Stacy's Riding Lesson Ch. 01

The morning mist was thick upon the pastures that lined the road to the stables. Stacy liked to arrive earlier than most riders. She loved riding her gelding on the trails and through the gently rolling hills alone. She was often the first rider to arrive in the morning when the stables were just coming to life.

She parked her large SUV and strolled toward the particular stable that housed Spark, her three-year-old horse. She was wearing her usual riding attire; English riding kit, with a tight black jacket and white low-rise breeches that looked as if they had been sprayed on her trim legs and firm ass. She carried her black helmet and crop in her stylish, custom-made gloves, her glossy black boots kicking up small clouds of dust on the stable grounds.

She had ridden extensively in her pampered childhood, and then again in her exclusive women's college back east. She was an accomplished horsewoman, with several steeple chase cups adorning the mantle above the fire place in her lavish estate home.

After college she had fulfilled her mother's destiny for her by marring into even more money. Her husband of four years, Stanly Garner III, scion of the Virginia Garners, was away at the capital, where he was serving as a state senator for their district.

The gorgeous twenty-three-year old woman's life was filled with idle pleasures, afternoon teas with society ladies of her county, officiating in her husband's absence at various social functions and opening of new government buildings and projects, and doing volunteer work for the local historical preservation society.

But Stacy was bored. Her life seemed mundane, pointless. All of her dreams in college of making a difference in society had fallen through. She felt like her husband's pretty trophy, one which he kept safely ensconced on the mantle next her to riding cups.

But riding was different. She felt truly free, like a bird on the wing, flying above the picturesque country side that stretched for miles around the stables. Here she could be herself, at one with her mount. It was a primal, primitive feeling that appealed to her.

Instead of having one of the stable boys saddle Spark for her she preferred to complete the chore herself. It helped her bond to her mount and she would whisper words of encouragement to sooth the beast before their jaunts. She led the proud gelding out of the stable and expertly swung into her custom English saddle. She bound the strap of her helmet under her elegant chin and slowly trotted toward one of the many trails that led from the yard.

As she rode past one of the outbuildings she paused to consider a busy scene in a small corral hidden from the view of the main stable area. Two hands were preparing to collect a sperm sample from one of the breeding studs that the stable kept. They were using a phantom mare, a device that looked like a large gymnast jumping vault, which would serve as the surrogate mare for the randy stallion.

The hands paid little attention to the petite blond with her long pony tail blowing in the gentle morning breeze. Although it was cool, their exertions had the men sweating, and one, a striking colored fellow, had removed his shirt, displaying his sculptured muscular body. His broad shoulders accented by his narrow waist, his washboard abdomen, all caused the color to rise in the young woman's cheeks.

Momentarily, they led the stallion, which Stacy recognized at Demon Seed, the winner of countless races, towards the phantom mare. They smeared some viscous fluid on the 'rump' of the device, which Stacy guessed was some sort of pheromone. Demon Seeds nostrils flared as he took the scent in and immediately his procreative organ began to grow and distend.

She shifted nervously in her saddle, feeling the smooth leather against her warming womanflesh, as Demon Seed's organ reached a breath-taking length and began to sway and bob beneath his belly.

The hands encouraged Demon Seed to mount the phantom mare, but he did not seem to need much encouragement as he lifted his chest onto the back of the device and began a series of rapid pelvic thrusts. Quickly, one of the hands grabbed a long, tube-like device and slipped it over the stallions jiggling penis. Using the handles at either side of the tube, the hands began to work it back and forth on the beast's cock, causing him to snort loudly. This artificial vagina was padded on its inside to simulate the feel of a real mare in heat. Stacy had seen one of the devices once, lying unattended in a tack house, and had inspected it with curious astonishment. It was about three feet long and had a removable reservoir on its end for collecting the semen sample.

Demon Seed's body went taut, his hind legs quivering violently, as he ejaculated into the fake pussy. His massive balls jiggled as they pumped a copious amount of prized horse jizz into the plastic sleeve of the artificial cunt. So copious was his discharge that excess spooge began to leak from about the cuff that sealed the device to his cock, and streamed down from the sleeve like a garden hose on high.

