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The Pack Horse


I only catch a quick glimpse of her riding boots when she enters the room, moments before she sits on me and crosses her long legs. I slightly bend the middle of my back – letting her weight sag a little into me as I have been taught – then I stay perfectly still on my hands and knees as a good human chair.

My owners have no idea that I understand any English. It's not like I have kept it from them: I am simply not supposed to talk, or my tongue may be cut off. Anyway, the effort of sustaining the weight of our guest can't prevent me from listening to the conversation.

Her name is Eva. She sounds confident and worldly with her slight British accent, like someone who studied in England after growing up elsewhere in Europe. As she bargains with one of my owners over the price of rentals, I can tell that she is different: our typical customer is a wealthy tourist who travels in complete comfort, and chooses this country for the thrill of experiencing a fully matriarchal society and riding one of its famous human horses for an hour or two. But this woman is apparently a serial traveler and well-known blogger, who is planning a 2-week solo trek in the wilderness and wants a capable mount that will carry her for about 200 miles!

I can tell that my owner is concerned. We are valuable property after all – providing her family with a steady income – and besides she might get in serious trouble if something happens to this customer while traveling on one of her horses.

They keep negotiating for the better part of 20 minutes until, out of nowhere, Eva slightly adjusts herself on my back and places one of her boots on my hand. It hurts, especially once she crosses her other leg on top of the one that is torturing me. But I know better than to complain, so I start taking deep breaths to manage the pain, while sweating and trying to remain perfectly still under her.

"How about this one?" I hear her ask a few minutes later. "He seems strong and well disciplined." Her question tells me that she is not hurting my hand by mistake: she has been testing me.

"How much weight do you?" asks my owner in her broken English.

"I am about 125 pounds, or 57 kg. That's without any clothing or gear. Why?"

"No good for normal horse. I give you stronger one, but more expensive" she replies somewhat uncourteously. "And luggage?"

"Of course. I have two large backpacks, a tent and some additional gear." As she says that, I feel her add more weight onto her foot – which sends me into absolute agony for a second – and then scoot over to sit right on my shoulders, with one of her butt cheeks basically on the back of my neck. That makes my arms work harder, but it finally gives relief to my poor hand because Eva's feet are now hanging a couple of inches from the ground.

"No human horse can carry you and all that stuff. And this one only good for smaller people or shorter rides. Most customers here are small, from Asia, so he is good for them. For you I can give two horses, white girl. Strong one you ride, normal one is pack horse for stuff."

They leave for a tour of the stables before coming to any agreement, so I am left alone in the room, curious about the mysterious Eva. I spend a few seconds stretching my back and rubbing my sore hand, then I go back into my position on all-fours to avoid any punishment. I think the worst part of being a slave is the boredom of all the waiting times, and I find myself dreaming of being Eva's mount for two weeks in the wilderness. I only saw her legs, but she sounded so beautiful.

I serve as a chair for a few more women, then my morning shift is over and I am sent to the stables to be ridden for the afternoon. Most of the riding happens on shoulders, with small leather saddles to ensure the rider's butt is fully supported while our necks don't get worn out too quickly.

I am ridden briefly by some tourists, who bounce inexpertly on my shoulders and take selfies for their social media profiles. Then it's mid-afternoon when I see Darika walk to me: she is one of the tour guides here, a petite woman originally from Thailand, and by far the person who is nicest to me. It's time for the group trek of the afternoon, and I am thrilled when she takes my bridle in her gloved hand and makes me follow her. She chooses to ride me more often than not, and I always happily give her my best performance. Being ridden by the tour guide always means extra mileage, because she will go back and forth between the front and the back of the convoy to check on all the riding tourists, but Darika weighs barely 100 pounds and she is a skillful rider.

As we reach an open area with a group of tourists, she drops the bridle and my training tells me to immediately stop, getting down on one knee. She kindly introduces herself to each of the tourists, each standing next to a similarly kneeling human horse. Then she approaches me, places a booted foot on my thigh, and hands me a small leather bag. I bow to her and take it from her hand, then I extract a rowel spur from the bag and expertly fasten it to her boot. She switches foot, and I am doing the same with the other boot when I recognize a voice from this morning.

"That is the most interesting!" says Eva, walking up to Darika. "I thought your horses were just brutes to be enslaved and ridden, not such obedient and intelligent servants."

"Oh, most of them are totally dumb. But this one is special: smarter than most, and so eager to please" Darika replies as I finish with her second spur. She taps the boot that is still on my thigh with her riding crop, and I immediately kiss it.

Eva seems pleased with the little demonstration, and she lifts a foot to place her boot on my thigh right next to Darika's. "I don't have a whip" she says with a smile, so Darika taps Eva's beautiful boot and I obediently kiss it as well.

