ready for the mindset for J.B.’s training.
She’d been through training before, with Tony. This was different. Pain was there, yes, but it was mostly subtle in comparison to the way J.B. encouraged them, his gentle prods and easy praise. But with both experiences, the fear/pain and the praise/care, she still fell rapidly into the space that was eager to please.
Speaking of care…
Being groomed was her first time truly experiencing the care that J.B. had told her about. The water was hot and he began to gently hose down her body. The water ran in rivulets as he guided it over her naked skin, feeling much like a caress.
It was heaven after the chill of the stable and warmed her worn and sore muscles and joints. It sprayed through her hair, weighing it down. He shut off the water and grabbed the soap. Squirting liquid in his hands, he started with her neck and shoulders, his thumbs and fingers softly massaging the soap over her tensed body.
Each firm sweep of his hands helped her relax more. Dirt, grime, and sweat disappeared under his masterful touch. The sweet almond scent of it filled the air, and Maple allowed herself a tiny smile; that was her doing. She’d replaced all of his soaps, shampoos, and oils with high quality ones.
He’d obviously approved, because he’d kept her choices.
The soap he was now guiding under her arms, around to her breasts ( oh, God, it felt so good, his thumbs dragging over her hard nipples ) was sweet almond oil mixed with moisturizing goat’s milk. She’d chosen it because the smells were still rustic, barn-like, but it was the height of luxury for human skin.
His hands smoothed over her belly, her lower back, before sweeping between her legs.
Maple bit her lip to stifle the moan. His fingers worked quickly, roughly-- doing a job. But that’s how she loved being touched. Rough, impersonal, and she was already feeling aroused. J.B. seemed to purposefully avoid her clit, to her enormous frustration.
As he moved down her legs, leaving her aching with need, Maple remembered her first time grooming an old ponygirl. Kendra. How Kendra had used Maple’s hand and washcloth to grind out a quick climax.
It had embarrassed Maple, a deep stain of shame, partially because it had interested her so much. Now she understood. At the end of the day, while J.B. claimed he wasn’t training them in a sexual manner, it was a lie. Maybe not for him-- he did seem to keep his emotions under control. But for the ponies? The attention, the guidance, the constant touch , whether hand or crop?
It was sexual TNT. Dynamite.
Now, in the grooming area, as he cleaned her feet, massaging her heels and toes in the most luxurious way, Maple was more than primed for detonation. Her body was quaking, tiny tremors of desperation, needing his touch to set off release.
But he stood when he was done, rinsing the suds away and leaving her throbbing.
J.B. grabbed the shampoo, pouring a generous squirt directly onto her hair. His fingers rubbed it in. Maple saw his nostrils flare, the hard outline of his cock in his jeans, and closed her eyes.
“Pony’s don’t close their eyes,” J.B. admonished softly. He met his gaze. His face was tight, the lines and wrinkles heightened. In his thirties, the hard Texas sun had already sent him the same stern and ageless look of Clint Eastwood. It was divine, sexy and stoic. It betrayed so little emotion that when Maple saw the torture there, the struggle etched into his frown, she couldn’t help but to feel triumph mixing with her sadness.
She didn’t want him to feel so torn.
But she was happy he was.
Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the stupidest thing she’d ever agreed to.
It was pitch black in the stable when she was jerked from her dreams by the creak of her stall door opening.
Her blanket was ripped off, stunning her, freezing her body like a possum in headlights. Before
She’d been through training before, with Tony. This was different. Pain was there, yes, but it was mostly subtle in comparison to the way J.B. encouraged them, his gentle prods and easy praise. But with both experiences, the fear/pain and the praise/care, she still fell rapidly into the space that was eager to please.
Speaking of care…
Being groomed was her first time truly experiencing the care that J.B. had told her about. The water was hot and he began to gently hose down her body. The water ran in rivulets as he guided it over her naked skin, feeling much like a caress.
It was heaven after the chill of the stable and warmed her worn and sore muscles and joints. It sprayed through her hair, weighing it down. He shut off the water and grabbed the soap. Squirting liquid in his hands, he started with her neck and shoulders, his thumbs and fingers softly massaging the soap over her tensed body.
Each firm sweep of his hands helped her relax more. Dirt, grime, and sweat disappeared under his masterful touch. The sweet almond scent of it filled the air, and Maple allowed herself a tiny smile; that was her doing. She’d replaced all of his soaps, shampoos, and oils with high quality ones.
He’d obviously approved, because he’d kept her choices.
The soap he was now guiding under her arms, around to her breasts ( oh, God, it felt so good, his thumbs dragging over her hard nipples ) was sweet almond oil mixed with moisturizing goat’s milk. She’d chosen it because the smells were still rustic, barn-like, but it was the height of luxury for human skin.
His hands smoothed over her belly, her lower back, before sweeping between her legs.
Maple bit her lip to stifle the moan. His fingers worked quickly, roughly-- doing a job. But that’s how she loved being touched. Rough, impersonal, and she was already feeling aroused. J.B. seemed to purposefully avoid her clit, to her enormous frustration.
As he moved down her legs, leaving her aching with need, Maple remembered her first time grooming an old ponygirl. Kendra. How Kendra had used Maple’s hand and washcloth to grind out a quick climax.
It had embarrassed Maple, a deep stain of shame, partially because it had interested her so much. Now she understood. At the end of the day, while J.B. claimed he wasn’t training them in a sexual manner, it was a lie. Maybe not for him-- he did seem to keep his emotions under control. But for the ponies? The attention, the guidance, the constant touch , whether hand or crop?
It was sexual TNT. Dynamite.
Now, in the grooming area, as he cleaned her feet, massaging her heels and toes in the most luxurious way, Maple was more than primed for detonation. Her body was quaking, tiny tremors of desperation, needing his touch to set off release.
But he stood when he was done, rinsing the suds away and leaving her throbbing.
J.B. grabbed the shampoo, pouring a generous squirt directly onto her hair. His fingers rubbed it in. Maple saw his nostrils flare, the hard outline of his cock in his jeans, and closed her eyes.
“Pony’s don’t close their eyes,” J.B. admonished softly. He met his gaze. His face was tight, the lines and wrinkles heightened. In his thirties, the hard Texas sun had already sent him the same stern and ageless look of Clint Eastwood. It was divine, sexy and stoic. It betrayed so little emotion that when Maple saw the torture there, the struggle etched into his frown, she couldn’t help but to feel triumph mixing with her sadness.
She didn’t want him to feel so torn.
But she was happy he was.
Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the stupidest thing she’d ever agreed to.
It was pitch black in the stable when she was jerked from her dreams by the creak of her stall door opening.
Her blanket was ripped off, stunning her, freezing her body like a possum in headlights. Before
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