Stacy could feel her nipples stiffened, pointed, in her jacket. A familiar sensation coursed through her loins as she took in the scene before her. She had often dreamed of being a mare and being ravished by a wild, savage stud like Demon Seed, dreams that always caused her to awake with a yawning, wet pussy.

The stable hands removed the fake vagina from the stallion's organ, and it dangled, more limply now, from beneath his belly, still dripping volumes of semen from its flared tip.

Stacy patted Spark on his muscular neck. "The show is over, boy. Let's go for our ride."

The reverie of her morning ride was disturbed by a returning vision of Demon Seed's frantic bucking against his imagined lover and the cascade of his juices leaking from the imagined horse vagina. The sample would no doubt fetch the stallion owner many thousands of dollars, and it would be frozen until it was sterile-injected into a likely mare with the use of some large syringe. It was sad, in a way, Stacy thought, that neither the stallion nor the mare would ever likely feel the passion of a real mounting. With horses of this value the risk of injury far outdistanced any altruistic feeling of compassion for the animal's pleasure.

Stacy's thoughts also turned to the muscular black stable hand, his sweat-glistening body laboring with the large tube under Demon Seed's belly and chest. Did the latent sexuality of his labors arouse him in the least? Did the proximity of such a large, powerful organ cause him any notions of human sex?

She shook her head to dispel the vision of the black man. Everything in her past, her linage, her culture screamed in her ears that she could not look upon a black man with any sense of sexuality. It was decadent beyond words, and any woman of her class that dared to think of a black buck in any romantic sense would surely become a social outcast, scorned by polite society, avoided by ladies of fashion and breeding, and certainly would never find a husband of any quality willing to marry her.

The constant rubbing of her vulva against her saddle had ist usual effect—Stacy was in a fine fettle by the time she returned from her three hour ride. Her thoughts invariably drifted to her husband, Stanly, and she cursed his absence. She was destined to spend many hours of vexed frustration waiting for her body to settle down and return to a state or normalcy. Or she could wickedly lie upon her canopied bed and allow her fingers to explore the gentle folds of her labia, rubbing and massaging her soft fleshy lips until an orgasm racked her slim body. But such behavior always left her with a feeling of degradation and unfulfillment. Better to take a long, ice cold shower.

She swung her shapely leg off her mount and led Spark back into the stable. By now the usual crowd of riders were arriving. The idle rich, the social elite of the county, here more to make deals than to ride. Stacy nodded pleasantly at Marigold Harrison-Payne as she and Reginald Waters led their own mounts out of the stable. Rumor had it that their rides were curiously short. That they would ride to a secluded meadow and engage in frenzied carnal couplings. Or so the gossip went. Stacy wondered if Marigold's husband was aware or even cared about his wife's alleged debauchery.

The stable was by now empty, devoid of riders and mounts. Stacy drank in the stillness and quiet, the fresh smell of alfalfa filling her nose. She deftly removed Spark's tackle and saddle and began to brush him down. Again, it was a task for the hired help, but Stacy enjoyed these quiet moments with her friend, Sparkie. She hung her jacket of a nail in one of the upright wooden posts and worked in her high-collared white riding shirt. Her yet erect nipples poked through her inner slip and stood proudly on the tips of her firm breasts.

"That was a good ride today, Spark. We must try that path again soon, wouldn't you agree?" she asked as she ran the large, stiff brush over his shining fur.

"You seem to have a gift as a horse whisperer," she heard a husky, deep voice behind her say.

Stacy wheeled about to see that the black stable hand from the earlier performance with Demon Seed was leaning lazily against a stable post behind her. He was still shirtless, and being so near his well-defined body looked even more striking. His low-slung jeans displayed a sizable bulge at the crotch, which made Stacy's blood surge in her temples.

Stacy aloofly turned her back on the hired man, ignoring him. She knew well enough not to provoke a black man in private like this. Black men were known to be lustful creatures, slaves to their emotions and totally lacking in any sense of deportment.

