I am pony pranced By “downstairs” I had no doubt whatsoever that Aunty Pat had intended me to wait for her in what she termed “the games room”, and as I walked off I saw her talking to the two gardeners. I couldn't hear their conversation but a peal of laughter from the two younger ladies convinced me that I had been the subject of their mirth. I was also apprehensive in case Aunty Pat intended going back on her promise not to let the girls at me! I entered the cool basement beneath the house and stepped into the “games room”. I had no idea how long my aunt would take to get down there, but I knew I should appear ready for her arrival. I thought for a moment and then decided on what I hoped would be taken as a suitable posture of submission. Kneeling in the centre of the room, with my knees a couple of feet apart, my feet behind me touching, I put my hands behind me and clasped my ankles.
Luckily, I did not have long to wait. The door to the room swung open and in marched my two beautiful dominas. “Aha, it looks like Rick has been reading all the correct slave training manuals,” smiled Aunty Pat, as she saw my pose.
“Or reading too many femdom magazines!” laughed her friend.
As I looked at the two women, my penis started its by now familiar upwards surge at the sight of them. Pat had chosen a black latex quarter-cup brassiere, her 40-inch globes thrusting out in mouth-watering uplift. Black leather boots which came half way up her lovely brown thighs completed her attire.
The 30-year-old had selected a sheer black bra which had cut-out sections at the center of each cup, her nipples brown and erect in the air-conditioned torture chamber. On her hips a similarly sheer pair of black panties had a cut away section which revealed her raven-haired mons and pussy lips. She wore black stilettos.
“Up you get, Rick,” said my aunt and as I climbed to my feet, she instructed: “Anita, get him hooked up. He's been my pony this morning, now I want to see if he can prance!”
Anita went to a rack on the wall and produced two leather cuffs, which she strapped around my wrists. She then clipped a leather choke collar around my throat. Next Adnita made me put my wrists beside the throat choker and attached the D-rings set in the cuffs into metal rings on the choker.
“Now fetch me a buggy whip, darling,” said Pat. The words sent a frisson of fear through my nude body. Anita walked to the wall with its wide selection of implements of correction and selected a long slender, stiff whip, which must have been all of five feet long. It tapered to a cruel, thin tip. She handed it to my aunt/
“Right Rick,” smiled Pat, “stand to attention, feet together. Now I'm going to stand to your left. When I flick this little persuader against your backside, you will lift your right leg until your thigh is horizontal to the floor. I will then walk around to your right side and the next stroke means you lower your right leg and raise your left. Simple, eh?”
I nodded: “I understand, aunty.” Whether it was “simple” or not I had my doubts. “Good,” said Aunty Pat, “then we'll begin.”
Standing well away from me, Aunty Pat swooshed the buggy whip through the air and it cut into my buttocks. The warm pain seared through my backside. I lifted my right thigh and tried to maintain a perfect balance. Then Anita snapped: “Point your foot down daintily to the floor, Rick!”
I complied. Aunty walked around behind me and when she was level with me on the other side, she flicked the whip against my tush once more. Another searing heat flashed through my buttocks. As I lowered my right leg and started to raise my left Anita sprang into verbal command mode again: “Faster, Rick, we don't have all day!”
Aunty Pat strolled in front of me and when she was immediately in front of me she traced the tip of the buggy whip against my cock and balls. I tried to suppress a giggle and swayed slightly. “Steady, boy,” she lectured, “you don't want to know what I do to prancing ponies who over-balance!”
And so aunty's diabolical little “game” went on, crack, balance, crack, change legs, balance, tickle of whip against genitals. Soon I was sweating freely from the discipline. Then, when I hoped for a respite, Aunty Pat handed the buggy whip to her partner in punishment: “Here you are Nita, you have a go, while I observe his technique more closely.”
Anita took over my correction, if anything striking me slightly harder with the whip than my aunt.
At last, after what seemed like ages, but in reality could only have been a quarter of an hour or so, they finished with me.
Aunty Pat unhooked my wrists from the throat collar and kissed me lingeringly on the mouth, her lovely breasts pressing thrillingly against my heaving chest. “Wonderful, Rick, I think we'll make a lovely little pony out of you yet!”
Then she announced: “Time for lunch I think. Then we'll teach you the pose flogging game!”
Lunch I was looking forward to. Pose flogging? That, I wasn't too sure about!