"What else can he do?" Eva asks. I am supposed to keep my eyes always down in front of women, but I still get a glimpse of her full figure with my peripheral vision: she is a tall brunette with full thighs wrapped in jodhpurs, long hair and a pretty round face without any makeup.

"Oh, lots of things!" Darika says with a smile. "We would have to be in private for a full demonstration, if you know what I mean. But we need to get going now."

The afternoon trek is a 7 mile loop, but I am pretty sure I walk and jog at least 10 miles under Darika as she regularly checks in on all of the 12 riders in the small convoy. Towards the end we climb the steepest incline of the loop and we take a break at the top to admire the approaching sunset, while Darika chats with Eva who is riding Thor, one of the largest horses in our stable. Then Darika realizes that two of the tourists have fallen behind.

"Who gave them such small horses?" she asks frustrated under her breath, then she pulls a bridle and digs one of her spurs into my abdomen to turn me around, and hits my bare chest with her riding crop to launch me downhill at a fast trot. A few minutes later I am carrying her up the steep incline for the second time, as she follows what she called 'small horses' and whips them for encouragement. The poor bastards are about my size – average height, athletic, broad shoulders and just shy of 200 pounds – but their riders are American tourists and must be at least 120 pounds each, which is considered way too much for them on anything longer than a quick ride on flat terrain: the rule of thumb is that the horse should be at least double the weight of his rider.

I am pretty tired when we reach the top for the second time, and I am grateful when all the horses are ordered to get down on their knees, so our riders can admire the sunset while sitting on our shoulders. Darika double-taps one of her boots with the riding crop, and I obediently remove her boots to give her a nice foot massage.

"Again, so impressive!" Eva comments. "How did you even teach him that?"

"Oh, it's so easy. One day I decided to try and teach him, so I double-tapped my boot, took off both of my boots, and placed my feet on his hands. He immediately gave me a great massage. And the second time he was already as good as what you just saw. He learns so fast and he's so obedient. A total pleaser."

"Are any other horses so good?"

"Hmm... Some are better than others, but this one is my favorite. He's also very strong for his size, and he just won't give up: the giant you are riding would have made a fuss about climbing this steep incline twice in a row, but this one just does whatever he's ordered."

"What's his name?"

"We call him Centaur, because he's the closest thing to a human among our horses."

After the ride I enjoy some well deserved grooming by my sweet Darika, who also washes away some blood caused by her spurs on my abdomen, then I get ready for some rest on the comfortable hay.

"Really, as a pack horse?" is the first thing I hear in the early morning when I wake up. "He's one of our best slaves, so strong and obedient" says Emily, one of the older grooms.

"She wants him and she is paying a good price, but she's too heavy to ride him. So, pack horse it is. End of discussion" I hear one of my owners say. Are they talking about me?

The answer appears to be positive as they immediately walk up to my stable.

One hour later, it's clear that I have been rented out to be Eva's pack horse for her 200-mile expedition over two weeks. Thor will be her mount, and he looks at me with a superior expression on his stupid face as I get loaded like a mule with two backpacks, a tent, a sleeping mat and – possibly heavier than anything else – two large jugs of drinking water.

I'd rather have a rider on me, but I don't get to make the rules, and Eva is clearly too heavy to ride me for such an extended period of time. I am thrilled for the change to my routine though: this will be an adventure! Eva walks up to me, double-checks that I have all of her luggage on me, then she places a bit in my mouth with a long bridle and attaches the other end to her saddle, which is already fastened to Thor's gigantic shoulders. Then she touches the bottom of my chin with her gloved hand, pushing it upwards until I am forced – against my own training – to look into her beautiful brown eyes for a couple of seconds.

I am confused by this brief moment of personal connection, but it's over quickly as she walks away to mount Thor. Her plump butt looks magnificent on the shoulder saddle as we set off, with me following her like the docile pack horse that I am expected to be for the next two weeks.

The first two hours are uneventful, as we proceed at a fast walk on flat terrain. At one point Eva yanks my reins and I get closer to Thor, so she can reach a bottle at the top of my front backpack and take a sip of water. Then she puts the bottle back in its place, takes a glove off and places her pretty hand right in front of my face. Instinctively I kiss it, and I get a little caress on my face in return: this fascinating woman really seems to enjoy my devotion and obedience.

Then she digs her spurs twice into Thor's bare abdomen, and we break into a fast trot.

I look at her beautiful boots planted atop Thor's hands – which serve as her human stirrups, as it is customary – and I revel in the feeling of her total dominance over us, a pair of males used to provide transportation to her superior feminine body and all of her possessions.

Then – as I gradually slide back into my natural pack horse position behind her – I notice something else: she is bouncing pretty hard with her butt on Thor's shoulders, instead of using her feet on his hands to soften the landing as it normally happens on a trot. I just assumed that she was an experienced rider, given the ambitious trek that she's embarking on, but apparently she is not so skilled.

