Oh Jeanie, you get naughtier! I am so pleased!!
Thank you for this!
3rd S.E. submission
To see the rest, look up to the menu, and click on ‘Collaborators and Links.’
Now for a flight of fantasy, based upon a few of Mr. Jones’ evocative photos and erotic models.
“Dig, if you will, the picture…” is how Prince started his masterpiece, “When Doves Cry.”
Please dig through the incredible archive of Mr. Jones photography with me. Try, as I will, to keep your hand out of the cookie jar, as image after image invades your consciousness and tickles your libido. Find the sets that feature “the rocking horse.” It’s just a low stool with curved rockers on its legs, and a saddle for a seat. Sweet Kate rides the piece of furniture. She knows how. Being so low to the floor, she places her fragrant and moist pudendum on the leather saddle, thereby sticking her glorious ass out behind. There is her tight, inviting rosebud of an anus on full display, as it often is in these pictures. If I were magically transported into this photo, I’d reward the obedient girl by putting my face in Kate’s splayed buttocks’ crevice, kissing and licking and penetrating her perfect petalled rosebud. She furtively rubs her sex across the smooth saddle, polishing the brown leather with her juices, as I drive her mad with lust with my tongue. She’s demonstrated what to do and how to do it by riding hard and spending her secretions copiously.
Not Cherry. Now find the photos of her. This lass is as willfully headstrong as she is imperiously attractive. She needs to be taught. And the apparatus needs to be modified to do so. I remember an antique rocking horse that was passed down through the generations of my family, renowned for its verisimilitude with real horse hair for a mane and tail, flat marble eyes, and a leather bridle and English saddle. It was mounted on a trundle, advanced for its time, with such a smooth gliding action. Only one addition is necessary, a large phallus is mounted securely at a forty-five degree angle toward the steed’s neck through the pommel-less saddle.
“Mount up!” I command of Cherry, dressed in my skin-tight riding jodhpurs and boots and nothing else. Poor Cherry wears nothing at all except an apprehensive expression on her pretty face, as I lightly smack her near buttock with the slapper-end of the riding crop I hold. Our brown hair is coiffed identically in a head-hugging braid, so as to be out of the way. She doesn’t know it, but the mousey brown curls that adorn our pussies are coiffed identically, too, with a sheen of arousal. Get a mental picture of that to hold in your fertile mind.
Obedient for the moment, the young equestrienne throws her long leg over the horse, and gingerly settles into the saddle by impaling her wet vagina onto that thick phallus. A soft, self-satisfied, “Oh!” escapes her cupid’s bow of a mouth. The dildo is at just the right angle to make Cherry offer her round flanks out, just as Kate so expertly modeled on her horse. For the first time, I catch a glimpse of Cherry’s charms. Her rosebud is even pinker and tighter a bud than lascivious Kate’s, perhaps because the younger model has experienced less traffic there.
“Now, post at the trot,” I instruct, with a smart lash from the crop to urge the girl on, and she begins riding, the horse smoothly gliding forward and back, as the dildo thrusts in and out. Cherry synchronizes in perfect harmony with the apparatus, as a thin red welt blossoms across the expanse of her flexing buttocks. The raised welt bisects her deep cleft at an exact right angle and contrasts markedly with the fair complexion of the twin orbs. Cherry doesn’t know it yet, but she’s going to have a full compliment of stripes across her magnificent backside before her riding lesson is through. The girl rises up from the saddle, as does the intruding phallus, as her rocking horse surges ahead. Then she squats down, exposing all her considerable feminine charms, as her buttocks and thighs kiss the saddle softly as the horse regressed backward. It is at that apex stage, with Cherry’s arse stuck out invitingly, that I catch her with a second lash with the command, “Now break into a canter. Faster now!”
Her musculature pumps, her baby-fat flesh ripples, she grits her teeth and rides the well-hung horse hard, but not fast enough to please me. I give her a third stripe to urge her on. Her sexual saddle spasms in climax, the leather saddle is besmeared with the girl’s juices, her bottom cheeks contort under the whipping, and her facial cheeks do, too. Cherry pushes on through the orgasm, but not fast enough to please me.
