Free Ponygirl Tales by Don Winslow Page A

ponygirl’s eyes. Geoffrey, fascinated, could see the silent plea in those widened eyes, although the girl never uttered a word, never begged for mercy. “We shall have to give some serious thought to this hair,” his aunt continued in her dry business-like tone. “Yes, I think I shall suggest to Basil that we have it all shaved off -- clean as a billiard ball!” she crowed. “A lot less to take care of. You’d like that, wouldn’t you my Pretty?” she hissed, twisting the fistful of air as the girl’s face scrunched up in pain. “Well!!!” “Yes M’Lady,” the girl managed to get out through the tightness of her clenched teeth. With a final yank that caused a shivering gasp, she released the girl’s head, which sank down between huddled shoulders while Flare panted for breath. The imperious Lady ignored her, and went on to continue her discourse. “Of course the face is a paramount interest, even to a teenage boy, I would assume. Features must be finely drawn and not at all coarse. The eyes are naturally point of interest, for once you’ve learned to read a woman’s eyes she will have no more secrets from you. You may be surprised at what you find there. Oh, you’ll look for love, of course, and maybe you’ll see it, but an even rarer find is the look of sweet submission, like we find in the eyes of a well-trained ponygirl. The nose, here is straight and true, with the slightest flare. And then there are these lips, of course, seductive, succulent, one might even say…  provocative.” With that the Lady Ursula took the ponygirl’s lower lip between her thumb and forefinger, pinched it, pulled on it, and rubbed a finger over the pliable lip. “One should always be sure to check the teeth of a ponygirl.” To demonstrate her ladyship took Flare’s jaw in her hand and squeezed pressing the mouth open to reveal a clenched set of even white teeth. She pressed back the bottom lip. “Good! Healthy, fit, and well-groomed,” she pronounced, running a hand down the girl’s haunches and giving her a little pat. She looked over at her nephew “Ah, but you’re such an impetuous young fellow, aren’t you Geoffrey? Impatient, are we? Well, I quite understand. I saw you admiring our girl’s delightful little tits. You were about to cop a feel, I believe. Oh, I know how you’d love to get your hands on them, wouldn’t you? This one’s very proud of her breasts, you know -- as well she might be! Not very big of course, but wide and so firmly out-standing! Almost hard.” she mused, letting a hand trail down the girl’s front pressing with a single finger to indent the soft tittie-flesh before following the rounded curve of the left breast. “Go on, you may touch her. I know how much you want to,” his aunt’s tone was that of a gracious monarch granting permission. She kept looking in Flare’s eyes even as she acknowledged the throb of longing in the watching lad’s soul. Geoffrey moved, reached out to the girl. His fingers made contact with a light tentative touch. He used his fingertips to trace over them like a blind man feeling his way over those softly-yielding thickened disks. Flare’s breasts were warm, softly resilient, and wonderfully springy to the touch. “They’re like fingerprints, uniquely expressive of each individual woman.” His aunt’s voice seemed far away. Now Geoffrey was using both hands, his touch more sure; his hands, confident. He placed those flattened hands directly on her chest, and began rubbing the slight mounds, moving them liquidly over her chest, savoring the silky smoothness of the skin, the underlying resiliency that gave the taut mounds their springy elasticity. He became aware of the nipples hardening under his flattened palms, stiffening into hard rubbery pebbles. Flare swayed slightly. She was breathing hard through parted lips as her healthy body responded to the pleasure of masculine hands fondling her needy breasts. What Geoffrey didn’t realize was that