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thebigirishgrey · 4 years

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IRISH DRAUGHT HORSE SOCIETY GB YEARBOOK 36TH EDITION -

For the last 10 or so years of my life the only horses I’ve seen are the ones in my favourite stories, come to life at night in my dreams. The Silver Brumby, Black Beauty, War Horse, The Last Unicorn, you name them, Ive read them or seen them on screen, and at night they dance on my closed eyelids across my mind into their golden fields far far from my reach. It hurt so much to be bed bound and far from the animals I love so much, I am severely disabled with a brain condition that is trying to blind me and mobility problems that cause chronic pain and fatigue that make me feel like I actually have a horse on my back rather than the other way round!

In 2018 I decided that rotting in my bed for the rest of my life, was not an option, for nearly 10 years I’d spent my life in the same 4 walls and duvet, a modern day prison. I asked Mum one evening if she would help me get back in the saddle metaphorically and physically. We found a riding school and there in the corner was a horse they deemed “the scary one”. She was an Irish Draught mare who someone had sold to the school after losing their confidence with her.

“The scary one” was aptly named we thought, as she turned on a sixpence while tied in the corner, would look at you with glaring wide eyes and she was bright white although covered in teasels and mud! A little like the 4th horse, the horse of death! Something about this horse made me want to know her, I felt like I knew her. I had only ever seen Irish Draught horses in books and they had always been very different from this spectacle in front of me.

She snorted as I went closer, scared and misunderstood. She sniffed my hand and licked it. I knew we would friends from then on. I rode other horses for the first few weeks and found that my balance was awful but my determination to ride was second to none. All the time this horse was in the back of my mind.

One day I arrived early at the yard as I always did to groom and cuddle the horse I was going to be riding as I hate it when people just turn up and get on as though the animal is a robot for their pleasure. Low and behold, this horse, the scary horse, was stood, tacked up ready for a ride! I couldn’t believe it, someone was going to ride this thing? How brave were they! It turned out a lady called Caroline….. the same name as mine! was going to hack out with us and ride her. As soon as I saw Caroline reach the yard I could feel the colour green rising from my ankle boots up through my gaiters and soon reaching my Charles Owen skull cap. My envy would have burst though the top and out of my mouth had I not grit my teeth so hard.

I couldn’t physically speak for most of the ride, I was captivated by this monster, chewing and pulling at the bit, spinning round and round, spooking at nothing… I wanted to ride her!!!

I didn’t actually tell anyone after my ride how I had felt about seeing this big mare act like everyone around her was the enemy, instead I went up to her and bathed the mud gently from her hooves. She span so she could watch my every move but she seemed as captivated by me as I was with her. I asked what she was called, Coco was her name.

The next week I went up with renewed enthusiasm to find out more about this amazing horse. It felt she mirrored peoples misinterpretation of my pain and discomfort but how was she misunderstood? Could I get the chance to find out?

I was happy to see the mare was tied up and tacked up ready for another outing, though my heart nearly jumped out of my chest when I was told that I was the jockey for the ride! I was absolutely star struck and nearly burst with excitement but I knew I had to contain my overwhelming feeling of joy and anticipation as this could quite easily send our friend Coco skyward!

I mounted from the block and she watched every step I took, she shuffled and wouldn’t stand as I hovered over her but once our bodied connected it felt as though a plug had connected into a socket, electricity, fireworks, I knew we belonged together. Coco watched me with her antennae ears for the whole ride, she didn’t put a single foot wrong and with my loose hands, allowing her to react to any situation she felt scary, she rode easily and free. This is the Irish Draught I know.

I dismounted and nearly fell backwards into the arms of my instructor as Id spent the whole ride, watching, listening and connecting with Coco. I was absolutely smitten and in love with this horse and did not want to leave her. I asked immediately if I could book in with her for every ride in future and that is how our blossoming relationship started.

Coco took me on so many adventures but restricted by riding school rules we could never spend any time alone unfortunately. I dreamt of her, no longer fixated on my storybook ponies, SHE galloped my midnight fields. She felt different from other horses, something I felt as soon as I got on her, she looked after me in a way that said she knew I was different too.

One day I had had enough about hearing how I had brought Coco on so well and how people thought she was a different horse with me, I found it leapt from my mouth… in the middle of a hack… “What would you say if I asked to buy Coco?” …. my heart had spoken. I’d never be able to afford her without Mum but I’m sure I could persuade her, look what Coco had done for me! I was bed bound this time last year and now I’m riding twice a week! What would my instructor say though? I couldn’t hear for my heart pounding, I thought Coco would spook for sure but maybe she knew what I had asked? She waited as patiently and intently as I did for an answer. “Yes of course you can buy her, I asked your Mum last week if you’d like to loan her!”. What had I done? Id spoilt poor Mum’s surprise! She was asked by the owners if I would like to loan Coco and I’d gone and ruined it by buying us a horse! oops! Well that was my Christmas sorted and for several decades to boot!

I couldn’t contain my excitement. Coco was MY horse! Not yours, not anyones, MINE! I think even Coco knew, she acted like she had a Mum for the first time and I was able to spoil her with rugs and food and all sorts of saddlery! But the most important thing of all was being able to get a vet out to do a health check now that she was mine. Something just spoke to me, maybe SHE was trying to tell me herself, but something said that she wasn’t quite your regular horse.

The vet checked her over, some slight wear from hunting in Ireland, a few melanomas, but what we were stunned by was that Coco was blind in one eye! It made a whole lot of sense about her reaction to various things on hacks, noises seemed to have her on edge before she saw things and items like wheelie bins at the side of the road seemed to have been dropped by aliens out of nowhere very suddenly as we were on top of them almost. It was almost a relief to know as I could adapt her life for the better and make it safer for both of us. I have to thank her for being such an amazing safety blanket for me, despite her own disability, i don’t think many breeds of horse would have done the same.

I adore Coco for the horse she is but I also love that she is an Irish Draught; I am a Murphy and naturally wanted an Irish horse from when I was a little one! Dad’s name was Seamus Joseph Patrick Murphy so you couldn’t get more Irish than him! Coco loves her Guinness and so did Dad, he passed away 12 years ago and I know he would have loved to help me with her and so she makes me feel very close to him. I like to think each time I ride she puts me a little closer to heaven as she’s taller than the ground! So he can see me ride. I had always felt the Irish Draught was most suitable for me as a heavier and disabled person because I would naturally squash a thoroughbred and I need something that’s going to hold my big bum and look good doing do! But also have the temperament of a saint and not so highly strung that it will chuck me off every 5 minutes but that will have SOME character and I love the cheeky draught personality! Who doesn’t?!

Call me a glutton for punishment but I had always wanted a grey horse too! I know they take more washing tablets than Dot Cotton’s launderette but they look amazing when clipped and clean! Of which Coco rarely is I admit! However she has taken me to some amazing events this year where she has been looking exceptional! I had always wanted to do some fun rides and the very first I attended in my whole life was this year at Bissellwood Equestrian Centre, transported by Helen Clarke for my 31st birthday! It was such a dream to find out that Coco would just walk on to the transport without any fuss and also travel like she had done it all her life. I think the last time she had done anything was coming over from Ireland a few years before so I was extremely proud of her. Everyone at the event thought she was such a gorgeous horse and I was so proud to be riding and showing her off. It was the first time I felt like I truly owned her. I took her round the 8 mile course on my own and even walked her around the cross country jumps to see what she thought of them. We didn’t jump any but she was extremely well behaved and we walked over some like trotting poles, what a star! You can see how happy I was in the picture by Cordelia Noble of me cantering through the bluebells! I had specially made a cross country set with shamrocks in irish green, befitting of my noble steed and her heritage!

We attended a few more fun rides, Eaton Mascott was lovely, I am pictured cantering at the end by Something From The Hart. This ride I managed to meet up with a friend and we even did our first ever jump although we didn’t plan to! Coco followed our friend over a log! I managed to stay on in an “its okay Mum I’ve got this” situation! One thing you’ll notice in all of our pictures, also the lovely one by Chris Maddox Photography at Millichope, is that we are both always smiling and happy! Any time I’m with my Coco, I am on top of the world and I don’t take anywhere near as much pain relief. I find she is my healing power and therapy.

