The Crop Circle (M/M)

Erotic equestrian fiction by Rod Cayenne

My riding instructor cut a handsome figure in his tweed jacket, jods and shiny black Aigle boots.

“You seem to be a little too fond of the whip, my friend!” he admonished.  “Please cut down its use on the horses.  If you have a sadistic streak, you should take it out on the stable lads or lassies.  They are used to the riding crop and dressage whip on their haunches.”

“Really?” I laughed as I dismounted and tied the horse.  “Don’t tempt me.”

“Aha, another enthusiast, if I’m not mistaken.  I’m not shocked.  Your interest is quite common.  Are you really keen?  If so, I may be able to help.”

“Really?” I asked again.  I stared into his blue eyes.

“Yes, really.  There is a flogging group hereabouts.  Interested?”

“Yes, rather!  Tell me more please,” I added, more than intrigued.

“It’s called The Crop Circle.  Get it?”

“Oh, how very droll.  Sounds right up my street.”

“Well, don’t get too worked up about it just yet.  Let me tell you a bit more about it.”

“Thank you,” I added, trying to seem humble and at the same time trying to will away an erection from forming in my jodhpurs as I thought about beating stable lads and lasses.

“Alright then.  I’ll be honest with you.  It started off as a spin-off from an occult group.”

“Oh, wicked!” I said, somewhat childishly.

“Quite.  But then quite a few of us realised we were more interested in the floggings than the witchcraft.”

“I see.  I understand.”

“Of course, some of the traditions have followed on.  There is an initiation.  Which will be painful for you…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.  I can handle that.”

“Don’t be so sure about that.  Most likely it’ll be be a birching.  With rods you’ve collected yourself from the sacred forest.”

I gulped a little.  It’s true I was less keen suddenly, although I was aware that I had a masochistic side too.  We went into the stables where he showed me the fine collection of crops and whips, which were prominently on display.  I picked a crop and admired its beautiful craftsmanship and leatherwork.  I placed it back with a shudder.

“I’ll get the Circle Master to contact you.  Of course, I cannot guarantee anything.  He is choosy.  There is the initiation and you have to prove yourself worthy.  There are dominant and submissive members of the group.  And of course, some who like a little of both sides of the coin.  Tell me frankly, where would you see yourself fitting in?”

“Well, to be honest, I do like a bit of variety in all things.”

“I see.  At least, I think I do.  You want some give and some take?”

“Yes. Yes, to be honest, that’s what I really want.”

“Good!  In that case I think a preliminary thrashing right now would be appropriate.”

“What?”

“Yes, just think of it as a pre-initiation.  After all, I could forget to mention your interest to the Circle Master.”

I don’t think I’d ever felt so trapped in my life before!

“Can I keep my jods on please?”

“No, no, no!  That won’t do at all!  It wouldn’t be a proper initiation if it wasn’t on the bare, would it?”

“But this is just the pre-initiation,” I tried to plead.

“Don’t split hairs and don’t try to be funny with me.  The stable hands get it bare, and they are a lot younger and less tough than you are.  Get your bottom bare now and get over the bale.  I’m going to beat you for excessive use of the whip.  Isn’t that fair?”

“Yes, I suppose so.  Although I didn’t mean any harm by my use of the whip.”

“Tell that to your mount!  But don’t worry, because I won’t mean any harm by my use of the whip on you.  To make it fair, I’ll use your own whip on you.  Give it to me please.”

I handed the crop over.  It was a cheap item, not as impressive as those in the display, and I was seriously doubting that it was that severe.  However, my opinion soon altered as it thrashed down on my naked haunches!

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

I gasped as lines of fire lit up my backside.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

It was humiliating.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

It was even worse that I was being beaten with my own crop.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

I resolved to go easy on the horses in future.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The flames began to subside just a little as the crop was thrown down beside me.

“I think we’ll complete your schooling with a final half-dozen with the dressage whip!”

I wanted to say no, more than anything in the world.  But I was under the instructor’s spell, and the word just wouldn’t come out.  He pushed me further into the bale with his shiny boot.

That dressage whip was even worse! It cut and flailed and reduced me to tears.  It was agony.  Agony and ecstasy.  I loved it!

There were to be several more sessions over bales, fine leather saddles and in a bedroom back in the farmhouse once the weather got really cold.  But I didn’t hear from the Circle Master in all that time.  Had I been tricked, or was I just not worthy?  I didn’t want to press it with the instructor as our sessions were so intense and enjoyable.  No, I didn’t want to jeopardise the good thing we were sharing.

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Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne

Photography © 2011 by Jonathan, and used by very kind permission

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