Together in Life
Copyright© 2025 by Megansdad
Chapter 7
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 7 - The is the story of Elena McNeil. Her life on a ponygirl ranch. Life with the owner and how she reconnected with her best friend who was wrongfully enslaved.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Slavery Lesbian PonyGirl Nudism
By nine in the morning, the sun was already strong, casting long golden beams across the dry grass. The ceremony was set near the edge of the ranch, beneath a hand-built wooden arch wrapped in pale lavender silk and white desert roses. A breeze rustled the fabric gently, just enough to stir the scent of blooming lavender flowers threaded through the arch.
Spring had come early that year. It was the last week of March, and the Texas heat was already stirring. Guests arrived slowly—just a few close family members from both sides, plus Rachel and Myra, who’d helped with the planning. The photographer was only to document the event for Marcus and Elena, though, Elena agreed to have one picture posted in the local paper. No orchestra. No flash. Just folding chairs in a soft curve around the arch, iced water in tall glasses, and a quiet reverence in the air.
Inside the tent, Elena waited barefoot on the cool tile floor, veil in hand.
She wore no dress. Her permanent nudist registration didn’t allow it. Her status, tattooed just above her left breast, clearly marked her as a Free Woman, a Nudist, and officially sponsored by the ranch.
Unlike the earlier fittings, she was accessorized. A diamond necklace lay soft against her collarbone, catching the morning light with every breath. Matching earrings sparkled beneath her veil. She wore no makeup—just her skin, her bells, and the weight of the moment.
Her father stood beside her, visibly nervous, though he tried not to show it. He adjusted his tie, then offered her his arm. “Ready, baby girl?” Elena nodded.
Together, Elena and her father slowly stepped out of the tent and began walking down the aisle. Outside, the guests rose as soft instrumental music floated over the pasture from a low portable speaker. The wedding arch, wrapped in lavender silk and white desert roses, stood firm against the breeze.
Sunlight spilled across her bare skin—warm, open, honest. Her bells chimed softly with each step. She moved with calm purpose, her eyes fixed on the man waiting for her under the arch.
Marcus stood simply dressed in a light linen shirt, sleeves rolled, boots polished. Nothing flashy. Just the man she chose.
As soon as the bride and her father reached the dais, they stopped. The judge’s voice carried easily over the quiet of the open pasture and the flutter of fabric in the light breeze. “Who gives this woman to be married today?”
Elena’s father cleared his throat, his hand still lingering from where she had kissed his cheek. “Her mother and I do.”
Her father took Marcus’s hand and placed Elena’s into it. Marcus closed his hand around hers and she stepped up onto the dais to stand beside him. She turned to face him.
To the left of the dais, in her rightful place as Maid of Honor, stood Carol facing the couple. Nude but radiant, she wore her lavender sash, just as they’d agreed. A soft sheen of oil gave her skin a subtle glow, and the silver of her collar gleamed in the sunlight. In her hands she held a small bouquet of lavender and white thistle—her symbol of honor, her compromise, her pride to be able to keep her promise to her best friend.
All she could feel was the warmth of Marcus’s hand in hers ... and the weight of Carol’s eyes watching her with love.
The judge nodded. “We are gathered here to witness a union freely chosen. Marcus Alan Grantham and Elena Isobel McNeil, do you come here of your own free will, to bind yourselves to one another?”
“I do,” they said in unison.
The judge continued, “Marcus Alan Grantham, please share your vows.”
Marcus squeezed her hand, then spoke first. “I don’t have many words, but the ones I have are plain. I vow to protect you to the best of my ability, and to choose you every day. In every season, in every storm, I will be at your side. In sickness, in health, in wealth, and in poverty, I promise never to turn from you or abandon you for as long as I live.”
Recognizing that Marcus was done, the judge turned to Elena. “Elena Isobel McNeil, please say your vows.”
Elena took a deep breath and began her vows. “In sickness and in health, in wealth and in poverty, no matter the season or storm, I vow never to turn from you nor abandon you. I will not walk behind you as lesser than you, nor ahead of you as your better. I will walk beside you as your equal. I vow to love you openly, to honor the freedom we’ve chosen, and to choose you—today, tomorrow, and always.”
The judge gave a small nod. “The rings, please.”
Elena turned toward Carol, who stepped forward and handed Marcus’s ring to her, bouquet still in hand. She bowed her head slightly as she held it out. Elena took Marcus’s ring, and Carol stepped back into place.
“With this ring,” Elena said softly, sliding it onto his finger, “I bind my life to yours.”
Marcus repeated the gesture, his rough hand steady as he slipped the band onto her finger. “With this ring, I give you all that I am, for all of my days.”
After the rings were exchanged, the judge concluded the ceremony. “By the authority vested in me by the state of Texas, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.” Marcus didn’t hesitate. He kissed her with quiet certainty, bells chiming faintly as Elena leaned into him.