When we take the first break by a river after about 3.5 hours of non-stop riding, I can see that Thor appears quite distressed. Hopefully he won't buck or do anything else like that, as she keeps painfully bouncing on him.

Temporarily free of our respective burdens, Thor and I are allowed to wash our faces and drink some water from the river. Then Eva loosens up our respective bits until they are down by our necks, and she inserts into our respective mouths two globs of cereal glued together by honey – our nutritious lunch – before revealing a container with what looks like a much more delicious meal, based on rice, meat and vegetables: her own lunch.

She take a first mouthful and says to herself: "Oh yes, delicious."

Then she looks at me: "What was that command? Damn it, I should have taken notes when Darika gave me all of those instructions for you. How do I turn you into a lounge chair?"

She is clearly talking to herself, not expecting me to understand. But I immediately lay on my back and place the bottom of my feet on the ground, so my legs are bent and ready to serve as a backrest.

"Remarkable," she observes. Then she sits on my abdomen, relaxes her back against my thighs and places her boots by the sides of my head.

"Look at me," she says after a couple more mouthfuls of food. I instinctively make eye contact with her, before realizing that I really let my guard down: nobody is supposed to know that I understand English, or I might get in trouble. Perhaps this happened because we are far away from the stables, or perhaps it's due to the misterious attraction that I feel for this woman.

"I'll be damned, you understand me!"

I don't know what to do, so I keep looking into her brown eyes for a couple more seconds. Then I turn to kiss one of her boots, and immediately to the other side to kiss the other, almost to humbly ask forgiveness for understanding the language that only her superior gender is supposed to use.

She smiles at me. "Can you also talk?"

No, I am not getting my tongue cut off. No way. I just look up to her, silent.

"Well, if you change your mind, it would be nice to have some company from time to time on this long journey. Now, how about one of those foot rubs that I saw you give Darika yesterday?"

There's no point in pretending that I need a physical cue. I unzip her boots and she places her long soft feet on my face. One at a time, I slightly lift a foot and do my best to provide a satisfying massage, but I can't tell if she's enjoying herself because blinded by her long toes on my eyes.

"Oh, you will be doing this all the time on this trip," she says after a while. Then she slides her feet back into the boots and stands up. "Now we need to get going, boy." This woman seems to be treating me more humanly than anyone else, but she is definitely not forgetting who's in charge.

She looks at me with a satisfied smile as I pick up all the luggage and I fasten it to my own body. The average slave will just kneel in place while the Rider puts all her backpacks and gear on him, but I feel extremely eager to please Eva and make her life as easy as possible. And she seems to love that.

A few moments later I see Eva step on Thor's thigh, swing her other leg over his shoulder and land pretty heavily on the saddle, without any attempt to slow herself down. That's when it happens: the powerful human pony gets down on both of his knees and tries to shake off his rider. Fortunately, Eva reacts promptly and maintains her balance, then she immediately attacks him with a series of harsh whiplashes and jabs of her spurs. Thor cries in pain, stands up and starts walking obediently under her, temporarily tamed.

Of course I follow them, but I don't have a good feeling about this: Eva now wants to assert her complete dominance over Thor, so she starts using her spurs and riding crops with abandon, ignoring her mount's constant cries of pain. On top of that, we are proceeding at a trot and her full weight keeps bouncing on his shoulders at every step.

Thor actually endures her abuse for several hours, until we start crossing a river in the late afternoon. The water is shallow but fast-moving, and something must spook him because he stops in the middle of the crossing and refuses to move forward. Of course Eva doesn't want to dismount and get her own boots wet, so she spurs him on with increasing vigor until she must be definitely cutting into the skin of his abdomen. Thor cries in pain but he doesn't move, so she tries to break him with a series of whiplashes all over his ribs, back and chest.

My instinct tells me to get closer to them just as the big dumb pony decides to fall onto his knees and throw her off. He succeeds this time, but I catch Eva in a cradle, although partially impeded by the fact that one of her backpacks is tied against my chest. She looks at me with surprise, then gratitude as I carry her 125+ pounds together with all of her luggage to the other side of the river. It's not the easiest task, but I feel extremely proud of having saved this gorgeous woman from getting wet – or worse.

Thor follows us meekly, probably bracing for whatever punishment his Rider might have in store for him. However, as I kneel down on dry land and let Eva's feet touch the ground so she can stand up, she simply starts walking away from us.

I unload all of my burden and I get up, but I don't move from my spot. I am never supposed to walk if my bridles are not being held by a woman.

She turns around and looks at me. "Oh, right. You are a horse after all," Eva points out, then she grabs my bridle and I obediently follow her towards some trees, while Thor is on his knees and absentmindedly looks at the flowing river.

