.
“Interesting outfit.” As she passed, I couldn’t help but to reach out and pat the exposed flesh. It was quite firm to the touch.
“Thank you, Miss. I do love wearing leather.” She paused and allowed me to explore for a moment, before moving to the rack of crops. “Was there a specific length, weight, or flexibility you were looking for?”
“Well, I want something about eighteen to twenty inches long, medium weight, I should think, and fairly flexible. I guess that would mean a relatively thin crop.”
“Yes, Miss. As well, do you want a loop end, or the more traditional flap?”
“Oh, definitely the flap.”
She laid out a selection of crops, varying slightly in length and heft, and in a range of colours, from a very light tan through to a deep black. I picked them over, selecting three that looked about right, then picked each one up to test. I bent each of them, watching as they sprung back, gave them each several swipes through the air, and smacked each along my leg, feeling the burn from each strike through my jodhpurs. The young girl watched each of these manoeuvers closely, and strangely, I thought I could detect a light tremor in her breathing, especially when I stood there smacking my own leg.
“It’s too bad you don’t have something to practice on,” I said somewhat jokingly.
The girl started a little, then took in a ragged breath. “If the Mistress would like, that can be arranged.”
I was a little taken aback at the formal address, but nodded, and said “Yes.” If nothing else, I was curious to see what she meant.
She moved toward the front of the store for a moment, and then returned pushing a small leather-covered toy horse. I had seen it in the store’s display window. I expected that she would have me swat it with each crop, although I didn’t think that would be much of a test. I furrowed my brow in puzzlement when she removed the horse’s head and tail, and set them aside.
Her next move took my breath away. She moved to the now headless horse, and lay across it sideways. I realized that it was at the perfect height to be a spanking bench, and that its rounded shape would present the user’s buttocks perfectly, as it did hers. She was tall enough that her hands rested on the floor, and her toes just touched on the other side; she would be unable to spring to her feet quickly in the event that anyone entered the store, or she received too hard a stroke.
In this position, her ass was truly beautiful—wonderfully rounded, and very pert. As her legs were spread apart, her vulva was also on full display. I noted that at least its lower portions were shaved completely bare.
“Are you quite sure about this?” I was desperately hoping for a positive response, but was fully prepared to simply help this young beauty back to her feet, and to be on my way.
“Oh, yes Miss … whenever you are ready.”
“In that case, the proper form of address would be ‘Mistress’, don’t you think?”
“I’m sorry, Mistress. I await your punishment.”
“Oh, this isn’t punishment, little slut. This is just a trial of new crops. Now, I expect you to keep the count. I will tell you when I am changing to a new crop, and which one I shall use, but you are to keep the statistics. Understood?”
“Very well then, we’ll start with the tan one. Appropriate, since I shall be tanning your little rear.”
I lifted the crop, swung it through the air a few times to get a feel for it, and brought it horizontally across her rear, dead centre. I had hit hard enough that I saw the flesh of her buttocks indent, and then spring back. I half expected her to scream, or to try to jump up, but she only flinched slightly and gave a little grunt. The braid marks from the crops leather sprang out into stark relief against the white flesh of her ass.
“One, Mistress. May I please have the next?”
I was surprised at her calm demeanour, and resolved to actually get a response from her. I levelled another strike across her rear, an inch below the previous one. Again, there was no reaction other than a small grunt.
“Two, Mistress. May I please have the next?”
I was starting to get mad as I wound up for the next swing. At the top of the arc, I stopped myself, recalling my training, and remembering that one should never wield a whip or a crop in anger. I calmed myself, and took a deep breath, and reminded myself that I was here to test the crop, not punish the young girl in front of me; submissive she might be, but she had volunteered to be my test subject, and I should respect that.
After a moment, I levelled another stroke at the crease of her rear, just at the top of her thighs.
“Three, Mistress. May I please have the next?”
I put the tan crop down, and picked up the mid-brown one. Before saying anything, I walked over and inspected the stripes I had inflicted. They stood out boldly against her rear, and I ran a finger over each one. Teasingly, I let the finger slide over her exposed anus, and down to her prominent pussy. As I slid my fingernail between her labia, she whimpered, and I realized that she was very wet. The whimper was the biggest reaction I had yet seen, or heard, and I lifted an eyebrow in quizzical interest. Perhaps the way to this girl was via a different target.
“I am now about to use the brown crop,” I announced.
The first strike was placed an inch above the first one from the tan crop, and I did my best to keep it at the same strength. The resulting welt looked to be about the same.
“One, Mistress, from that crop. Four strokes in total. May I please have the next, Mistress?”