We also did our first show this year but due to the fact Coco has a few dents and bangs, we decided we would enter something a little more lighthearted and go for the fancy dress. Don’t worry we didn’t make all of the children cry by beating them but we did win and I was absolutely over the moon with Coco as it was her first time receiving applause in a large arena and although she didn’t know where it was coming from as she couldn’t see it, she retained her decorum! Here you can see us as Gandalf and Shadowfax (female form!) by EquinePix Photography at Burwarton Show. We hope to go back in 2020 to defend our title, maybe… perhaps… it was jolly good fun! Especially shouting YOU SHALL NOT PASS at the cross roads of the horse walk where people were trying to pass.

Another highlight this year was a side saddle clinic with Rachael Forkings at Silligrove Livery in Kinlet, we learnt a lot in our first ever go at side saddle and actually first ever clinic!!! Coco was fantastic as usual and took to it immediately. We were cantering around the arena by the end of it and look forward to another session in March.

Probably my biggest highlight of the year was going out hunting with The Border Beagles Hound Club, I’d never hunted in my life and never thought I could but the beagles took me under their paw and I can truly say I’m addicted and can’t wait to go back. I had wanted to do something special for Coco’s GOTCHA DAY the anniversary of buying her and I was not disappointed, the way this horse pricked her ears yet stood obediently when asked but also galloped like the wind when we wanted was absolutely fantastic, she proved her training in Ireland is still in there and its clear to see that its something SHE loves to do too. Here are some fab pics by Darryl Owen Photography of the opening meet on December 1st. The Beagles are a drag hunt and do all they can to keep wildlife and countryside safe as they practice this age-old tradition on horseback.

Late Summer, Coco and I moved to a new yard, Chorley Equestrian Centre in Shropshire, we have been taught by Charlie Lloyd who served in the Kings Royal Horse Artillery and are now focusing on dressage to have a little try at unaffiliated in the coming year. We also hope to try some jumping and some other great clinics countywide.

I would firstly like to thank the breeders of Coco - LADY YEATS, she was brought into this world by dam Brackney Lodge owned by Alex Moores and sire Rosheen Yeats owned by Pauline Furlong. Before owning Coco I literally only knew Blue Peter as a television programme and King of Diamonds as that in a pack of cards. These ladies have helped me learn more about Coco than anyone and have brought her into this world, without them I wouldn’t be writing this today, thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me the best gift of all, my freedom on the wings of my beautiful heart horse and soul mate, Coco.

Thanks also go to Cathy Meehan for the information she has so helpfully provided about Coco and her breeding with Gentle Diamond, I have yet to trace Cathal Gallagher who is the owner of the foal and previous owner of Coco but I continue to try as I would love to know about this period of her life. Please get in touch if you have any information.

Thank you to Louise Errington, Marily Power at Suma Stud, and the Irish Draught Photo Archive Facebook Group your information and photographs of Coco’s ancestors has been invaluable in producing a family tree for her, something I have always wanted to do.

I must finally add huge thanks to all that produced the Stourport Irish Draught Horse Society GB show 2019. I attended with my Mum as a spectator last year and was blown away by the kindness of all competitors and judge Julie Cornthwaite who along with Sue Benson (chairman) has asked me to write this article for the yearbook. I watched the show and was particularly blown away and fond of the two greys (naturally some might say!) Silver Grey Bouncer owned by Anna Ersting ridden by Matthew Ainsworth and Nice One Frank owned and ridden by Emma Spencer (Reserve Best in Show). Watching these horses and all others on the day gave me a thirst for more with Coco, to become a better rider and to learn more about the breed itself. I immediately came home and read all of my draught books, having already signed up to the society when I bought Coco. I couldn’t have been more proud of being a member, even a lowly spectator! I was so happy that I swallowed my anxiety and feeling of inadequacy and went to talk to judge Julie Cornthwaite after the show to congratulate her one a fantastic day and her amazing riding (she should have got a trophy too!) but also to find out more about showing Coco. One day I hope to find courage to enter a local show for best tack and turnout as advised by Julie as they look less on scars and melanomas there and visiting the show at Stourport really has pushed me to do this. Coco and I even won tack and turnout at the Border Beagles opening meet so it seems Julie’s words of wisdom have truly paid off, thank you so much!

“My name is Caroline Murphy and I am addicted to the Irish Draught!’

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icsek · 7 years

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Obikin Equestrian AU Part 6/10

Or read here on AO3 as ‘Pursuit’

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

It was amazing how quickly someone could become such an important part of life in such a short period of time. Ben was amazed at all the places he looked for Anakin to be outside of the barn in the few days he was gone back home. Meals were lonely without Anakin’s witty commentary and there were far too many leftovers for dinner. The pool was empty except for a few leaves that had managed to fall in the water. The couch was lonely in the late evenings. The house was far too quiet without his presence. All the little places Anakin had inserted himself in the previously tidy life he’d had.

Yet, this was his employee and student, no more than just a boy compared to him. He was sixteen years Anakin’s senior, almost forty while Anakin was barely in his twenties! It was wrong and horrible, but he couldn’t get him out of his head. He’d went out once more to try and get Anakin out of his head, but this time he’d been unable to find someone to spend the night with because they didn’t have the right shade of blue eyes, the golden highlighted curls, the half smile with the right side just a bit higher than the left. It was pitiful and borderline humiliating that a man of his age could be pining like this over a boy.

Still, he couldn’t deny that Anakin was surprisingly mature where it counted, despite his propensity towards immature humor. He was disciplined, reliable, determined, and a very hard worker. All things that had surprised him considering his more laid back personality. While the few times he’d seen Anakin’s room in the barn it’d been a chaotic wreck, the feed room and tack rooms were meticulously organized and clean to satisfy even his own anal retentiveness. Everything at the barn ran so smoothly between Anakin and Felix that he rarely had to do more than make the exercise and lesson schedule then school the horses he had in for training. It had been a nice change in pace from feeling the need to run everything or it wouldn’t be done RIGHT.

At the barn, Anakin was his kindred spirit, someone who held the same standards of care he did. At the house, Anakin was the life that made it feel more a home. He wanted Anakin in his bed, yes, but more than that, he wanted him in his home.

He wanted a life with Anakin in it as more than his employee or fuck buddy, like as his partner. The thought made Ben stop. Lust was easy to explain away. This... more than lust feeling, it was something he couldn’t explain or rationalize to himself.

Now he was getting too far ahead of himself. Putting his cart before the horse.

“I wish my life were as simple as yours, Happy.” Ben patted the older gelding on his neck, “It would definitely be easier, meals twice a day prompt on the stop, everything taken care of for you, plenty of grass and hay, someone cleaning up your shit several times a day. Have you missed him too?” Happy snorted, shaking his head, “You sure about that,old friend? I know he feeds you extra cookies even though I’ve told him not to do that.” The bay gelding’s ears flicked back, pricking up at the word ‘cookie’ making Ben chuckle, “We’re getting soft in our old age.” Another snort, “Fine, I’m getting soft in my old age.

“So what should I do? Take a risk and possibly lose the most talented student I’ve had the pleasure of training? Not to mention the best barn manager that’s ever graced this farm. Keep pining after him like the sentimental old fool I’ve become?” He leaned forward as if Happy could actually speak while he plodded around the ring, “Hm? What’s that? Well, yes, I suppose that would be a good course of action. So, next time he does one of those adorably awkward flirting attempts, and they are truly pitiful, Happy, I feel bad for him most of the time, I’ll just flirt right back.” Ben smiled, feeling more at peace than he’d been since Anakin had come to work for him.

Later as he watched Anakin’s yellow truck pull down the long drive, he couldn’t help the thrill that ran through him at seeing him again. Three days without his crooked smile that lit up his face was enough. Ben waited by the front of the barn, noticing the dust that the truck was kicking up and not really caring for once though he resolved to turn the sprinklers on to run a bit in the morning.

Anakin backed his truck up into his usual spot next to the farm truck and waved at Ben with that smile he’d missed as he got out, “Hey Ben!”

“Hello, Anakin. Did you have a good time?” He struggled to not pull the younger man into what would be a very uncharacteristic hug.

“Yeah, it was nice. Got all my stuff this go round so should be a bit more prepared. Oh, Bail and Breha said hi too.” Anakin didn’t quite meet his eyes, but Ben was far too overjoyed at just seeing him to really notice. The bruises at his elbow were now to the pale sickly yellow color and he seemed to be moving much better than he had been when he’d left.

“That was nice of them.” He commented absently. Ben took a moment to enjoy the way the torn faded jeans hugged his narrow hips and the blue t-shirt clung to his broad chest. The same features that had haunted him in his dreams.