We get behind a tree, out of sight, and then Eva orders: "Kneel!" It's not a standard command, as we are usually told to assume the 'mount' position on one knee, but I use my imagination and I get down on both knees, sitting down over my own ankles. Then she steps on top of my thighs – looking away from me – and I turn my face towards the sky, on a hunch, just as she pulls down her pants and sits on me. Darika must have taught her this.

I am pleasantly overwhelmed by the softness and taste of her intimacy, but I have no time to relax as her pee immediately starts flowing into my mouth. It's a heavier stream than what the tiny Darika has had me accustomed to, but I try my best and I manage to catch up after the initial surprise, swallowing every drop like a perfect human urinal. When the flow stops, Eva slightly grinds herself against my mouth and I take that as clear hint. My sight is completely impeded by her buttocks covering my eyes, but I use my other senses to please her as well as I can, pushing my tongue into her pussy when she offers it to me and sucking her sweet clitoris when she slides further back to push my nose between her labia. My neck is suffering from her weight in this uncomfortable position, but I am totally lost in the need to please this gorgeous woman, as the taste of her juices gradually replaces that of her urine in my mouth.

Her taste becomes even sweeter when she cums, grinding me in the most unforgiving and sensual way. Then she relaxes, just using my face as a chair and my thighs as a footrest. I don't know how much longer I can resist in this extremely uncomfortable position, barely able to breathe as her now-relaxed crotch fully envelopes my mouth and nose.

"Good boy," she simply says as she eventually stands up and steps down, grabbing my bridle so I can follow her. She doesn't even look at me, acting in the most entitled way as I feel completely used. I think I love her.

Then she instructs me to set up camp for the night, while making Thor get down on all-fours to serve as her chair. She tells me what to do in plain English, and I follow her instructions obediently and silently.

I am somewhat surprised that Thor receives no physical punishment for throwing her off earlier. However she feeds me and orders me to join her inside her tent, while he is left outside with an empty stomach.

I serve as her lounge chair for a couple of hours, as her urinal three more times, and finally as a warm footrest as she lays down. Then she sends me out, so I can relieve myself and find a space to sleep on the ground right next to her tent.

It's not quite dawn yet when she calls me back in: "Slave!"

I crawl into her tent and she motions for me to lay on my back, so she can straddle my face and relieve herself. This time she is facing me, looking into my eyes with her sleepy face as I swallow her strong morning pee with complete devotion.

Less than an hour later, after everybody has eaten and I have folded everything back into a transportable format, I realize that the rest of this trip is going to be extremely different when Eva attaches all of her luggage and gear to Thor's harness.

"What are you waiting for? Wear the saddle, slave," she tells me in a half-amused and half-impatient tone.

I guess she's done dealing with Thor, and she wants me to carry her back to camp. I have only been allowed such a long ride with much smaller women, so I brace myself for a very hard day. And to be honest – although intimidated by the task at hand – I am also excited to be ridden by this mysterious woman.

As soon as I am saddled and in position, Eva steps on my thigh and lands heavily with her butt on my shoulder saddle. I now understand why Thor found that careless and irritating, but it doesn't have the same effect on me: I feel like this woman could intentionally abuse me for no reason, and I would still worship her.

Eva makes me stand up with a tug of the reins, and gets me started by firmly digging her spurs into my abdomen. She is far from gentle and also much heavier than my typical rider, but I love feeling her weight on top of me and seeing her full white thighs next to my face. Even the feeling of the soles of her riding boots on the palms of my hands – her human stirrups – makes me feel lucky and totally devoted.

In my eagerness to please her, I blindly follow the directions she gives me with the reins and I diligently carry her at a fast walk, followed by Thor who's now our pack horse. So it takes a few minutes before I make a startling realization: we are not heading back to camp!

Does this woman really expect me to carry her for the remainder of the expedition? This is only day two, and I seem to recall that we would be away for about two weeks. How am I possibly going to do this?

My concerns about the overall trip are soon pushed aside by a series of much more pressing feelings: Eva's spurs and whip demand a trot from me, and as I obey her I can feel my muscles working so hard under her body, my heart rate steadily climbing, my shoulders getting sore from the constant bouncing of her weight, and Eva's spurs relentlessly tapping my abdomen every few seconds to encourage me to keep the pace.

I feel scared, yet determined to satisfy her demands. So I just take it one step at a time, focusing on the contrast between my tan quadriceps working hard to transport Eva's weight and her relaxed, beautiful, full thighs bouncing in my peripheral vision as she enjoys her ride in complete comfort.

I was born for this, and I will keep serving my beautiful Eva as long as I have any strength left, no matter how much I am asked to suffer for her satisfaction.