“Gallop ahead, girl!” I urge vocally as I whip her haunches hard. Every time Cherry’s bottom extends backward in its rhythm, I give her another crack with the crop. The blows are landing in rapid succession. This jockey knows nothing of “sitting chilly” on her mount; she is sweating, her buttocks fiery red and just as hot to the touch. Both saddles, hers and the horse’s, glisten with jism.
“Full out, now, Cherry, ride it hard!” I fairly scream. The rider gives her supreme effort, but I keep up a steady beat across her hind quarters with the whip. I’m flogging her now, a delicious ‘crack” splits the air as the braided leather crop bites into Cherry’s flesh time after time, punctuated by the girl’s whimpers and howls.
It’s all too much. I implode with a massive orgasm without touching my sex in the least, crumpling to the floor. Cherry climaxes with a gush, bathing herself and horse with her cream, and slowly brings the pretend-horse down through the gaits to a halt. We are both panting, winded, physically exhausted and sexually spent. Cherry collapses against the rocking horse’s neck, I open myself from my place on the hardwood floor. Our eyes lock onto one another’s. I unbutton and unzip my drenched breeches and peel them down until my still-pulsating sex is revealed.
“Look at what you’ve done to me,” I whisper, my tone changed now to one of appreciation and admiration. Cherry dismounts, her pudendum is just as shiny-slick as mine. She straddles my head with her lower half on elbows and knees, my pussy is steaming and throbbing just below her pretty face. We simultaneously touch smiling facial lips to smiling labial lips. Here, I’m not the teacher. We are both inexperienced at licking vagina, but passion and compassion motivate us both to experiment. We each bring the other to another, milder but more affirming orgasm, our tongues in the other’s tail, our arms wrapped around the other. We collapse in a heap of female flesh and sated desire and our comingled sweat, tears, and jism. I play with her buttocks with tender fingertips, caressing and pinching and parting. “Oh! In the heat of the moment, I whipped you so hard!” I utter. “Forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Cherry smiles, “my bottom feels gloriously radiant, my whole body new and alive!”
I want to kiss this incredible vixen, but my lips are no where near her mouth, so I kiss her on the ass crack. She giggles, so I cover her tushy with kisses, as I just had with lashes. I part her and kiss my way into her crevice. It’s humid and sweet-smelling and dark. I go spelunking. Cherry sighs loudly. I french kiss her rosebud, then tickle her there, so as to gain admittance.
“Ever been fucked here?” I ask.
“Never by a woman…” she replies, and I know what the next adventure will be. I’m content to play, using fingers and tongue, to make Cherry wriggle and moan, but she’s thinking ahead and perplexed. “HOW do you think we could share anal sex..? I don’t think I can mount that rocking horse backwards… We lack dicks!”
“I have a strap-on,” I answer. “I bought it with the expressed purpose of deflowering sweet maidens.”
“Oh!” Cherry brightens, her eyes twinkling, as if scales were falling from them.
“It’s perfect. It has a set of inter-changeable phalluses to meet every taste, and no stupid macho attitude driving it,” I add, and we both laugh.
“You sound like a woman on the rebound,” Cherry diagnoses accurately.
I think for a minute what to say. Suddenly tears fill my eyes. “I was so happy to bend my will to his, to bare my butt and take his beatings… But he decided to break my heart, and give my self-confidence the beating…”
Cherry spins around so that we are facing the same direction, and she can console me looking me full in the eyes. “We’ve all been there…” and kisses me.
“What’re we talking about men for? We don’t need the dicks! I’ve got a strap-on!” I proclaim. And we laugh and the tension has passed. “Sometime, not today, I just wore out your tush with the crop… but sometime, I’d like to be the woman who first takes you up the ass… You do switch, don’t you?”
“With you I’d like to,” she answers.
“Good! Then you can punish me for behaving so nasty with as hard a whipping as you’d like to give me… with whatever implement you choose…”
And we kissed to seal the deal, a sweet kiss. But I could tell that neither of us was in the moment any longer. We were both imagining our next tryst.