“You okay, Ben?” Anakin was staring at him with a hint of worry in the furrow of his brow.

“Yes, sorry, just haven’t been sleeping well. Do you need any help with your stuff?” He could see the duffle bags in the bed of the truck, based on the number he’d finally brought all his clothes. Hopefully more of those tiny running shorts he seemed to prefer for their morning workouts.

“Nah, I think I got it. Did you just want to do dinner in town tonight? I know I forgot to text you when I was leaving.” Anakin brushed some of the curls from his face only for them to fall right back in his eyes.

Ben nodded, “We can do that. I was just about to feed and do turnout for the night, sent Felix home early as it was his daughter’s birthday.”

“Great.” His smile lit up his face and Ben felt like he was standing next to the sun, “I’ll get this stuff put away and then we can go.”

Ben had hoped dinner would include more of the flirting he’d grown used to, but none of it came. The conversation was pleasant enough, interesting stories about some of the ponies Anakin had ridden through the years while Ben added some of his own. They’d been laughing by the end, the ridiculous stubbornness of pony antics and the horrible shows enough to have tears in their eyes. Then they’d gone home, the car ride uncharacteristically quiet but peaceful. Ben was disappointed as they said goodnight, but he’d been this patient and Anakin had spent the majority of the day driving.

Disappointment came in their morning workout as well when Anakin showed up in a pair of plain black track pants and a loose t-shirt. His form during their yoga was near perfect and this time he’d faced Ben instead of putting his back to him. Their run felt like it took much longer without Anakin’s ass on display in front of him. After their run, Ben had teased Anakin about wearing respectable workout clothes and only gotten a shrug in return with the explanation of him finally having all his clothes.

At least breeches didn’t hide his ass so thoroughly and gave him plenty of time to admire while Anakin warmed Artoo up for their lesson. He’d made sure to lunge Artoo a few times last week so he wasn’t entirely fresh, but at the rate he was kicking his heels up they’d be getting very little done during their lesson.

Surprisingly, Artoo settled right in once they began the actual work in the lesson. There were still a few hump ups and head tossing, but Anakin rode right through them and pushed him right back into frame. Their trot looked good, he didn’t have to remind Anakin to sit up or to pull his shoulders back even once. Their canter was passable, a good start as they built up more collection and hind end propulsion. Ben was pleased with himself that he’d managed to create such a good match. Artoo was young and stubborn, but so was Anakin. They would end up tough to beat in a few years.

If he were honest with himself, Anakin would be tough to beat in a few years on just about any horse. Ben made sure he rode all different personalities and movements on a daily basis so he didn’t fall into a rut of learning just one horse inside and out. It wasn’t just that, though, Anakin was a natural and it showed through as a beautiful image. There wasn’t a horse in the barn that he didn’t look like he belonged on, not one he couldn’t read. It was something that couldn’t be taught, the same gift Ben had, to just know the horse and what it was thinking.

Of all the views he’d had of Anakin, from the tiny speedo to the yoga pants, the one of him on a horse was still his favorite. It was right. It was where he belonged.

Even if he never got to call Anakin anything other than his student, he’d be grateful that he got to watch him ride.

#obikin equestrian AU #the slow burn continues #obikin #fic: pursuit #part 6 #icse writes #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi

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kuzco-apaza-blog · 7 years

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Left Behind | [Self-Para]

Kuzco never ran away to Swynlake

After the house fire that had burned a respectable portion of the Apaza family’s mansion, the Apazas had sent their son to rehab to get him out of the habit of doing drugs and drinking. His parents were already embarrassed enough that the media found a way to bring up their troublesome son. Every article seemed to be ‘the Apaza stock rises, Kuzco Apaza spotted partying late at night in town.’ The location would change every article, but the story never really seemed to. Some articles would continue to question the parents of Kuzco Apaza. As a young man was only a reflection of the raising that a parent did. And Mr. and Mrs. Apaza’s parenting was frequently put into question. His stint in rehab was supposed to help Kuzco become a better member of the family. And for a while it seemed that he had improved. Kuzco knew exactly what he needed to say to please them.

But he had also known exactly what he needed to tell the people at the rehab center. Kuzco had always been smarter than he or anyone else liked to believe. He could figure out what people seemed to be expecting, and he played off of it. He got out of rehab just two months after he had gone in. His parents decided that the best way to repair the reputation they were starting to get, was to show signs that they spent more time together as a family than was strictly true. So for a very brief time after Kuzco got out of rehab, he did get to see his parents more. They seemed to spend every day together. They ate breakfast together, they went out for lunch, went for a ride, where Kuzco was able to show them the skill that he had attained on horseback. For the first time, it appeared that they had an interest in their son, and the child in him that had longed for attention, that had longed for this type of attention seemed to light up. That part of him that had kept helping figured he was finally getting it. They were finally understanding what he needed and looking out for him.

The media got all kinds of pictures of the Apaza family riding, Kuzco’s parents supporting him in riding competitions….it was the first time that he was actually being supported in anything. For the first time in a very long time, Kuzco found himself genuinely smiling from the heart. His family cared about him, they took the time. They didn’t rush off to business meetings. And more and more, Kuzco found himself steadying. He found himself becoming calmer. He started asking his parents questions about the business, and it seemed like they had made an important connection, twenty years after they should have made it. Kuzco stopped being spotted in the media with irresponsible friends. He started getting caught at more equestrian competitions, caught visiting the Apaza office to talk to his dad, or to get to know the business. Kuzco didn’t even go out to drink anymore. He met people who like him were in line to inherit a large business.

That winter, the holidays were even a joyful occasion. His parents hosted a holiday party, sure, but they hosted it at home, and they made sure that they stuck by their son, and they gave him gifts that actually would benefit him with his competing, and with his getting to know their business. It appeared that more thought was being put into everything they were doing. It had lasted long enough that Kuzco had let himself become complacent. Somehow he had let himself forget that it was the media really that his parents feared. More than anything, they feared that the media would twist things in a way that could ruin their stock, or their company as a whole. Their image was far more important to them than whether or not their son was actually happy. That had simply been a helpful method to further regain the media’s love, to see the happy Apaza family out and about.

And yet, as abruptly as their attention turned to him, as swiftly as the love and appreciation had come, it also vanished as quickly. Kuzco was able to count the exact days that his parents had been able to stay by his side. It had been a measly four months that they had been able to dedicate as ‘family’ time. Kuzco woke one morning just as he had when he had hoped for a thanksgiving type of meal with them as a boy, to find them gone. His stomach had dropped as soon as he had noticed, though he knew no one else would have run quite as fast as he did from their mansion to his father’s company in the hopes that it was just an early start at work. But the receptionist caught a glimpse of Kuzco in his pajamas and sighed. “Your father had to go on a business trip Mr. Apaza. He said that he would be back in a few days.” And the giddiness that had come from that time spent. From actually being recognized and focus on dropped away much like pieces of a glacier dropped into the ocean with a huge splash. Like a joyful part of him had melted away and been utterly destroyed by the colossal shift from his parents.

He returned home stunned, taking a look around at the home that had started to finally feel like one. That had finally started to feel like a warm and welcome place. That had begun to feel as if there really was a family that lived in the mansion, rather than three individual people and a maid. Kuzco started to scream and shoved a lamp from its spot on a shelf and onto the ground, letting the bulb shatter. He howled his anger and pain as he threw books off their shelves, he tore the curtains, and he went outside for the simple purpose of slashing the tires of his parents’ cars. Not that they would notice for months. They hadn’t really driven those cars except for the time they had opted to spend at home with their son. No, really to spend at home pretending that they were a family and letting their son tumble into the charade with no regard to what it might do to him to be left behind again.

At some point as he was destroying everything in the mansion that he caught sight of he started laughing. Laughing hysterically at his own naivety. After all, Mr. and Mrs. Apaza were the best at leaving their son at home and expecting him to be fine. “You’re so stupid Kuzco. You, you’re such a fucking idiot.” He cried out, swearing at himself and smashing his mirror next. After all, what was the point of looking at himself? When he saw his reflection, he could only see the guy who had been stupid enough to fall for it again. To believe that his parents would actually want to spend time with him…would actually be proud of his accomplishments. Kuzco took to spending as much time as he possibly could outdoors with his horses, riding them all around the property, working on his riding skills. If nothing else, he could at least become a skilled enough rider that maybe he would be able to go compete in grander competitions, maybe even the Olympics if he worked hard enough.