Applause rose from the guests, mingling with the chime of Elena’s bells as they broke the kiss and turned to face them. Carol stepped forward from her place and bowed her head slightly. The bouquet of lavender and white thistle rested in her hands. She offered it to Elena with quiet ceremony. Elena accepted it and brushed her fingers lightly across Carol’s knuckles. “Thank you, my lovely slave,” she said, stroking Carol’s chin and lifting her head to meet her eyes. Then, leaning closer so only Carol could hear, she whispered, “You did well, and I’m proud of you, to have you back in my life—to have you be a part of my wedding as we promised each other as girls. My only regret is that I can never do the same for you.”
“I understand, Mistress. Just being here makes me so happy. I am glad that you are my owner,” Carol said, beaming with pride at her mistress’s praise.
Marcus and Elena led the small procession across the pasture toward the house. Carol kept to Elena’s left, a respectful step behind, her collar bright in the sun as the guests followed at an easy pace.
Inside, a polished mahogany table waited with the marriage license laid out neatly beneath a sliver pen. Marcus signed first. The best man stepped in and added his name with a steady hand. Elena’s mother signed next, graceful and composed. Elena finished the page, her bells chiming softly as she leaned forward. The judge gathered the document into a leather folio, shook their hands, and excused himself to register it with the county. The front door closed with a soft latch, and the last trace of formality lifted.
Elena turned to the guests with a smile and lifted the bouquet. “Before we sit down to eat, one last tradition.” The single women gathered in a loose half circle several paces from Elena. Carol stood aside with the staff, hands folded, her posture serene. No one remarked on her absence from the group.
Elena faced away from the group, bells chiming as she raised the bouquet overhead. “Ready?” A chorus of yes rose in reply. She tossed the flowers in a gentle arc. The bouquet spun once and landed in Rachel’s arms to laughter and cheers scattered through the room. Marcus slipped an arm around Elena’s waist as the room settled, and together they guided everyone toward the dining room and the waiting meal. The aroma of hot food led the way more than Marcus and Elena themselves.
When the guests entered the dining room, they found it transformed: the long table draped in crisp white linen, polished silver gleaming, wildflowers bright in mason jars, and pitchers of sweet tea and lemonade sweating in the warmth. A light lunch had been prepared—nothing extravagant, just hearty, honest food: roasted chicken, corn pudding, fresh greens, and a peach tart for dessert.
Elena caught Carol’s eye and gave her a soft nod. That was the signal. Carol bowed her head slightly and slipped out of the dining room. She removed her heels as she made her way upstairs to her new room—Elena’s room—where a simple floor cushion and folded blanket had been laid out at the foot of the bed. She placed the heels in the closet and slipped the sash over her head. Carefully and reverently, she folded it and placed it inside the cedar-lined drawer that held her few permitted belongings—like sealing a memory away for safekeeping.
She was still Elena’s slave. Still property, but she belonged to someone who loved her—someone who saw her.
Carol headed back downstairs to help serve the guests. Alongside the other servants, she served drinks while the guests found their seats, her movements were quiet, invisible by design. She moved gracefully, her posture attentive but serene. In her chest, the pride of having stood beside Elena still glowed like a secret flame.
Elena stayed close to Marcus, her hand occasionally brushing his as they mingled. Her bells chimed faintly with each step, and though her skin was bare, no one flinched or whispered. The mark above her heart spoke louder than fabric ever could.
For now, it was enough to laugh, to share a meal with the people who mattered most. Tomorrow would carry them into the unknown, but this day was theirs. They had originally planned to leave immediately for their honeymoon, but they’d changed their minds. “We didn’t want to seem rude,” Marcus had told Elena’s parents, “running off and leaving everyone here.” So, the trip was delayed until the following morning. Bags were packed, arrangements made.
The sun was barely up when Elena slipped into her room, the soft rustling of her bells breaking the quiet. Carol stirred on her mat and looked up, blinking sleep from her eyes.
The first thing Carol saw as she blinked the sleep from her eyes was her friend and mistress kneeling beside her sleeping mat. “Morning, sleepyhead,” Elena said with a smile.
Carol sat up slowly. “Good morning, Mistress.”
Elena smiled. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Carol tilted her head, curious.
“You’re coming with us,” Elena said. “To Spain.”
Carol’s eyes widened. “I am?”
Elena nodded, brushing a strand of hair back from her friend’s cheek. “Of course you are. Unless you’d prefer to go back to the pony barn until we return.”
For a moment Carol just stared at her, scandalized, cheeks flushing. “Mistress! No!” She reached out impulsively, clutching Elena’s wrist. “I want to go with you. Please, don’t leave me behind.” Then she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Elena’s waist with a quiet sob of relief.
Elena’s smile softened as she ran her fingers through Carol’s soft hair. Then Spain it is. We’re going to the same place you visited after graduation. You told me about it—about how free you felt there.”
Carol’s face lit up with surprise, then dimmed just as fast. “I was naked, yes—but I wasn’t a slave back then.”
“I know,” Elena said gently. “And I know it won’t be the same this time. But we want you with us. Not just as an attendant. As you.”
Carol’s throat tightened. She nodded slowly, the weight of it all settling in her chest. Then ... I’ll go,” she whispered. Her eyes lifted to Elena’s, shimmering with both fear and hope. “I’ll go anywhere, as long as it is with you.”
Elena kissed her forehead, bells chiming softly as she bent low. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
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