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Good boy! Now, go fetch My spurs. The new ones. I’m anxious to break them in!

See! Even THEY get it. The whip teaches everything!

slave! Fetch My spurs! The ones with the two inch razor rowels. I want to do a hard ride today. I want to relish My dominion over this stupid beast! I want to feel the ecstasy of it collapsing beneath Me, exhausted, bleeding and bathed in sweat.

On the way to the stables for a hard morning ride. I’ll carefully select the perfect whip and spurs from My vast collection. Then I’ll slowly stride past the stalls, pausing to look in each one…seeing them back away as their eyes widen

My mount is ready? Excellent! FINALLY! you kneel here. Right here…until I return. you can lick the blood off My spurs.

Finally! I can’t tell you how many pairs of riding breeches I’ve ruined from a long and hard ride under the spur and whip. The bloodstains seem impossible to get out. These beautiful rubber pants and boots are the answer to a prayer. Everyt

Hahaha…look at them all move away. Look at the wide eyes…the fear. It’s as if…when they see the spurs…they know their fate Soooo…which is the unlucky one today?

Word of advice… NEVER! Ever tell ME you have a horse that can’t be broken! So sorry for your loss.

Some athletes stare in the mirror as they armor up for the contest. They might pace back and forth in the locker room. Me, I just glance back over My shoulder and take a nice long look down those gleaming leather boots. Trace My fingers around those

How My mount shows its appreciation for each jab of the spur and each lash from the whip during the nearly two hours I rode it without break in the blazing sun. Three times it collapsed…feigning exhaustion. Yet three times, the boot got it back

Fetch those new Chilean spurs. And the thorn whip and wire quirt will do nicely. Then saddle up one of the nags in Barn Three. I’m meeting the ladies from the Hunt club at five for cocktails, so I don’t have all day. Pick one of the

This one failed Me in the steeplechase. It failed to make a jump. It balked, even under the heavy whip. Time and again I beat it with all My might, drove in the Spurs with every ounce of passion I could summon. To no avail. I’ve no use for such

The exhilaration, thrill, power of bringing the snorting, sweating beast beneath Me to heel!

Power, cruelty, dominion, privilege. Such an addictive and intoxicating combination. Just pulling on the boots…hearing that zipper glide along as it hugs the soft leather to My leg…lights the fuse. “FETCH MY DRESSAGE WHIP…AND

This one is willful. Pulled up on Me at two obstacles yesterday. Even under the heavy whip…it balked. Today will be different. I’ll bring My ‘A Game’. And…the boots to go with it!

We’ve lulled away the morning. Kissing tenderly. Exploring each other’s bodies. Enjoying long, full body massages. But even with all that…We have needs still unmet. The thirst for power. To exert Our dominance…our station. And no better way

Some mornings, a brisk ride out into the countryside becomes something much more. Maybe its the feel of the leather trousers gripping and hugging against My legs as I rhythmically press against the saddle? Or the feel of My spiked heels straddling the

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