It was Kuzco really giving himself a last ditch attempt to keep away from what he wanted to do more than anything. And what he wanted to do was drink and get so high he forgot his own name, let alone what horrible things his parents had done to him. His two close companions were his favorite horse Apollo, and the maid Maria who took the time to talk to him, to try to comfort him where she could. Maria never rose her voice at the destruction he had made in the house. In fact, she would often tell him under her breath, “it is well deserved for them, but unfortunately I will have to clean it up.” Kuzco would apologize, and she would quickly shrug it off. “If you do not do something, you will always be stuck like this. I would only suggest that you find a new way to either capture their attention, or…and I think this would be far better for you: leave. Leave and go somewhere that would treat you better. You deserve so much more than this mi querido.” And Kuzco would think about it sometimes. He would think about the places he could go if he weren’t so desperate to be noticed, for someone to notice who he was and what he wanted. Maybe he would go to England, or maybe he could find his way to Italy. Or maybe he would even be bold enough to make his way to North America.

If he wanted, he could go to so many different places. But ultimately, he stayed in Peru, and he let his family and the media destroy him bit by bit. One day, Kuzco went for a riding competition, but the conditions were not ideal. There was a decent rain, but the competition wasn’t cancelled, as another competition that followed this one had to take place within the next month. The riders would have to do the best they could. Some chose to simply withdraw their mounts to keep them from risking injury. Kuzco pushed ahead however, determined to get somewhere faster, to be able to continue competing and go further and further from the mansion in order to succeed. He entered his beautiful Arabian Apollo, and pushed the both of them as hard and fast as they could manage. The first few jumps went beautifully. Apollo took off just right, and Kuzco was perfectly balanced over him as they flew over the jumps at a speed that none of the riders before them had attempted.

The horse and rider went around a corner, and the mud dragged Apollo’s hooves down, made it harder for him to lift his legs as he careened around toward the next jump. As they started for the next jump, Kuzco could hear the most audible snap, and he felt Apollo stumble. He felt it, and he knew that his horse had seriously damaged his leg. Kuzco tried to pull back, tried to get Apollo to stop, but his horse was so determined, he was so eager to make his rider happy, to try to succeed for Kuzco that he still took off for the next jump, with Kuzco woefully unprepared for it. Kuzco went flying off to one side. He hit the ground hard, landing on his leg and feeling the snap and the sharpness of the pain that followed. He sucked a breath in and glanced over for a sign of Apollo, crying out as he saw his Arabian stallion lying on his side, breathing quick, and one leg dangling abysmally. Tears started flooding his eyes and falling down his face as he crawled toward Apollo, ignoring the pain signals his brain was giving him about his own leg. He couldn’t lose Apollo now too. Apollo had been there for him for so much in his life. In a way the two of them had grown up together. He managed to inch his way over to look at Apollo, one hand going to stroke the horse’s cheek and neck, before he shifted, wincing as he did so, to loosen the girth so that Apollo could breathe easier.

“I’m so sorry Apollo…I really…you deserve so much better than this.” Kuzco sobbed, pressing his face against the horse’s neck, even as he knew the veterinarian was examining his horse. But the vet knew, just as Kuzco did, that there really was no chance that that sort of leg injury would heal properly. Apollo would just be in pain for a longer period of time. Kuzco couldn’t do that to his beloved horse. He pressed his lips to the horse’s cheek. “I am so so sorry Apollo. I wish you could stay my companion for years more. But I…I release you from the hell that is this world. I hope that you…that you get to gallop in far greener pastures.” He pulled away, rubbing his eyes, and nodded stiffly as the vet came forward with gun in hand. Kuzco couldn’t turn away. He couldn’t bring himself to look away as the vet fired his gun and thereby ended the life of his incredible mount Apollo. The trip to the hospital and the examination of his leg led to other revelations that he just hadn’t been prepared for. “Your leg is…it’s too shattered to ever risk by riding like that…ever again.” Kuzco startled the doctor as he started cracking up. Because it was only natural that the dream he tried to steer himself to would be just as quickly shattered as the illusion of family had been for him.

Any hope that he really had of an escape that would really bring him joy faded away. He sold the other horses that were still in the stable, knowing that there would be no point in keeping animals that weren’t properly exercised and loved. And he knew that he could never love another horse as he had loved his Apollo. There could never be another quite like him, and Kuzco was almost glad that his leg was too destroyed to be able to function for the purpose of riding. Still, it left him with nothing but time to think about how little he mattered to his family. How the only two that had cared about him at this point were his horse and his maid. It gave him a numb sort of clarity, and his decision from that point came so easily. It was like all pressure, all worries went away. He just had to focus on the task before him. He sat down at his desk, and he started writing a letter.

Dear mother and father, by the time you read this, I’m sure I’ll have been dead for at least a week, maybe two if you find that the death of your son isn’t urgent. Though knowing your concerns with the media, I’m sure that that could be wrong. I won’t take the time to list all of the reasons that you, my own parents, kept me from being able to really succeed in life. But the fact remains, that had you taken the time to really be there as my parents, nothing would have had to go wrong. We could have been a happy family, just the three of us.

But I think that’s part of the point. The two of you never really wanted a family. You just wanted to pretend that you had one for the sake of your company. That’s a pretty fucked up expectation to have. You wanted a pet that might do as you requested, more than you wanted a son who could think and feel for himself. The worst thing you could have done to me was to come back and make me believe that it was a possible reality. I wish you had just kept to your cold, distant selves. I never would have hoped. I never would have felt so destroyed by you.

I wish you luck with the media. I hope they find a way to destroy you too.

Your pretend son, Kuzco P.S. I’m sorry Maria. You deserve so much better too.

Kuzco passed away from an overdose early in the morning on February First, at the young age of twenty-three. Kuzco’s maid Maria announced it to the world, and also fiercely struck out against the Apazas, citing that she had only stayed to look out for the welfare of the young Apaza boy, and his parents destroyed him. Well, one of Kuzco’s wishes came true. The media destroyed the Apazas and their company.

#bdrplabors #au #self-para #tw; abuse #tw: neglect #tw: drugs #tw: suicide #tw: broken limbs #tw: dead horse #if that makes you upset #tw: death

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scnaltesse · 6 years

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♔ -- about evangeline stuart.

*;★ BASICS —

FULL NAME: evangeline adela sofia stuart MEANING: ( evangeline ) good news, bringer of good news ( adela ) noble and serene ( sofia ) wisdom TITLE: her royal highness, evangeline, princess royal ( of england ) NICKNAME: eva, evie PRONOUNS: she/her AGE: twenty DATE OF BIRTH: january 7, 1652 PLACE OF BIRTH: whitehall palace, city of westminister, middlesex, england ZODIAC SIGN: capricorn ETHNICITY: european ( english/scottish father, portuguese mother ) RELIGIOUS VIEWS: protestant ( anglican ) SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual LANGUAGES SPOKEN: ( first ) english, french ( fluent ) spanish, italian, portuguese, german, dutch ( proficient ) latin, russian, romanian, ottoman turkish, bulgarian, arabic ( note: evangeline is a polyglot, meaning she has the ability to master multiple languages ) KNOWN OCCUPATION: princess of england UNKNOWN OCCUPATION: herbalist/apothecary

*;★ APPEARANCE —

FACECLAIM: sarah bolger HAIR STYLE: long; usually styled in an updo with some kind of headdress HAIR COLOR: brunette EYE COLOR: brown HEIGHT: 5’ 3’’ BUILD: petite TATTOOS: none PIERCINGS: ear lobes SCARS: none CLOTHING STYLE: when present at court, she can usually be found in court fashion. however, she has an affinity for simpler styles and darker colors. any ostentatious outfit is the work of her ladies, albeit she still refuses to wear bright, tacky colors. however, when she has succeeded in escaping her royal duties and goes off to ride horses or practice her archery or fencing or studying herbalism/botany or exploring the city, she can be found in simpler clothing, usually made of muslin or cotton. when she’s out and about, she usually dons a headscarf and a cloak made of chiffon.