I laid the next strike an inch below the second stroke, again making sure to equal the strength, so that I might judge the marks better.
“Two, Mistress, from that crop. Five strokes in total. May I please have the next, Mistress?”
With this stroke, I surprised the little minx. Instead of delivering a strong hit to her ass, I moved directly behind her, and used the flap of the crop in a vertical stroke down against her bare little pussy. Because she was so wet, the sound was more of a ‘splat’, and the leather flap was dripping as I drew it back.
I had purposefully lightened the stroke, not hitting her all that hard, but the reaction was amazing. She bucked her legs up from the floor, yelped out loud, then moaned as the feel of the stroke sunk in.
It was a full minute before she drew a ragged breath, and said, “Three Mistress, from that crop. Six in total. May I please have the next?”
I laid the brown crop down, and picked up the black. It was noticeably thinner than the previous two, and much more flexible. I bent it back and forth, and swished it loudly through the air for a minute. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the girl tense as she heard the loud noise of the crop cutting the air.
“I have changed to the black crop.”
Standing directly behind her, I looked at her delectable rear, and the split peach below it. Finally deciding on a target, I used my wrist to direct the flap down at her vulva from a close range, depending on only the wrist action to speed the flap into its target. Another ‘splat’, another bucking motion, and a loud moan from my young victim. Her pussy was now engorged with blood, and dripping onto the floor below her.
I waited for her to speak, and was about to remind her, when, in a shaky voice, she said, “One, M-Mistress. Seven total. M-May I please have the next?”
I answered that request quickly, before the feeling could desert her, but this time I brought the crop straight from the floor up between her spread legs, judging the position so that the flap would hit on the top of her mound, and the shaft of the crop would split her labia, landing directly on her awakened clitoris.
The effect was instantaneous, and violent. This time, she actually screamed, then shuddered over her entire length. Her toes drummed on the floor, and her hands clenched into fists. She was balanced on her belly on the horse, neither feet nor hands touching, and I became concerned that she might fall. I moved to hold her, and ran my hand over that wondrous ass, and on down to her pussy. I could feel it still in spasm, and ran the shaft of the crop over her labia, scraping the braid of the shaft across her inflamed little clit. This action drove her further into the orgasm, and extending it for several moments. I rubbed harder, but realizing that I was probably making her clit raw and hyper-sensitive, I dropped the crop and used just my bare hand. The warmth of her pussy turned me on immensely, and I knew that I needed relief myself.
As she calmed down, she ended up draped limply over the horse, her breathing still ragged for a moment, then she quietly said, “Two, Mistress with that crop. Eight strokes in total. Please, Mistress, may I have the next?”
“No, you may not, little one. I think you’ve had enough for the moment.” I reached to grab her arms, and help her stand up. Once she was up, I turned her to sit on the horse, and kissed her deeply. I spread her legs, and moved between them, reaching down to softly rub her pussy again.
“Take your vest off. I want to see the rest of you.”
“I cannot, Mistress.”
“What do you mean, you can’t? I order you to take it off.”
“I am sorry, Mistress. I am not allowed to remove it. The punishment would be more severe than anything you have done to me. However, you are permitted to take it from me; I just cannot be the actual person removing it.”
I lifted my hands to the centre of the vest, and tried to spread it. The girl winced, so I stopped and looked at her.
“The chains that hold the vest closed are attached to my nipples by clamps. You must reach under the vest and remove the clamps.” I found this fascinating, and reached in to feel along one of the chains. Sure enough, I could feel the hardware on her nipple. I could feel a spring clamp, so I squeezed it and lifted it away from her nipple. With the vest now loosened, I could examine the remaining nipple, and see the type of clamp in use.
Now that I could see her nipples, I got another surprise. They were both pierced with horizontal rods. Each rod terminated in the pointed ends of a golden horseshoe; the opening of each horseshoe framed its respective nipple. As the horseshoes ‘pointed up’, they were considered to be good luck pieces; I could agree with the sentiment, as meeting this young submissive had certainly improved my luck on this day.
As I reached out to finger the shoes, and stiffen her nipples, the light finally dawned. “You’re a pony girl! That explains the chaps, and how well you handle being cropped. You must get whipped all the time.”
“Yes. Mistress, but no one has ever whipped me like you. I am used to the pain, but no one has ever whipped me to bring pleasure the way that you did. I am indebted to you. I don’t think I’ve ever come like that.”
I cupped the young girl’s face in my hands, and kissed her deeply, tangling my tongue with hers. As I pulled back, I looked closely at her and said, “Well, little one, I have a problem that I need you to help me with.”
“Whatever it is Mistress, I will do my best to help you.”
