wild Mustangs, broke them and then sold them. Have you ever seen someone break a horse?” Kaiser’s voice had moved further away and she wanted to look, to see what the noise was, but she remained as he’d left her, cheek-against-blotter, her arms trembling as she held her skirt up for him.
“No, sir,” she replied, realizing that he’d asked her a question.
“It’s brutal.” Kaiser was close again and took her hands in his, moving her skirt higher up over her hips so it would stay by itself. “Savage. Horses that have lived in the wild their whole lives know nothing of bits and bridles and saddles. My father called it
‘learnin.’ As in—‘We’re learnin’ these here horses to be right.’ He was definitely no horse-whisperer.” The Texas accent was back, briefly, and Kaiser laughed, but it was a humorless thing, and Heidi found herself blinking back tears.
“Some horses break easy.” Kaiser stretched one of her arms out with his as he pressed against her from behind. “Some don’t.” He did the same with her other arm, and she spread her fingers out on the blotter, her hands disappearing under his. “When a horse has too much spirit, breaking it turns quite cruel. It’s a horrible struggle between human and beast.”
His cheek found hers, resting there as he spoke. She was transfixed, trembling beneath him.
“I don’t want a woman I have to break.” His voice was soft, urgent, and she wished she could see his face. “I want a woman who’s willing to bend.”
His words thrilled her even as he stood up and stepped back, bringing a hand down hard against the swell of her behind. She didn’t do it, but she wanted to arch her back like a cat, begging for more. This is what she wanted, had always wanted, would forever want.
He might have been right about breaking horses, she mused, biting her lip to keep from crying out as his hand came down again, but there was something she thought he didn’t know. That kind of surrender of the spirit required trust—a great deal of trust. Perhaps some horses refused to submit because they were worldly cynics, too cautious and suspicious to give in. To them, man was just another dangerously cruel faction of an already dangerous universe. Those horses that were easier to break—she wondered if their spirits were just as strong as the others. Maybe even stronger.
“Eeee!” she squealed as his hand found the sweet spot again, again, picking up rhythm. She breathed a sigh of relief when he switched cheeks, but she knew that one would soon be red and stinging, too.
Heidi closed her eyes and thought about horses, wild-eyed ones running free, and tame ones, sweet as the sugar-cubes they nuzzled from your hand. Were those captive horses broken, then? Was it so wrong to trust? To want someone to guide you, shape you, give you exactly what you needed?
A tame horse adored their master, and wanted nothing more than to please him.
An obedient horse was loved—and it loved.
His punishment was the sweetest thing she’d ever known and she took it with a grateful sort of grace, her little body twisting, not sure if she was trying to wriggle away or arching to beg for more. He was focused completely on the task at hand, warming her bottom to a steady, red heat and then, abruptly, he stopped, making her moan out loud.
“I don’t have a limp.” He was slightly breathless—just slightly. “But I use a cane.
Have you ever wondered why?”
Fashion statement? She thought, but bit her tongue. There was no good answer to that question and she was glad it was rhetorical, because he continued talking, moving around the desk so she could see him holding it. He began to unscrew the handle, which was probably ivory, she mused, carved long before it was politically incorrect.
“My father used this to break horses.” Kaiser tipped the cane forward and something fell out of its hollow recesses. Heidi recognized it immediately—a riding crop.
“He was cruel and
“No, sir,” she replied, realizing that he’d asked her a question.
“It’s brutal.” Kaiser was close again and took her hands in his, moving her skirt higher up over her hips so it would stay by itself. “Savage. Horses that have lived in the wild their whole lives know nothing of bits and bridles and saddles. My father called it
‘learnin.’ As in—‘We’re learnin’ these here horses to be right.’ He was definitely no horse-whisperer.” The Texas accent was back, briefly, and Kaiser laughed, but it was a humorless thing, and Heidi found herself blinking back tears.
“Some horses break easy.” Kaiser stretched one of her arms out with his as he pressed against her from behind. “Some don’t.” He did the same with her other arm, and she spread her fingers out on the blotter, her hands disappearing under his. “When a horse has too much spirit, breaking it turns quite cruel. It’s a horrible struggle between human and beast.”
His cheek found hers, resting there as he spoke. She was transfixed, trembling beneath him.
“I don’t want a woman I have to break.” His voice was soft, urgent, and she wished she could see his face. “I want a woman who’s willing to bend.”
His words thrilled her even as he stood up and stepped back, bringing a hand down hard against the swell of her behind. She didn’t do it, but she wanted to arch her back like a cat, begging for more. This is what she wanted, had always wanted, would forever want.
He might have been right about breaking horses, she mused, biting her lip to keep from crying out as his hand came down again, but there was something she thought he didn’t know. That kind of surrender of the spirit required trust—a great deal of trust. Perhaps some horses refused to submit because they were worldly cynics, too cautious and suspicious to give in. To them, man was just another dangerously cruel faction of an already dangerous universe. Those horses that were easier to break—she wondered if their spirits were just as strong as the others. Maybe even stronger.
“Eeee!” she squealed as his hand found the sweet spot again, again, picking up rhythm. She breathed a sigh of relief when he switched cheeks, but she knew that one would soon be red and stinging, too.
Heidi closed her eyes and thought about horses, wild-eyed ones running free, and tame ones, sweet as the sugar-cubes they nuzzled from your hand. Were those captive horses broken, then? Was it so wrong to trust? To want someone to guide you, shape you, give you exactly what you needed?
A tame horse adored their master, and wanted nothing more than to please him.
An obedient horse was loved—and it loved.
His punishment was the sweetest thing she’d ever known and she took it with a grateful sort of grace, her little body twisting, not sure if she was trying to wriggle away or arching to beg for more. He was focused completely on the task at hand, warming her bottom to a steady, red heat and then, abruptly, he stopped, making her moan out loud.
“I don’t have a limp.” He was slightly breathless—just slightly. “But I use a cane.
Have you ever wondered why?”
Fashion statement? She thought, but bit her tongue. There was no good answer to that question and she was glad it was rhetorical, because he continued talking, moving around the desk so she could see him holding it. He began to unscrew the handle, which was probably ivory, she mused, carved long before it was politically incorrect.
“My father used this to break horses.” Kaiser tipped the cane forward and something fell out of its hollow recesses. Heidi recognized it immediately—a riding crop.
“He was cruel and
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