*;★ PERSONALITY —

POSITIVE TRAITS: pious, kindhearted, modest NEUTRAL TRAITS: intense, passionate, stoic NEGATIVE TRAITS: insecure, naive, pessimistic HOBBIES: dancing, singing, playing chess, playing the piano & violin, card playing, equestrianism, archery, reading, writing, studying herbalism/botany, creating medicines WEAKNESSES: her naïvety & caring too much to the point where she disregards herself HABITS: biting her lip when she’s thinking or trying really hard USUAL MOOD: calm and kind TROPES: the spurned, the virtuoso, the polymath, the nurturer NOTES: generally disinterested in pursuing romantic relationships unless given extenuating circumstances; refuses to speak in-depth about the following to people outside of her immediate family: her family ( and their intentions ), her studies

*;★ OTHER INFORMATION —

AFFILIATIONS / ALLEGIANCES: the house of stuart, the english throne INTELLIGENCE TRAINING: private tutors ( until the age of eighteen ) SKILLS / KNOWLEDGE / ABILITY: medicinal herbalism/field medicine, fencing, equestrianism, archery, chess FAMILY: • charles ii, king of england, ireland and scotland ( father, alive ) • catherine of braganza, queen consort of england, ireland, and scotland ( mother, alive ) • james stuart, prince of wales, duke of cornwall, duke of rothesay ( brother, 22, alive )

*;★ BIO —

it’s not eva. it’s not evie. it's evangeline, and you better get that right. ( preferably the first time, because she’s a stuart. anyway, one shouldn’t go about referring to a royal so casually. ) though her small stature and kind features may tell you one story, she will tell you another.

evangeline was born two years after her older brother, james, much to her parents' ( mostly her father's ) dismay. of course they were overjoyed to have another child survive not only pregnancy, but childbirth. but she was a girl. she wasn’t the spare they were hoping for. princesses can only become pawns; princes can become kings. regardless, if she were to be a pawn, she would become the best one she could be.

as soon as she could walk and talk, her mother, the queen, insisted that she be trained in the fine art of getting a husband. for the first few years of her life, she spent every hour of her days with private tutors. however, though the extent to which she trained seemed extreme, it was merely the beginning. by the age of seven, she was sent away to mainland europe to immerse herself in other cultures and refine her skills. she was sent to france to to learn how to ride horses. she was sent to portugal to learn how to shoot with the best archers. she went to italy to learn about art and vocal music. she went to austria to learn how to play the piano and the violin by its masters. and while she was present at the various courts, her mother’s original mission was not lost on her. by the time she was fourteen, she spoke multiple languages ( making her a polyglot, so that she can seduce and charm any man or diplomat ), she sang and played multiple instruments ( so she could fascinate them with her talents ), she had a way with cards ( some have dubbed her the queen of hearts because she is known to use cards as a way of getting to know people, or getting what she wants from people ), and she danced like no other ( so that, if worse comes to worse, she can literally step on toes to get what she wants and still look graceful ).

but one of two pivotal moments in her life came at her fifteenth birthday: for a year, she would spend every waking moment in a franciscan monastery in the spanish countryside. despite its opulent architecture, the friars lived a very austere life, which inspired her. their austerity was a very ironic lesson, coming from a religion which evangeline found to be corrupt and ostentatious.

evangeline, like her grandfather and many of her ancestors before her, was protestant. unlike her father, who was catholic. however, he only converted to catholicism in order to make a treaty with the french, and thus continued his hedonistic lifestyle in spite of the church’s disapproval. while many followed in the king’s footsteps to appease him, but evangeline had always been a woman of faith. she considered herself to me pious than most, and that showed in everything she did.

this austerity wasn’t the only thing that the friars taught her; under their teachings, she fell in love with herbalism and botany. she loved feeling the sunlight on her face as she collected ingredients from the garden. she loved the precision with which she had to work with; every detail had to be scrutinized so that it may turn out correctly. she loved creating something with her hands that wasn’t forced on her.

on her sixteenth birthday, she made her triumphant return back to the english court. she was the glimmering pawn that her parents raised her to be. for a shimmering, fleeting moment, she was the jewel of the court that everyone wanted. evangeline met princes and dukes from kingdoms far and wide that wanted her as his bride. it was only a matter of months before she found a man that she was head over heels for. he was practically perfect in every way: he was kind, he was witty, he was learned, he was titled. he was powerful in his own country, but their marriage wouldn’t pose a threat to the english crown, as evangeline was so far down the line of succession. instead, their marriage would simply strengthen ties between their two countries. the best part about him was that he seemed to love her, too. their entire wedding was planned – all there was left to do was simply marry. but on the morning of their wedding, the prince was gone, leaving only a letter in his wake. it said that their entire courtship had been a lie, and that he felt nothing for her, and thus couldn’t marry her. devastated and brokenhearted, evangeline fled the country again.

her whereabouts were unknown to anyone for a year and a half, except for her mother and father. some speculate that she returned to the monastery. others say that she went to paris and spent lavishly on clothes and male prostitutes under a pseudonym. really, one’s speculation as to where she went was merely a reflection on one’s opinion of the english crown.

she returned to court on her eighteenth birthday, no longer happy nor triumphant. her closet, which once boasted rich colors, now ranged from dark greys and blacks and ivory, with the occasional opulent dress of ruby red for state affairs. a solemn facade consumed her bright blue eyes. but sometimes she smiles. sometimes.

#e. stuart | archived

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

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Mile high chapter 7

I heard his words as if at a distance, my mind suddenly recalling an appalling little detail I’d read in a tabloid, about Justin and Jules both coming from affluent English families who both shared a long history as avid equestrians.

“Was it her?” I asked in a whisper, my eyes narrowed.

He squeezed me more tightly against him, as if sensing a threat. He buried his face in my neck before he spoke. “Who are you referring to?”

I stiffened even more. “Jules,” I said, my voice going glacial.

I felt him sigh against me. “It was. But it didn’t mean anything. Please don’t use her to keep me at a distance.”

I tried to move off of him, but he had me at a severe disadvantage, and he wasn’t letting me go.

Instead, he clicked Demon back into a brisk walk.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He began to move inside of me again, his erection swiftly growing and hardening, as though it were a parlor trick.

I gasped, slapping at his shoulders. “You can’t use sex to subdue me,” I told him. I was hurt and angry, but also unwillingly and wildly aroused.

“You can’t withdraw from me every time you get mad or jealous. We need to talk this out. I’m not letting you go until we do.”

I pulled on his hair, hard, but my h*ps were already moving unbidden with his thrusts. “You call this talking?”

“I call this making love, and yes, talking.” He tried to smile at me. I yanked on his sweaty hair. He winced, but made no move to stop me.

“Why do you keep calling it that? Why do you keep calling it making love?”

He gave me a smoldering look. “You know why. You keep trying to belittle what we have, but you need to understand that it’s as new to me as it is to you. I have a past. A wildly sordid past. I can’t change it. I would if I could. You are going to run into a lot of my ex-lovers. That’s an unfortunate fact.

It will be a lot less painful for you if you can just get it into your head that none of them were anything but a f**k to me. And f**king was nothing to me before I met you. Sex was a bodily function to me before I met you. That’s why I call this making love. It means something to me.”

“I’ve never even had a girlfriend before you, never even considered the idea. I’m sure it sounds callous, but no woman has ever been anything to me beyond a fuck, a sub, or a friend, occasionally all three, though never all of them for long. They all knew the score. I was brutally honest with every single one of them, without exception. You are the one that I want, the one that I need. So getting upset about my past, or feeling jealous of women I’ve been with, is unwarranted.”

He never stopped moving as he spoke, and I felt emotionally charged.

“Unwarranted?” The word burst out of me, angry and wounded. “I’ve years worth of pictures of you going out with Jules. How can you expect me to dismiss that out of hand?” I gasped as he thrust harder, a deliberate motion, his eyes intense. “Unfair,” I muttered. “And you are hardly one to talk. I was a virgin when I met you, but you’re still jealous of every man I speak to. That’s unwarranted.”

He lifted me up and down for several long, fast strokes before he spoke. He was playing me like a drum, I knew. It was very hard to stick to my point when I was insanely turned on, and in the middle of getting thoroughly f**ked. “When I was about eighteen, the paparazzi were hounding me relentlessly, printing silly stories that drove me crazy. They were hiding in the bushes when I left school. It was out of control.”

I tried my hardest to focus on his words, but he wasn’t helping, still moving inside of me tirelessly.

“You know how I need control,” he growled.

He thrust harder, clicking Demon into a hard trot. He clicked again, and the motion took us into a canter. This movement was unfamiliar to my limited riding skills, and I clutched at Justin’s shoulders in panic. His thrusts were more measured at this pace. I was falling apart almost instantly.

