Horseplay - Sex Stories

Horseplay

... for you. They cut all yours off. £100 jods cut up! Appalling waste.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘at least there’s some good news.’ She smirked, kissed me again and left. * They let me out after two more days of ‘bed rest.’ I was not allowed to drive for a week to make sure the concussion was all gone. I felt limp and the arm hurt a lot despite the painkillers. Vicky drove me home. She’d brought me a loose dress which was easy to get on but she had ‘forgotten’ underwear. ‘I’ve filled the freezer with ready meals. I can't have you cooking with one arm and I don’t cook as you know.’ I knew that only too well. If she went near a kitchen with intent to cook, milk curdled, eggs broke and food turned toxic. I didn’t say that of course. What I did say was, ‘Suppose they’d seen the marks on my arse.’ ‘Then they’d have known more about us, wouldn’t they?’ “But would they have called the police?’ She held my hand. ‘Darling, everything we do is for my pleasure and your discipline. You’d have had to explain and there would be absolutely nothing anyone could do. It’s absolutely none of their business, is it?’ Whilst I accepted that, I was glad the cane welts on my backside had disappeared. It’s so hard to explain a relationship like ours. She then asked me a question I had never anticipated. ‘Are you ashamed of the marks?’ ‘Not a bit. I just know that other people don’t understand.’ ‘Fuck ‘em is what I say.’ * ‘We haven’t been out for a social since you threw yourself off Pansy.’ Vicky had been ...

... taking care of me and I knew she was restless for some activity. She rode every day and we walked the dogs together of course but she was a social animal and loved going out. I was improving rapidly, had lost the plaster cast and although I still needed a sling I could cook again and do my normal duties around the house mostly. ‘The Hunt are doing Burns Night again this year, Saturday in fact. I thought I’d take you.’ Now, to be brutally honest, the local Hunt was not entirely my thing. They all loved horses for a start and thought anyone who didn’t was a heretic. They threw lavish balls and fund raising events and since they were mostly rich or aspired to be, they always wore expensive clothes and drank industrial quantities of champagne. Not that any of that was bad, it was just that they were all Vicky’s friends rather than mine. The good thing about them was that they were, as the landed rich often are, earthy and accepting of any type of sexuality. Saturdays in January can be dull. Short, cold days and even shorter, colder nights. I suspect one of the reasons for Burns Night’s popularity is that it is an excuse to find a reason to dress up and enjoy and forget the chill and misery that is a British winter. A long dress, dark blue with a scooped neck and a full skirt was her choice for me that Saturday evening. The taxi was due at 7.30 and I was expected to be ready by 7 so that we could have a drink together before we left. That meant me getting ready then pouring our drinks ...