I’d found that the fantasy that rolled around in my head while I stroked my d**k wasn’t anything like the reality. The first major difference, and for me the entire deal breaker, was the thing that they put on my d**k, which wouldn’t have allowed me to stroke it even if my hands weren’t cruelly encased in a leather sleeve behind me. Then there was the food and the flies and the relentless hours on the training wheel and the whip. Oh yes, the whip. Somehow the thought of a whip smacking my ass was sensual, not the horrible bite that it really was.
I looked at them as they stepped into view. The b***h, Carla, was dressed as usual in her jodhpurs, white blouse and riding boots. I’d come to know those boots intimately over the past month. She always had me clean them thoroughly with my tongu
