View from Below

“Good girl.”

The tall stallion has been saying that for what feels like sternity. Nothing else. Just that, over and over. “Good girl.” As he watched the anonymous pale horse undressing, his clothes slipping silently to the carpet in the blue gloom of the tall, dark Friesian’s bedroom. “Good girl.” As he stroked the cage that encased his lover’s genitals, the cold metal warming briefly in his grasp. “Good girl.” As he slipped the halter and reins on, settling the leather and the metal rings against the grey horse’s flesh; tight, but not uncomfortable. “Good girl.” As he pushed him back onto the bed and began to bind his hands and hooves. “Good girl.” As he undressed himself, nickering as his cock was freed from its entrapment, swinging out to hang before the wide-eyed stallion on the bed like a scepter. “Good girl.” As he opens a drawer to retrieve a crop, and stands above his sub with cock in hand and a smirk on his face. He taps the crop against his dick. Once. Twice. The grin growing wider each time. He leans down, staring at the stallion’s exposed hole, and listening for his lover’s husky breathing. The crop drops; taps against the quivering ring. The pale horse moans, and the dark horse chuckles.

“Bad girl.”

The cage might not hold tonight.