“Come,” he ordered roughly. It took me over the edge. He slowed back to a walk, but still didn’t stop.

“You know how I need control,” he repeated. “But the things they were doing were completely out of my control, and I realized one day that the press was like a garden hose,” he explained.

I blinked at him, dazed and confused. “A garden hose?” I asked.

He gave me a gentle smile, enjoying the complete loss of my composure. “A garden hose. If you turn it on too lightly, you can’t control the flow. It just drips where it will. But if you turn it to full force, you can control the flow, sending it wherever you want. So I began to court the paparazzi, rather than ducking away. I encouraged their attentions by charming them, and publicly, becoming an open book. Or rather, making it appear that way. Jules was my best friend’s sister, and occasionally, a very casual lover of mine, and we’d been friends for awhile. We were seen out and about together, since we traveled in the same circles. I quickly noticed that she loved the attention, encouraging rumors about us shamelessly, even leaking lies to the press about us.”

His eyes were solemn and serious on my face as he continued, “I see now that it was stupid to let her take it so far, but at the time I couldn’t see a problem with it. Other women thought she and I had an open relationship, so no one tried for anything more with me. It saved me from worse misunderstandings, for a time. I see that it looks bad, but I want you to trust me that that’s all it was. Jules is not someone you need to worry about.”

He began to move in earnest after that little speech, and he undid me yet again, bringing me to release at a trot. I sobbed his name, gripping his hair in tight fists. He came with me that time, his eyes going so soft that unwanted tears pricked my eyes.

He slowed Demon to a walk. He leaned me back slightly, his eyes moving down to where our bodies joined. He ran his tongue over his model perfect teeth as he studied the sight. My own gaze followed his. The sight that greeted me made my barely steadied breath catch.

I was still impaled on him, my moisture mixing with his on the thick base of his shaft as he shifted me slightly up and back.

His voice was low with pleasure when he spoke. “You’re so full of my sem*n right now. You’re stuffed full of my c*ck and my cum. I want to keep you like this forever. I might have gotten you pregnant just now, if you weren’t on the pill.”

His words made me stiffen, the sensual haze lifting from me in an instant. I tried to shift off of him. He had to help me lift off of his semi-hard length.

He pulled me flush against him, his c*ck between us. “Wrap your arms and legs around me tightly. I’m going to dismount. Too much more of this and I’ll make you too raw to f**k for days.”

I did as he said. “I thought it was making love,” I told him archly.

He sent me a censorious look. “Sassy girl.”

He set me on unsteady feet, leaning me against Demon when I swayed.

“Get your balance. I need to catch Princess.”

He fastened his trousers while he walked away. Princess was still visible, though she was quite a ways behind us. It seemed she had been trailing us, albeit slowly.

I hadn’t noticed, for obvious reasons.

Demon didn’t protest as I leaned against him heavily, watching Justin stride to Princess purposefully, vaulting onto her back in that smooth motion that seemed impossible, given the height. He rode her back to us at a smooth canter, stopping smoothly beside us and dismounting with the grace of a panther.

He studied me from head to foot, his eyes lingering appreciatively on the sight of my bared sex. He moved to a pouch on his saddle as he spoke. “I take it from your reaction that you don’t want children any time soon.” His tone was almost idle, as though it were the most casual topic in the world.

I looked at him incredulously. “Or ever. I’m way too f**ked up to ever be a mother,” I said, my tone final.

He didn’t take the hint. “Why would you think that? Because of your childhood?” He turned to look at me as he pulled a rolled up pair of jeans from the pouch.

“Yes, of course, because of that. My mind is too clouded with dark things. Mother’s are supposed to be, I don’t know, happy, and full of love. They should be able to give and receive love, and I’m not sure I’m capable of that.” I flushed at what I’d revealed. I was embarrassed by how screwed up I was, but he needed to know.

He moved to me as I spoke, cupping my cheeks, his eyes impossibly tender. “Oh, Selena, that’s just not true. You think only the people with perfect childhoods should be parents?”

I mulled it over, finding the answer easily. “Of course not.”

“You probably think someone like me should never be a father.”

I blinked, mortified that he would think such a thing. “Of course not. I think you’ll be great at it, when you have children. You’re so patient, and controlled.”

He stroked my cheeks, giving me a look so intense that I had to fight the urge not to look away. It was so much like trying to stare into the sun. “So will you. But if you never want to have children, I can live with that, as well.”

My heart stopped, just stopped, then began to pound as though I’d just run a marathon. “What are you saying?”

He kissed me, a long, heated kiss. “Nothing. You just aren’t ready to talk about this. I don’t want to scare you off again.”

I took deep breaths, trying not to panic at what I knew he’d almost said.

He shrugged the whole thing off, slinging my jeans over his shoulder and digging back into the saddlebag. He pulled out some packed wet cloths, unbuttoning his trousers to wipe our mingled fluids off.

I watched him touch himself, biting my lip. How could I still want him with such desperation when he’d just had me, again and again? I didn’t know, but there it was.

He disposed of the wipe in a small bag, taking out more wipes to clean me. His gaze was scorching as he cleaned me, eyeing me from top to bottom in a sexy once over.

“Keep looking at me like that if you want to get f**ked against a horse,” he warned.

I looked away, moving against his searching fingers as he cleaned me. He smacked my bare ass roughly with his other hand.

“I’m trying not to f**k you raw. Don’t make it harder.” His tone was so stern that I just got more turned on.

I closed my eyes, still biting my lip.

He growled, dragging me over to a tree. He placed my hands against the rough trunk. “Don’t move an inch. You need a good spanking. You’re just lucky that you need to ride back, or I’d spank you raw, you little minx.”

I arched my back, my body running the show.

He growled again, and began to spank me, his leather-clad gloves smarting at the first blow.

I moaned, shifting around. He stopped after ten, breathing hard.

He was entering me without warning an instant later, cupping my br**sts, his breath rough and heavy in my ear. “Just one quick, gentle ride. I can’t f**king think straight, I want you so bad. Don’t move, this needs to be quick and soft.”

I let out a ragged laugh at his description of being f**ked against a tree by his impressive c*ck ‘gentle’ and ‘soft’.

It wasn’t the jarring ride I usually craved. He moved in and out of me smoothly, crying out in my ear as he came, too fast for me to even keep up.

I was shocked at his release. He usually went for so long before coming himself. But, of course, he didn’t leave me unsatisfied for long. He was turning me, kneeling in front of me, ripping a glove off impatiently with his teeth.

He buried his face between my legs with a rough moan, and I screamed as he purposefully made me come, using his tongue and fingers and just the barest hint of teeth, my hands gripping his silky hair all the while.

He cleaned us up again after that, shaking his head ruefully all the while. He had to strip off my chaps before he worked me into my panties and then tight jeans. They were new, but still fit perfectly. I wasn’t even surprised by it anymore. He worked the chaps back up my legs swiftly and efficiently, as though he’d done it a thousand times. I tried my best not to dwell on that fact.

“I never thought I’d have the urge to f**k someone to death,” he muttered.

I giggled.

He gave me a little smirk as he led me back to Princess. He helped me mount, and I turned quickly, wanting to see him execute his own perfect mount once again. He did so effortlessly, taking the lead as we headed back to the ranch.

“Did you need to get back to Vegas today or tomorrow?” Justin asked, glancing back at me.

I grimaced, thinking about it. “Tonight. I’d hate to push it and hit bad weather.”

He sighed with resignation. “Okay. We’ll have lunch and head out.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

We were heading back to Vegas in way too short a time. So much had happened in our short reprieve.

Justin had weakened my resolve to keep my distance in that way he had, with his persistence and his willpower. He was not a man to be deterred. And for whatever reason, he seemed resolute in his desire to be with me. And wanting me for something more permanent than I’d ever thought he would even consider. Living together didn’t terrify me, as marriage did, but I couldn’t say that I was even approaching comfortable with it.

We were both quiet for the drive, and then the flight. I didn’t mind. I had a lot to think about, and Justin seemed lost in his own thoughts, not even getting his laptop out to get some work done on the flight.

“We’ll stay at your house tonight,” Justin said, as we touched down in Vegas. It was the first thing he’d said in an hour. I studied him. He seemed a little distant, a little sad.

“I’m having some work done on my place,” he explained. “I’ll finally give you a tour of the property sometime next week.”

