Two small fists thrust into the air. The crowd roars. A nod of your helmeted head causes your blonde braid to swing in the air. And then your blue eyes scan the crowd and see me dressed in my black dress pants and royal blue and white polo. The color matches the colors you wear on your jockey jacket. I give a small smile and a nod as I applaud with the rest of the crowd.
I join the crowd as they converge around you and Fella. We both smirk at one another as the crowd chants “Fella, fella, fella” its our own inside joke as his full name, the one that is kept under wraps is Fellatio. I take Fella and walk with him back to the barn to get him settled. You kiss my cheek and tell me you are going to go shower and then we can head back. Given that you’re the only female jockey you have a locker room to yourself.
As you walk into the locker area you smile slightly to yourself, and breath a sigh of relief. I either didn’t see you let up to build the drama or I was just so overjoyed with winning and the purse that I was just going to let it go. Once in the locker room you strip off your helmet hanging it on a hook and then on the other hook hanging your riding crop. You walk into the shower and turn on the hot water letting it get heated as you walk back to your stall and start to remove the rest of your racing gear. First are your boots, then your royal blue leggings, then your royal blue and white silks leaving you standing there in just a black sports bra and your pants. You unbutton them and slide them off leaving just the white lace cheeky panties that you always wear on race day.
“They are thick enough I promise you can’t see color through them” I kid you when you explain it must be white worn under your pants. You slide those off as well and pull out the jeans and t-shirt you wore to the track today. Grabbing your towel and toiletries bag you walk into the shower. You stretch letting the steam engulf you and begin reaching for your braid to undo it.
You jump as a hand grabs your wrist, you spin and meet my blue eyes as yours grow wide.
“We need to talk about that business at the quarter pole young lady.”
Oh…shit. I did see it, and I don’t look happy. A horse lead is in my left hand, and I waste no time securing your wrists together and then securing them above your head using the metal bar above the stall that was exposed by the pushed aside shower curtain. This track is old and that bar doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. I turn off the water and step behind you. I return and am not empty handed judging by the bite you feel on your ass.
Holding the crop up in front of you. “Forget how to use this? Or were you just hot dogging again to Build suspense for the papers” I finish with a mimicking tone I know you detest. You begin to open your mouth but the shake of my head tells you that isn’t wise.
“Don’t bother, I know how to address both possibilities. I will just introduce you to this wonderful tool and it can meet either an educational or punitive purpose.”
Your crop was custom ordered and 60cms in length with a black handle, a flexible grey shaft and the traditional triangular shaped black leather flap at the other end. You know I am skilled in its usage and that your ass is in trouble. I step behind you again and there is a pause, a tap, CRACK
CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK
You had resolved not to cry out, you earned this treatment, and there is no crying allowed. You grunt though, after each and every stinging bite.
“You use this to make sure there is no doubt.” CRACK the leather bites into your ass again. “It’s not cute or funny to taunt competitors” CRACK “And one of these days they won’t lose” CRACK “They will be playing with you too and you will lose” CRACK “That isn’t fair to Fella” CRACK “Or me” CRACK “Or the owner” CRACK “Or your legacy” CRACK
You’re sniffling now. And nod before quietly saying “I’m sorry Sir.” Little does anyone know but Fella isn’t the only one I train both on and off the track.
“You will be. I plan to make sure you remember this.” I step away again and return with a wash cloth that I wet using cold water. I run it over your rear. The cool water is soothing to the warmth that the crop inflicted, and it raises goosebumps.
CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK
Stoicism is out the window. You gasp and begin to tear up.
“P-p-please Sir, no more, please. I won’t let up again.”
You feel my hand on your shoulder and you’re turned to face me, my blue eyes down at your level. “Promise” My voice terse and solemn.
“Yes Sir I do. Please, no more.”
I nod, and then I reach up and untie your wrists. Kiss you quickly and swat you on the ass. “Hurry up, get showered and dressed, we have celebrating to do.” I swat you again and you squeal as my hand connects.
A verbal exercise yard for Dominant tendencies within 