"Aw, don't be that way, missy," the deep voice chuckled.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced, sir," Stacy said coldly.

"I can fix that. My name is Rufus Johnson. And you are the right honorable Missus Stanly Garner, I believe."

Stacy wheeled about in surprise. "How is it that you know my name, sir?"

"Oh, I've noticed you riding here on many occasions, miss. I asked around about you."

"I will thank you to keep your inquiries to yourself, sir, or I shall be forced to report you to the stable management," Stacy sputtered in annoyance.

"I mean you no harm, miss. I just admire the way you ride."

Stacy could feel the blush on her cheeks. She imagined this black fellow looking at her bouncing in her saddle and thinking impure thoughts of her.

"I am quite flattered, I am sure. Now, if you will leave and allow me to finish currying my horse," she turned back to her work.

Stacy was startled when his broad, strong and callused hand reached around her and landed on her hand that held the brush.

"Allow me, miss." His voice was low and indecently close to her ear. She could feel the heat radiating from his close body and his manly scent was intoxicating. Her knees began to shake and she felt a lump rise in her throat.

Rufus began to guide her hand over the horse's haunches. "You need to go with the pattern of their fur, miss. See?"

"I know quite well how to do this," she said meekly.

"I saw you this morning while I was collecting sperm. You were watching so intently."

Stacy hung her head in shame. The blush from her cheeks was now burning her ears. "I...I was merely curious...," she stammered nervously, feeling an involuntary sense of arousal spread from her loins throughout her lithe body.

Rufus rested his free hand on her slender shoulder and continued to guide the brush in her hand.

"It was quite a show, wasn't it? Too bad we can't let old Demon Seed breed the way nature intended, by mounting a ready mare."

"Yes...yes, I was thinking the same thoughts myself," she said in almost a whisper.

"It would be a true shame if they made us people mate the same way, wouldn't it? We like the old fashioned way too much."

"Yes, we do." Stacy could scarcely believe she was responding to his sexually-charged observations. She felt wicked for talking to another man—a black man, in particular—about such an intimate subject. But her desires were quickly dispelling any notion of propriety from the quaking woman.

Stacy turned her face towards Rufus. She smiled at her and planted a deep, passionate kiss on her soft lips. She moaned softly as they ground their lips together. Rufus removed her hand from the horse and the brush fell to the ground. He wrapped one massive arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him. She could feel the damp heat of his body through her shirt and upon her breasts.

Stacy brought her hands to the side of his face and continued to kiss him violently, her face turning to the right and left. Her breathing was ragged and came in short snorts through her flaring nostrils.

Rufus lit his grasp of her narrow waist fall to the gentle swell of her ass and began kneading the subtle flesh of her butt cheeks through her breeches. Stacy began to grind her hips against his waist and she could feel the hardened lump in his jeans pressing against her flat belly.

To her disappointment he pulled away from their embrace. She stood still, gasping for breath, then he led her by her hand to a ladder that ran up to the hay loft overhead. His notions were crystal clear, and Stacy smiled wickedly and mounted the ladder. Rufus admired the way her tight riding breeches defined her vulva as she climbed the ladder above his face and to the darkened hay loft.

He laid her softly up her back on the fresh hay and began to unbutton her shirt. Stacy was limp and unresisting, her eyes locked on his. He pulled the tail of her shirt from her breeches and she lifted her torso slightly so she could completely remove her top. He rolled up her camisole to expose her up-thrust breasts and placed his large, meaty lips upon one hard nipple. Waves of passion and excitement surged through her body as he administered to her tits. She bit her knuckle to keep from moaning aloud, relishing the feeling of his hot wet mouth of her jugs.

Rufus sat back on his haunches, straddling the winsome woman, and undid his belt and zipper. He pulled his jeans down to his thighs. He was not wearing any underwear. His inhumanly large erection sprang forth like a striking viper, fat, black, with a plumb-sized head. She cooed quietly in amazement, her eyes wide, her brows raised. Her continence was that of childish astonishment. She tentatively embraced the jutting organ with her slender fingers, marveling at its heat, reveling in the way it throbbed under her fingertips. She slowly slid her fingers down its considerable length to where it met his belly in a jagged forest of peppercorn curls. It was easily twice as long and twice as thick as her husband's own organ and firm beyond description. She gingerly cupped his massive nut sack, feeling its weight and heat in her small hands.

