Free Dark Journey [Ariel's Desire 2] by Candace Smith Page B

distracted.   He should get through the first days easier now,” Wind Seeker remarked.
    Yellow Hawk shaved the inch growth, leaving the three inches on his crown. He wrapped a strip of leather close to his skull so the wavy black tail stuck out and could swing.
    Mike was curious about what they were doing to him, but his throbbing cock demanded his attention.   Every time it pulsed, his ass contracted causing the finger to press.   He’d rock forward into Wind Seeker’s fist, only to be painfully reprimanded.   It was becoming a vicious circle of frustrating denied arousal.   The fact that he was pissed off because he was being stopped from masturbating into the big man’s hand caused Wind Seeker to chuckle again with amusement.
    Through painful mistakes, Mike learned he could no longer tilt his head or turn it side to side because of the tracers down the front.   He could only hold his head up, facing straight ahead.
    With Yellow Hawk pulling the reigns, Mike was led back through town.   His head faced forward, his back was straight, and his mouth was held open while his tongue moved restlessly.   Drool trailed down his chin.
    His cock was stiff and the tracers rubbed along his root, causing him to fight a losing battle to keep chasing his elusive climax.   They stopped at every home so the tribe could admire the horse.   He‘d close his eyes and eventually begin his thrust, sure that if he could just have one release, he would be able to stop humiliating himself.   In the back of his mind he registered the Indians’ laughter.   “Uck ewe. Uck ewe, I alost ot it.   Den, uck ewe,” his scream garbled through the ring bit.   Yellow Hawk was right.   The ring kept him distracted.
    The warriors congratulated Yellow Hawk for helping the soul journey from dog to horse, while the captive knelt at his feet rutting his hard shaft into the air.   The Indians found his behavior curious.   It had been twenty years since a flatlander was brought through the journey, and many were surprised to learn it was true.   Part of the flatlanders’ journey was to learn not to rut.   The Indians were raised with the respect not to let their desires override their pride and strength and most believed it was a natural phenomenon, not a learned condition.
    When they finished the greetings, Yellow Hawk led him to the stream.   He picked up a small bowl and filled it with water.   After he untied the back tracers, he snapped.   After a month of conditioning, Mike automatically dropped to his knees at the sound.   Yellow Hawk placed the bowl in front of him. “Water yourself, horse.”   The Indian shook his head as the horse remained kneeling on the ground with his eyes closed, bottom lip trembling with his pumping hips.   He pulled his lock of hair and the horse opened its eyes.   “Water yourself.”
    It took a second for the words to register.   Mike leaned over and lapped the water.   It immediately fell out of his open mouth and every successive attempt resulted with only a few drops making it down his throat when he curled his tongue and let it flow toward the back.
    “Finish it, horse.   You’ve been exerting yourself with your rutting.   You will not dehydrate.”
    Mike needed to climax.   The hell with his thirst.   He was so close.   He’d drink after his balls emptied.   Yellow Hawk pulled his tracers until he caught his attention again.   Mike realized he was not going to be able to move his hips against the straps until he did as the Indian asked, so he worked at the task, finally sucking the water into his mouth and lifting his head to swallow. The up and down motion caused the plug to stroke him and he whined his displeasure at the frustrating teasing drip released from his cock.   Yellow Hawk ignored him.   At last, the bowl was empty and he was brought to his feet.   Yellow Hawk retied the back tracers and squeezed his full sack.   “The makings of a good breakfast