Chapter 5

After their usual morning routine, Elena felt surprisingly good. Six weeks of early morning runs at home and weekend training with Carol had changed her. Her body was leaner. Her stamina stronger. Elena felt surprisingly good. The soreness that once left her limping was now a distance memory she wore like a badge of honor.

The exercise left her flushed but alive, and the shower had washed away the last traces of sweat. She used her hands to wipe off the excess water from her skin, still warm from the water.

A maid entered the barn—quiet, composed, as always. “Miss Elena,” she said. “You are expected at breakfast in the main house.” Elena followed without hesitation, still damp and naked, unthinking in her obedience.

After breakfast, she followed the maid upstairs to her guest room. Draped across the neatly made bed was a simple summer dress—if it could be called that. It was backless, and short enough to make her hesitate and made of some barely-there fabric that shimmered slightly in the morning light. Her flip-flops sat beside it, innocuous and ordinary—completely at odds with what she was asked to wear.

Elena picked up the dress and held it in front of herself. The fabric was cool. Light. She could already picture the breeze pressing it against her skin—or worse, lifting it up entirely. It wasn’t the dress of someone attending a local rodeo. It was the dress of someone being shown off.

She didn’t ask why. She already knew. This was Marcus’s next test, or maybe just his amusement. Still, something in her chest tightened at the idea of walking through a crowd like that.

The maid stood in the doorway, unreadable. As Elena stood there in her birthday suit, then, as if on cue, she stepped forward and took the dress from Elena’s hands. “You are to wear this,” the maid said, “and accompany Master Marcus to the annual rodeo and festival.”

She let it pool on the floor at her feet. “Step in,” the maid instructed.

Elena’s hands trembled slightly as she obeyed, stepping into the small pool of fabric, lifting one foot and then the other. It wasn’t cotton. It wasn’t silk. It was more like a fine mesh—tightly woven, soft to the touch, and just sheer enough to reveal what it claimed to conceal.

The maid lifted the dress slowly up Elena’s legs, drawing it up over her hips, then over her chest causing the bells to jingle. She tied the delicate straps behind her neck. The hem settled low enough to cover her—technically, leaving the curve of her thighs almost fully bare. Every movement would be a gamble.

She tugged lightly at the sides instinctively, trying to adjust it. There was nothing to adjust. The maid picked up Elena’s flip-flops ... and walked out of the room carrying them out the door without offering them. Wordlessly, Elena followed.

No shoes. No underwear. No conversation. Just an unspoken instruction: Follow, and she did. As they moved downstairs, Elena kept smoothing her palms down the front of the dress, trying to reassure herself. It’s not the nudity, she told herself. It never has been. She’d grown up in a house where nudity wasn’t taboo. It was normal. Unremarkable. It was the public part that got to her—the exposure beyond familiar walls. The uncertainty. The risk of being seen, judged ... or worse, punished.

This wasn’t that. This wasn’t comfort. It was control. Exposure. Performance. She knew exactly who she was performing for.

She didn’t want trouble. Not for showing too much. Not for standing out. Not for being this exposed in a crowd.

At the bottom of the stairs, she spotted Marcus waiting by the door—calm, composed, and dressed comfortably. Another maid stood beside him, hands behind her back, posture rigid. Elena’s steps faltered.

As she and her escort reached the front hall, the first maid gently guided her to a chair set just off to the side, and gently pressed on her shoulder.
“Bend over, please.”

Elena hesitated—just a second—then slowly bent forward, bracing herself on the seat cushion. Her pulse jumped. Her cheeks flushed. The hem of the dress rode up, baring even more of her already exposed skin.

The maid’s hand pressed gently between her shoulder blades. Not forceful, but firm. Elena was meant to stay down. Behind her, Marcus and the second maid stepped closer. She couldn’t hear their bare feet on the polished tile—couldn’t see what the second maid still held behind her back.

Behind her, Marcus and the second maid approached, but Elena couldn’t see them. Her mind raced. Was this a punishment? Had she done something wrong? Was he going to spank her right here—in front of the staff?

Her palms pressed harder into the seat. Her breath caught, shallow and fast. The uncertainty was worse than any clear threat. Her body tensed as if bracing for impact, but nothing happened right away.

She hated not knowing. Hated how easily her body betrayed her when she was made to wait. Her legs trembled, and a sharp breath escaped her lips. She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but her eyes stung anyway. The tears came—hot, silent, and unwelcome. Not from pain. Not yet. Just the awful weight of vulnerability.