I just nodded, but he hadn’t been asking me a question.

We went to bed early that night. Justin could see that I was exhausted from the riding and the traveling, and oh yeah, the phenomenal f**king.

He did his kinky little exam of my body. It had become a habit of his. I felt well enough, mostly tired, and a little sore, but he insisted on checking every inch of me. He softly kissed shadow bruises still on my ribs and back, the abrasions on my wrists and ankles, and even turned me around to check my butt, for soreness from the saddle. He studied my sex last, his eyes heavy-lidded as he touched me ever so gently, fingers sifting through my folds.

“You’ve got to be the kinkiest wannabe doctor on the planet,” I told him with a half smile.

His mouth turned up faintly at the corners. He took it as a challenge. The comment seemed to inspire him to be kinkier.

He’d brought a glass of ice water into the room, and he grabbed it from the beside table, taking a long drink. One of his hands still held my inner thigh, keeping my legs pushed wide apart and my body pinned to my spot right at the edge of the mattress.

He bent, burying his face between my legs. I gasped as he pushed an ice cube inside of me with his clever tongue. He lapped at me like a cat for a moment before straightening again. He took another long drink, repeating the process. My hands fisted in his silky hair, begging him silently for release, but he took his time. He stroked me, and licked me, and sat back, just to look at me, again and again. He pushed a finger into me, thrusting, but I wanted more.

“Please, Justin, I want you inside of me.”

He bit the bottom lip of that pretty mouth, but didn’t respond, just kept up the process.

I was shivering, chills wracking me from both desire and the delectable feeling of cold ice inside of me.

He had shoved five cubes in deep.

He took another ice cube and began to run it along my belly, circling my navel in almost lazy motions.

Next he ran the ice up along my ribs, then traced my sternum. My n**ples were already pebbled long before he’d payed them any personal attention. I shivered and shuddered as he finally circled a quivering nipple.

The ice wasn’t the only cold thing he’d brought into the bedroom with us, I realized after endless minutes of his teasing. His very demeanor was cold tonight, his eyes icy as he worked on me slowly, torturously.

“Am I being punished?” I asked him finally, when he held back from letting me come, pulling his busy fingers out of me just short of release.

He smiled, and even the smile was cold. “Not exactly. This is only a lesson, Selena. I’m doing this to you for one simple reason. Because I can. This is what it means to be my submissive.”

I writhed at that, his calculated actions bringing out a shivering fear that, perversely, made me want him even more.

“Will you be f**king me tonight? Or is this all a tease? Because you can?”

In answer, he buried his face between my legs again, his tongue circling my clit, his fingers going back to work inside of me. I felt the ice cubes clink together, and I moaned, right on the edge of orgasm. He straightened, leaving me bereft.

He stood, stripping out of his boxer briefs in one smooth motion. He was hard. At this point, I would have been more shocked if he wasn’t. He stroked himself, looking down at me with that hard, stony expression. I bit my lip as I watched him stroke himself, once, twice. I was sobbing on his third stroke, drawing my legs up to my chest, wanting to touch myself, anything to ease the ache that the ice inside of me only antagonized. I pushed my legs down, lifting my h*ps into the air in a silent plea.

He stopped abruptly. “No,” he finally answered. “I’m punishing myself tonight, so I won’t be f**king you. Only you get to come tonight.”

He bent down, and began the torture all over again. He’d said I could come, but he hadn’t said when, and he left me wanting for long minutes that felt like hours.

The first ice had melted, with new cubes replacing it, before he finally sucked me into a cli**x so hard that I sobbed out his name at the end, tears running down my cheeks.

He tried to hold me afterwards, and I turned away, trying to roll out of his reach. But my bed wasn’t that big, and he was determined. He swatted my butt for the effort.

“Don’t turn away from me,” he said in a hard voice, pulling my back against him.

I tried to fall asleep, but he began to touch me again, kneading my br**sts until I was arching my back, brushing my backside against his stiff length.

“You can take me there,” I told him, brushing my backside against him again. I hated that he was denying himself, whatever the reason.

He purred against me. “No release for me, not tonight. I keep pushing you too hard, even though you’re injured and unaccustomed to this. I need a torturous night to reflect on my sins. Keep teasing me. I deserve it.”

I stopped rubbing my butt against him, not willing to help him in that regard. He bit my neck, one hand snaking down to stroke my sex. “You don’t want me to suffer, Love? You don’t agree with the punishment I’ve chosen for myself?”

“No,” I said on a gasp.

He plunged his large fingers into me, starting up an exquisite rhythm.

“I want to bring you pleasure, not punishment,” I told him.

He grunted. “Well, it’s not up to you, is it?” he asked, his fingers quickening, bringing me to orgasm quickly this time, a stark contrast to what he’d done to me the first time.

He kept his fingers inside of me, a hand gripping my breast, and his stiff erection still pressed firmly against my butt.

“Go to sleep, love,” he whispered harshly in my ear.

I was so exhausted that I actually did.

Justin woke me in the morning in much the way he’d put me to bed, his hand stroking me, his other kneading at my breast. He was sucking on that perfect spot on my neck, his rigid c*ck grinding against my butt in rhythm to his fingers.

“Are you awake?” he asked into my ear.

“Yes. Please, I need you inside me. Please don’t deprive yourself again.” I arched my back as I spoke.

He shifted me onto my back, but stayed on his side. He dragged me around until my wet entrance was pointed at his stiff member, throwing my legs over his hip. My head was nearly hanging off the side of the bed.

One of his arms was used to prop him up, but his other hand was free to roam over my body. He lingered on my br**sts, plucking at my n**ples.

“I’m going to have special rings designed for these,” he said, and rammed into me.

I didn’t have a chance to ask him what he meant. I was too busy gasping as he began a jolting rhythm, still pulling on my br**sts.

“I’ll make them match your collar and your earrings. I want you dripping in diamonds. I’ll decorate all of your chains with them. Before I’m done with you, every part of your body will be stamped with my ownership.”

My hands fisted in the sheets. It was all I could reach in this position. I used my legs to move with his thrusts, and he groaned in approval.

He had us both coming in swift moments, impatient from his night of torture.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” I asked him as we lay panting, spent.

“A little. Though every time I drifted off, I woke up trying to violate you in your sleep. I need to rethink that punishment, I think.”

I shifted until I could kiss him. It was a long, sweet kiss. He was surprisingly passive for it, as if he was curious to see what I would do.

I pulled back, touching his cheek. I knew my tenderness showed in my eyes. “Get a little more sleep.

Please? At least rest while I go try to scrounge up breakfast.”

He must have been exhausted, because he nodded, closing his eyes. He didn’t open them as he raised my hand to his lips, kissing it softly.

I rose, pulling a sheet over him, and impulsively kissing his forehead before throwing on my tiny, nearly transparent shift. I grabbed a thong from my drawer full of the lacy things, even knowing I would be changing again soon, since I needed to shower after breakfast.

I padded into the kitchen, getting out anything I could find that went well with eggs. I cursed when I heard the loud sound of the garbage truck driving down my little street. I had already forgotten to put out my trash can the week before. I really needed to get it out to the curb before the truck passed my house.

I wouldn’t normally go out front in my tiny slip of a nightgown, but I didn’t have a spare moment to change.

Besides, I’ll be quick. I told myself. I just needed to drag my one full garbage can out of the garage and onto the curb, then dart back in. And this was Vegas. See-through clothing was hardly unheard of, even in public.

I moved into the garage, punching the button to open my garage door. I was already dragging the can underneath the door when it was only halfway up. I was relieved to see that the garbage truck was a few houses away. I had made it in time.

I didn’t notice the strange man blatantly photographing me until I was at the curb, lining up my garbage can.

I saw him, and just froze while he took shot after shot of me.

I wasn’t galvanized into action until he looked up from the large camera, leering at me. “Thank you, Ms.

Karlsson. Looking hot this morning.”

He was a paunchy man, in his late forties, I guessed. Just the look on his face made my stomach churn. I was turning to rush back into the house when all hell broke loose.

A large man in a suit grabbed the greasy photographer, handling him roughly at the same time that the garage door into the kitchen burst open, a frantic, boxer clad Justin sprinting out. I heard clicks behind me, the photographer somehow managing to get a few shots of Justin, even while being restrained by a man much larger than himself. It was almost impressive.