"I see working around stallions all day seems to have had an effect on you, Mister Johnson," she giggled.

He chuckled and lifted his hips, slowly bringing his pelvis forward, his swaying cock nearing her face.

Oh God, she thought, he wants to put that massive thing in my mouth, she thought apprehensively.

The rubbery head of his cock pushed resolutely against her lips, forcing them to part. Stacy lifted her head from its hay pillow to ease the angle of his cock's penetration of her waiting mouth. She spread her jaws maximally, and let his flared cock head pass between her stretched lips and fill her mouth with his heat.

Rufus planted his tree-like arms above her head and began slowly fucking her mouth. Deeper and deeper his cock treaded into her mouth until it hit her molars and could go no further. It was not half way in her mouth. Slowly he withdrew it slightly, then slowly jabbed it back in, hitting her uvula. The pace of his thrusts increased. She could see his giant dangling ball sack sway back and forth with each thrust. Stacy brought her hands up and held the remaining length of his cock, one hand above the other. She could not hope to encompass his girth with her fists but held them tight to the sides of his pulsating black cock. She began to slide his hands up and down the length of his cock, her strokes synchronized with is thrusts into her hot wet mouth.

Stacy's pussy felt as if it was gnawing at the crotch of her panties and breeches, angrily protesting its neglect.

Sweat dripped from his body and rained down on the wanton woman. Above her scarlet face his abdominal muscles were tight knots on his belly, flexing and releasing with his efforts.

Rufus gave a low, animal grunt and she could feel his cock suddenly begin to jerk and twitch uncontrollably. Her fingers detected it first—a pulse that ran down the length of his organ towards its head.

A torrent of thick, viscous jizz shot forcefully from his cock head, splattering against the back of the young woman's throat. She reflexively began gagging and tried to expel the invader from her mouth. But Rufus kept his cock firmly between her jaws as spurt after spurt shot from his penis into her mouth and throat.

Stacy began to choke on the cum in her mouth, and a tendril of his spooge shot from one nostril of the distressed woman. Her cheeks were bulging obscenely, filled with his hot seed. Excess spurts of jizz leaked from the tight seal of her lips on his shank and landed, hot and wet, on her neck and tits.

Finally Rufus' movements stopped, and he slowly withdrew his deflating cock from the gasping woman's mouth. Great sheets of his cum hung from its head and poured onto the poor woman's chin, dripping down her cheeks to her ears and the baby-like hair at the nape of her neck.

Rufus sat back, his softening member resting hotly, heavily on Stacy's belly and between her heaving breasts. Her initial fear of downing in his discharge abated and she felt an overpowering contentment and odd feeling of accomplishment. She would not have believed that she could handle such a prodigious organ in her mouth before today, let alone handle such a massive issue from it. She smiled sweetly up at Rufus, her eyes dancing.

Rufus pulled a soiled handkerchief from his back pocket and dropped it on Stacy's chest. "You'd better try to make yourself a little more presentable, Missus Garner." She dabbed at the spilled spooge until the handkerchief was sopping wet, gooey and sticking to her fingers.

"Thank you, Mister Johnson," she cooed.

"Sorry I ain't got but one handkerchief."

"No, thank you, for everything, Mister Johnson."

"My pleasure, ma'am," she smiled down at the sated woman.

Stacy walked, somewhat unsteadily, back to her parked SUV. Her riding jacket hid the gooey stains on her shirt well enough, but her hair was stiffly caked his Rufus' cum. She prayed that she did not run into anyone in the parking lot and be forced to engage in some pleasantry while looking as she did. He jaws throbbed dully as she sat in the SUV, feeling the heat from the seat on her swollen pussy, and headed for home.

She resolved to return to the stables the very next morning for another lesson from the knowledgeable Mister Johnson.