Anyway, I followed his instructions and dressed like a whore. Seamed black stockings held up by a 14 strap belt - in my excitement I managed to ladder...one, pulling it on but I felt a cheap slut wouldn’t care; strong, black lace corset, laced as tight as I could get it - though I knew he’d insist on making it even tighter; black bra holding up and pushing out the biggest set of tits I owned - 44 DD; black leather mini skirt, so short it did not hide the straps of the suspender belt; red satin. They’d know. I buried that thought deep as I stretched my neck and tried to rattle some other thoughts into my head, but there was little else to think about as we rode. It was monotonous with the sound of the hooves and birds. Neither of them were talking and there was little for me to say. I had learned when I was young that male bonding wasn’t about saying anything but about the quiet time spent together. We bounced and swayed with the rhythm of the horses. Rocko sipped from a flask. Brad. More

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