I watched Justin’s face as he took in the mess, watched it change from frantic to livid in a heartbeat. He looked like he wanted to murder the man as he strode to me, glaring at the paparazzi the entire time. He stepped in front of me, blocking me from view.

“Get inside,” he said through gritted teeth.

I had seen his face. I couldn’t imagine, from his look, that he didn’t plan to do the man violence.

“Come inside with me, please,” I pleaded with him, my voice pitched low.

“Go, Selena. Now.”

I hugged his back, not wanting him to get into trouble for some scumbag photographer.

“You look like you’re going to attack him, Justin. I don’t want you to go to jail.” Even as I spoke, I heard a few more clicks from that damn camera. The man was fearless.

“I would rather f**king go to jail than let him leave with those pictures of you. Now go inside.”

“Your man over there can handle it,” I said, my cheek against his back. “And who will protect me, if you’re in jail? Would it be worth it, if something happened to me while you were gone?” I felt horrible saying it, and I knew it wasn’t even a sound argument, but I was desperate to get him to walk away, and I thought it would at least get his attention. Some scandalous pictures of me were not my biggest concern.

He shuddered, and I felt a rush of relief. He turned into me, still using his body to block me from view, and ushered me back into the garage.

“Get those f**king pictures off of his camera, Stimpson, or it’s your f**king job!” Justin barked over his shoulder, not slowing.

“What the f**k were you thinking?” Justin burst out the second he’d shut the door from the garage into my kitchen. “Do you like giving the world a f**king show?”

I stiffened at his words, raised nearly to a rage-filled shout. I didn’t respond, raising my chin and walking woodenly through my house and into my bathroom.

If he was going to take his anger out on me in a way I couldn’t handle, I supposed it was better that I find out sooner rather than later. I tried to stay calm, but my whole body was shaking as I waited to see what he’d do next.

I tossed off my scanty clothes before stepping into the shower, turning it on, the cold spray hitting me for several seconds before it began to warm.

I just stood under the spray, unmoving, for several minutes. It was a long time before Justin joined me.

I felt him more than saw him, since my eyes were closed.

He hugged me very carefully from behind. My first instinct was to pull away, but I let him hold me. I could feel him trembling, and the thought of hurting him, when he was as vulnerable as I, was abhorrent to me.

“I’m so sorry, love. Of course you were just taking out your trash, like a normal person. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you. I’m sorry I raised my voice. I would never put my hands on you in anger. Whatever demons I may have, I don’t have that in me. But I saw that scared look on your face when I raised my voice. I hate myself for putting it there.”

I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t push him away, either.

He washed me, his touch gentle. “Will you come to the hotel with me today? You can do a spa day while I get a few things done.” As he spoke, he lathered my hair.

I sighed, feeling weak from the morning’s drama.

Why not do a spa day? I asked myself, seriously considering the idea. I never got to do things like that.

I didn’t have to work until evening, and Justin would spend ridiculous amounts of money on me, spa day or not. It was really a drop in the bucket at this point.

“You can invite anyone you want. They’ll give you the royal treatment, as well as any of your friends.

Just invite Stephan, and tell him to get the word out. You could have a flight attendant reunion at the spa, if you want. My resort has one of the best in town.”

I caved at the plea in his voice. He was like a child, grasping for a way to make amends.

“Okay,” I finally said. I sounded like a brat to my own ears. “Thank you, Justin. That’s considerate.

You’re considerate.”

Wet lips kissed my cheek almost sloppily. It was so unlike him that I let out a little giggle.

“Thank you. Nothing makes me happier than taking care of you, in any way that I can.” His voice was a raw whisper against my skin.

I turned and hugged him, his vulnerability almost palpable to me at that moment.

“You make me so happy, Selena. I was just angry with myself, that I’d failed to protect you, yet again.”

“Oh, Justin. What am I going to do with you? A few stupid pictures aren’t going to hurt me.”

“When I heard the garage door opening, my heart stopped. Just the thought of you being outside by yourself, when your father is still on the loose, makes me panicky.”

“I obviously wasn’t alone, with that bodyguard out there. Seems to me like you had your bases covered.”

He stiffened up at that. “What took him so f**king long to react? That’s what I want to know.”

I kissed the center of his chest, right in that little indent between his well muscled pectorals. I loved that spot.

I filled my palm with shampoo, reaching up high to lather his honey-colored hair. I smiled at him as the motion dragged my chest against his. He bent down to give me better access, leaning his forehead onto my shoulder. I washed him as he had washed me. It was the first time he’d allowed me to tend to him as tenderly as he so often did to me. “Do you mind me touching you like this? Is that why you avoid letting me do this to you, usually?”

He shook his head, his eyes closed. His voice was a rasp in my ear. “Not you. I love any touch from you. It feels caring, and I want that. I want so much for you to care for me.”

My heart hurt a little at his words. I wanted to reassure him, but the words were a lump in my throat.

He just hugged me tightly, not pressing me for the words. If he had wanted a woman who could express her feelings easily, I supposed he wouldn’t have chosen me.

“Move in with me.” His words were quiet but heartfelt.

I sighed. He was an undeniable force. A few short days, and it was nearly impossible to tell him no.

“How about this? We’ll spend more time together. If we’re in the same city, we’ll have sleepovers, just like we’ve done the last few days.”

He just about squeezed the breath out of me. “Thank you,” he rasped, and began to kiss me. His hands were everywhere, his mouth hot, as he backed me against the shower wall. When he felt my hot center and found it wet, he lifted me against him, impaling me brutally.

“Tell me if you’re sore,” he said roughly.

He leaned my back against the tiled wall and began to thrust.

I was sore, deliciously sore, but I wouldn’t have told him so for anything. Then he might have stopped the heavenly orgasm that built as he pounded into me. I watched his lovely face, as he had taught me, as he moved, my hands grasping his shoulders. His face was wet, his golden skin so perfect. I thought he looked like an angel, with his wet hair trailing into his face.

“You’re so beautiful,” I told him quietly, but he still heard me over the spray.

He clearly enjoyed my admiration, his body shuddering in preparation for his cli**x. I felt him shuddering down to my toes, and it tipped me over the edge.

I cupped his cheek as we came together. It was so intimate that it should have made me cold, or uncomfortable, or even repulsed, but it didn’t. More and more, I was craving this intimacy, not running from it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

After we’d showered and dressed, I found my phone, intending to text Stephan about the spa day.

Justin held up a hand. “Let me talk to him.”

I wrinkled my nose. He tapped it.

“Why do you need to tell him?” I asked, suspicious.

“Why not?” he asked.

I dropped it, seeing by his innocent expression that I would have better luck asking Stephan what Justin was texting him.

“I’m going to cook some eggs for breakfast, unless you object,” I told him, pulling on an old sundress. I figured I’d get dressed for real after we ate. I didn’t even bother with underwear.

He gave me a heated kiss. He tasted unbelievably good. He always did. I sucked at his hot mouth, and he groaned, pulling away. He smiled and slapped my ass.

I beat a hasty retreat. At this rate, we would f**k each other until we starved to death.

I was walking to the kitchen, phone still clutched in my hand, when it began to ring. I glanced at the face. I recognized the number, since I’d missed several calls from the same 702 number over the past month.

Impulsively I answered. I didn’t like mysteries, and I wanted to know who kept calling me so persistently.

“Hello,” I said into the phone.

There was no response on the other end, just silence with the faintest hint of soft music in the background. Three heartbeats later the phone disconnected from the other end.

My brow was furrowed as I set my phone on the counter and began to cook breakfast. The calls were strange, but hardly something to let myself be bothered about. I resolved not to let myself dwell on them.

I made a huge portion of eggs and whatever else I could find that went with them. Peppers, onions, ham, smoked turkey, with some extra sharp cheddar to top it off. It was a better breakfast then I’d thought I could come up with, so I was rather pleased with the effort.

Justin ate a ridiculous amount of it. His plate had to be filled with at least five eggs worth, but he cleared it in short order. He ate it as though he’d never had such fine food in his life, when the reality was, it was just what I could scrounge up, since I was often out of town. Still, I appreciated his enthusiasm.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to find new additions to my closet, both for me and for Justin. It was stuffed full, whereas before it had been rather sparse. I sent him an arch look as I noticed the change. He didn’t even seem to notice, looking through my new clothes. He pulled a pair of tiny white cargo shorts off of a hanger, handing them to me. They were shorter than anything I owned. He picked out a little gold tank top with geometric designs printed across it in black and white. He handed it to me without a word.

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