Hello all of you who love team naughty!! Yes, that’s right – it’s Monday, it’s Masturbation month and we’re about to get dirty. You’ve been warned 😉
Named and Shamed
“Attention ponies, eyes front,” said a stern voice which commanded attention. All the ponies did as they were told, even Jenny, who was far too full of curiosity to disobey. The gentleman who had addressed them wore thick blue jeans, a crisp black shirt and a pair of riding boots. His thin, angular face wore a frown and judging by the wrinkles on his forehead, it was a permanent feature. He had greying hair which was shaved closed to his head to conceal a receding hairline and not an inch of spare flesh anywhere on his body. He looked mean. “I’d like to introduce everyone to our newest pony, Pretty Pink Petals,” he said and indicated her with a sweep of his hand. Jenny winced as the name was uttered out loud. “As that’s a bit of a mouthful, I’m going to call her ‘P’ for short. There were a few sniggers in the paddock from ponies who were fortunate enough to be able to utter the sound. Jenny decided she didn’t think much of Mr Black Shirt. He continued, “P is a very special horse who had the privilege of wearing the golden egg last night. For those of you who don’t know what a golden egg is please ask a neigh…bour, pun intended.” Mr Black Shirt looked thoroughly pleased with himself. “Unfortunately, P has already heaped shame upon herself, as she failed miserably in her simple task and has earned the herd a group punishment.” The expression on his face indicated that he was not displeased with this outcome of events. There was a collective groan around the yard and some anxious hoof stomping. A curious excitement resided in his eyes and when the herd saw it, they became nervous. Several eyes flickered in Jenny’s direction and the look they gave her was not a friendly one. “However, being a fair and honourable Dom,” he said and his voice indicated he was anything but, “I’m willing to give you a fighting chance to avoid having to pick your own supplies for this evening’s supper.” He paused for effect and watched as the ponies visibly relaxed. He knew the worst they expected was a bit of blackberry or gooseberry picking. Raising his voice, he smiled evilly and said, “Nettle soup should be a nutritious treat for all concerned.”
If the fifty or so ponies, lined up neatly on the wooden hitching post, could have dropped their jaws in panic, there was little doubt that they would have. There was only one kind of nettle that grew in the fields of Albrecht and it was that commonly known as: the stinging nettle. It quickly dawned on the pony-girls that this punishment was one that could quite possibly hurt more than a good caning and any chance to escape it should be embraced with four hooves.
“I see everyone’s ears have pricked up,” said Mr Black Shirt, who nodded to himself. “Well, horsies, if you don’t think much of nettles, here is your challenge:
All of your grooms have been presented with a ‘magic wand.’ Most of you will be on familiar terms with the implement, but for those who are not, let’s just say it is an intense vibration unit. What you
need to do, ponies, is withstand this instrument of forceful pleasure for just five minutes. If you manage to withhold your orgasm, congratulations, you get to play in the paddock whilst your friends gather nettles with their teeth. There’s nothing like a little post-breakfast boric acid to destroy your taste buds, I hear. Just in case you weren’t fully aware of what the delights of picking nettles will do to your mouth, let me hasten to assure you that whilst there will be no permanent damage, the onset of facial paralysis, otherwise known in the nettle munching industry as ‘green bearding,’ is a very real possibility. So, if you want my advice, I’d suggest that you employ any means you can to avoid this particular task. “Failure will, of course, deliver you into the confines of the fallow field beyond and an hour or two of nettle harvesting with my whip hand as added encouragement.” He nodded to the grooms who immediately began the business of unearthing their respective wands.
Jenny watched as Daniel rummaged around in his satchel and brought out what looked like a giant vibrator. It was made of bright white plastic and didn’t look particularly threatening. Like every other female on the planet, she owned a rabbit at home and she could easily withstand five minutes of that upon her clitoris, so it didn’t appear there was much to worry about, other than how to keep warm. Whilst Black Shirt was talking the other ponies had kept their hooves firmly on the ground and Jenny had sensibly decided to do the same. As soon as he had stopped talking, the hooves immediately started stomping in earnest and Jenny’s were almost jogging on the spot in her efforts to keep warm. The sun refused to break through the thick cover of cloud above and because it was still early, the outdoor temperature had not really had a chance to rise.
“Grooms, you have thirty seconds to prepare yourselves.” Mr Black Shirt had a digital stopwatch in his hand and his finger was poised above the start button. Counting down from ten, the air was soon rife with the sound of whirring motors. Jenny watched as most of the girls closed their legs tightly together. She wondered why they were all taking this challenge so seriously. Did they all have hair triggers when it came to orgasming? Keeping her legs shoulder-width apart, she gave Daniel a look of disdain and encouraged him to do his worst.
“There, two, one, go!” No sooner had the words left Black Shirt’s mouth than the wand appeared on Jenny’s clit. It didn’t take her long to realise that this device was not really another version of the rabbit. A wand was a vibrator on steroids. She could feel the vibrations pulsing through the leather strapping that had been fed between her labia and the waves continued up to the base of her groin. To say that they were intense was an understatement of the grandest proportions. Her whole nether region appeared to be shaking. Snapping her legs closed to give her groom as little access as possible to her sensitive clitoris and finally taking heed of her fellows, at first she was hard pressed to discern whether the powerful pulsations of the wand were painful or pleasurable, but it didn’t take long for her to discover that five minutes was going to be a very long time.
Sir Ranulph Lyle contained his smile as he watched the ponies twitch this way and that, as if they all had some impossible itch to scratch. He supposed, in a manner of speaking, they had. With only their legs of any use to them in the avoidance of the buzzing wand, they could angle their body in different directions, but as all of them were securely tied to a thick wooden post by either their bridle or collar, none were able to escape the incessant vibrations that continued to plague them. Little did they know, but their grooms were under a considerable amount of pressure to deliver up their orgasms. Each had already been warned that a flogging would be issued to them, should they
fail in their duty. Sir Lyle fingered the black leather flogger which was currently residing in his pocket. Running his fingers over the soft fronds, he was anticipating its use with an eagerness born of three weeks vanilla vacation time, which had been insisted upon by his equally vanilla wife. The break, even though it had been on the delightful island of Mauritius, had nearly driven him criminally insane by its end. Thankfully, he’d taken an extra week off work (unbeknownst to his wife) to catch up on some nubile bottom spanking before he had to return to his seat in the House of Lords. So eager was he to start the flogging procedures, that he had made sure this morning’s little game gave him a double dose to get back into practise. The errant grooms who failed in their task would receive a nicely reddened backside and then he was on nettle patrol, where his hands (he was ambidextrous and could use both left and right) would make sure that anyone not pulling out their fair share of the green stuff came out with a blisteringly sore bottom. It was a beautiful day indeed, even though it wasn’t.
Keep on hoppin’