“Our little experience here has gotten me very excited, and I feel like trying something I’ve never done.”
She looked at me a little quizzically, as I picked up the whippy black crop off the floor, and handed it to her. “Do you know how to handle a crop?”
“Oh yes, Mistress. I often train the new pony girls, and teaching them how to react to the crop is a standard part of the training.”
“Good. I want you to crop my pussy. I want to see what it feels like, so I’ll know what I’m really doing to little girls like you. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes Mistress, if that’s what you want. How hard should I hit you, and when should I stop?”
“We’ll decide on how hard as we go, and you can stop if I come. I want to see if you’re good enough to make me come with just the crop.”
I had her help me off with my boots, and then removed my tight jodhpurs, and underwear. As I moved to the horse, she looked at me with a glint in her eye, and said “I think you should be naked, Mistress, so that none of your clothing gets in the way.”
I looked at her sharply, but complied. My jacket, blouse and bra joined the rest of my clothes. Instead of leaning over the horse, I decided to face my attacker, so I backed up until my rear was pressed against the horse, and I spread my legs wide, exposing my wet pussy. Leaning back, I looked at her and said, “Okay, go ahead.”
“Will you be counting the strokes, Mistress? And should you maybe be calling me ‘Mistress’?”
I glared at her, and said, “Don’t push your luck. Get busy.”
She took me at my word, and the first stroke slapped onto the top of my mound, then skated over my labia. The sudden shock nearly took my breath away, but the return stroke really shocked me. It split my labia, and the shaft of the crop smashed my clit, then scraped over it. I swore I could feel every piece of braid. I gave a short scream, and my hips bounced as I instinctively tried to pull away from the crop.
She grinned at me, and asked, “Too hard?”
I wanted to slap the grin off her face, but I had asked for this. “No. Keep going.”
She delivered a couple of more strokes like this, warming my pussy, and making my clit feel raw and hyper-sensitive. My breath started rasping in and out of my lungs, but she hadn’t really shown me how well she could handle a crop yet.
The next two strokes were not aimed at my pussy, as I had instructed. Instead, with two quick sidestrokes, she flicked the very end of the flap across each of my nipples, so quickly that my breasts did not move, but each nipple flared to attention with the sudden flash of pain. The flash became a jolt of arousal that went all the way to my pussy, and I groaned at the added stimulation. I was about to yell at her for what she had done, when she moved things up a notch.
She stepped in a little closer, and extended her arm almost straight at me, with the crop forming a part of her arm. Her hand started a rapid up and down motion centered on her wrist, so the leather flap at the end of the crop started waving like a hummingbird’s wing. Once she had the motion going, she moved in until the flap was grazing my labia, and then came in so that the flap was alternately striking the upper and lower parts of my cleft with a frequency that astounded me. As it came down, it smacked on the very tip of my protruding clit; on the return, it flattened my inner labia, spreading them open, and allowing the flap to scrape over the lower part of my clit.
I screamed out loud from the sensation. It felt like nothing I had ever experienced. My clit felt huge, and raw, and I wanted it to stop but it wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t imagine this feeling going on, and then my muscles locked, and my vision went white, and I screamed until I went hoarse, and the slapping against my clit continued, and my hips bounced on the horse, and I lost my footing…
In the next instant, the girl had her arms around me, holding me against the horse while I convulsed and moaned. When I started to come down, I felt her hand against my pussy. She rubbed it hard for a moment, then pulled her hand back and started to slap it with her fingers. My poor over-sensitized clit flashed with pain, then I screamed and started coming all over again. I could feel her slapping my pussy over and over again, and I could dimly hear the splat, splat, of her palm against my wet folds.
She finally stopped slapping me, and I sat up a bit, still held in her arms. She looked into my eyes, smiled, and asked, “Was that to your satisfaction, Mistress, or should I use the crop some more?”
I stood up, grabbing each of her horseshoes, and pulling up until she was on her toes. I looked at her and growled, “Mind your place, or I’ll hook these to a leash and run you around my practice track, and use a bullwhip on that tight little ass of yours.” As I let her go, she dropped her eyes and looked at the ground.
I picked up my discarded clothes, and told her, “You did well, and thank you. You are very good with that crop. I’ll take it, and please have that quirt made from my old crop. Call me when it’s ready, and I’ll come in for a test.”
When I arrived home, I went into the barn. The pony was still where I had left her, arms cuffed over her head, legs spread widely, and tied off. I took my jacket off, and looked at the fear in her eyes. “I have a new crop, my little pony, and I’ve learned a new way to use it. I think you’ll make a good test subject. You can consider this to be payback for dropping me on the ground this morning.”
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