She could feel her pussy getting wet despite her fear of what was about to come. Suddenly, she felt a finger slick and cold slowly entering her rear passage. Shocked, she realized what was happening wasn’t even on the list of possibilities.

The finger moved in and out, twisting and spreading the slickness. Suddenly, it finally clicked in her mind. She was being lubed in preparation for something to be put back there. Was Marcus going to fuck her anally?

Just as that thought filled her mind, she felt something pressed against her opening. Slowly, carefully, Marcus applied steady pressure. Elena stiffened as she felt something press against her anus—foreign, invasive, inevitable. Her mind reeled. Her muscles clenched on instinct.

“Relax, Elena.” Marcus said, voice low and even. “It will be easier if you push,” His hand resting lightly on her back — firm, but kind. She let out a shuddered breath. A moment later, she felt the plug seat firmly in place with finality. The sensation left her breathless—not from pain, but from what it meant.

This wasn’t for comfort. It was to remind her who she was.

Thinking it was over, she tried to rise, but Marcus’s hand on her back prevented her actions. She stayed bent forward, exposed, her skin flushed with heat and humiliation. From what had just been done, and from how she was now expected to remain—and how part of her accepted it.

Soon, Elena felt a pressure against her sopping wet pussy. The object slid in more easily than she expected—smooth, steady, controlled. Elena braced herself, hands gripping the chair’s edge. Her breath caught as it seated fully. Then, just as suddenly, the pressure at her back lifted. She was allowed to stand.

Her legs trembled slightly as she straightened, her dress settled awkwardly back into place, but something felt ... off. There was weight now, low and unfamiliar, swaying lightly behind her thighs. She turned her head and froze—a tail. A long silky horse’s tail, dark and striking, now dangled from beneath her dress—secured where the plug had been placed. It brushed against the backs of her legs with every tiny shift.

Elena’s stomach flipped. Her skin flushed hot. Marcus said nothing. The maid stepped forward and gently smoothed the dress down, as if this were routine. Expected.

This wasn’t just an accessory. It was a statement. A role. A symbol of what she was becoming—at least for the day, and she would wear it into a crowd.

Marcus held up a small black remote, his smirk calm but unmistakable. “The other item,” he said, tapping the dense lightly, “is a vibrating egg. For now, it’s set to random. Thought it might keep things ... interesting.”

Her eyes flicked from the remote to his face, and he saw the moment it hit her. The realization. The mix of shock and disbelief. Her expression flickered between outrage and something more dangerous—something closer to heat.

Marcus watched her closely. The flush rising to her cheeks. The way she instinctively shifted her weight, suddenly unsure of what her own body might do.

He didn’t press the button. He didn’t have to. The look on her face was priceless—and Marcus drank it in.

Accepting her fate—because resisting it now felt pointless—Elena followed Marcus outside.

The morning sun was already hot, glaring off the gravel drive. Her bare feet padded lightly across the stones, the sheer dress fluttering uselessly in the breeze. Each step made her aware of the weight swaying behind her—the horsehair tail brushing the backs of her thighs like a reminder.

Marcus opened the passenger door of his pickup and gestured silently. She climbed in, careful with the short hem, careful not to catch the tail. The leather seat was warm against her skin. She sat stiffly, back straight, unsure where to put her hands. She didn’t have a purse. No bag. Just herself—half-dressed, plugged, and filled with the buzz of uncertainty.

Marcus closed the door gently, circled around, and slid into the driver’s seat. He didn’t look at her right away. He started the engine. The radio was off. The truck filled with the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the low rumble of the engine.

“Try to enjoy the ride,” he said, smirking, knowing what she was sitting on. He placed the remote casually in the cupholder. Elena stared straight ahead, her pulse loud in her ears, and the truck pulled away.

They drove in silence. The tires hummed against the road, and sunlight flickered through the windows as trees passed by in a blur. Elena sat stiffly, hands in her lap, unsure of what to do with herself.

She shifted, then shifted again. No position helped. The plug and tail sat deeply, unignorable. The tail shifted with every movement of the truck, its fake hair tickling the backs of her thighs. Every bump in the road made it bounce—light, teasing infuriating.

She clenched her jaw and stared out the window, pretending she didn’t feel anything, but she did.

Not just the physical pressure, not just the tail brushing her skin. She felt exposed, charged, hyperaware of what she was wearing—and more importantly, what she wasn’t.

Every mile they drove added to the weight of that reality. She was going out like this. Into a crowd.

Next to her, Marcus said nothing. His focus stayed on the road, one hand resting lightly on the wheel. The other hovered casually near the remote. He hadn’t touched it. Not yet and somehow, that was worse.