There are two questions that I am invariably asked. They usually revolve around the topic of how long I’ve been Dominant, and what was the formative experience for Dominance.
I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t on top, so to speak. Even with my small stature, I’ve always gotten my way by sheer force of will. I want it, I make it happen. It is one of the reasons why I so enjoy being a FemDom Masturbatrix with a stable of men all stroking for me.
One of my earliest memories of realizing my power over males and actually using it was… lets see. I was 12 or 13. I had a 16 hand 1/2 Arabian 1/2 Thoroughbred jumper named Najeeb that I trained almost daily and there were two boys at the stables. They were a couple of years older than me, and they were in charge of making sure the ring was set up for me and the bars were in place, etc.
I was such a little princess, me in my jodhpurs and hat and gloves — and my crop of course. So anyway, I’m going through the course and Najeeb nicked a bar on the third jump with his hoof and the bar fell. I walked my horse over and watched the stable boy put the bar back in place. When he finished I smiled and thanked him. It felt really good, being high up on the horse and looking down at him. He grinned back at me and nodded.
I gave Najeeb the signal and we started off down the course again. As we rounded the corner I watched the stable boy sprint over to the fence and slip through the rails, then lean against the top one and watch me. Najeeb and I sailed over each jump in perfect form. I ran him through the course again. Perfect! I was so excited and pleased.
I rode over to the gate and my stable boy was there, opening it. I rode through and when I went to dismount, the stable boy was there, trying to help. For some reason, my mood changed. The euphoria of a good ride became something else, something more subtle and powerful. And it had to do with that boy…
I spun around and looked up at him. “Did I ask for your help?” I demanded.
“N-n-no Miss,” he stammered. He dropped his eyes to the ground, doing his best to appear respectful.
“Did I give you permission to touch me?” I asked, incensed. I swiped at him with my crop.
He winced a little, but didn’t flinch. He just stood there with his head bowed. Fascinating.
I stepped up closer to him so I could look into his eyes. He was at least 6 inches taller than me and he smelled like hay and horses and leather and sweat. A ripe, rich smell that reminded me of being in the saddle and always made me feel warm in my seat.
“Do you know my name, stable boy?”
“Yes miss.”
“What is my name?”
“Pamela, miss.”
“And you know who I am?” I asked him. I figured he had to know who my father was. Everyone did.
“Yes, miss.”
“If I told Daddy you’d put your filthy hands on me, you’d be in big trouble, stable boy.”
His face was bright red. He gulped and held his breath for a long moment, his eyes closed tight.
“Please Miss Pamela, I like working with horses…”
“Oh you do?
“Yes miss.”
“Yes miss who?”
“Yes Miss Pamela.”
I stood there for a moment, thinking.
“Follow me if you want to keep your job.”
I lead the horse and the boy back to the stables, stopping at a currying station. I tied Najeeb up and turned to the boy.
“If you want to keep your job, you will curry my horse.”
His face lighted up.
“And I’m going to whip you with my crop whenever you mess up…. or maybe just whenever I feel like it.” I was really enjoying teasing and humiliating him.
I tipped my head back and smiled up into his wide eyes. His expression was hungry and scared and humiliated all at once and it sent a thrill down my middle.
He shifted on his feet, and when I looked down, I noticed a bulge in his pants. Another fascinating development. I wondered if it was me, the horse, or the crop that turned him on, and was determined to find out just how dirty a boy he was.
