I stormed into the tack shop, the heels of my riding boots echoing off the tile, still fuming at the morning's incident. A broken riding crop, a sore hip, and mud and grass stains on my jodhpurs. All because that stupid pony had missed a step and thrown me. I was so mad that I hadn't even bothered to change, and had driven directly to the shop.

As I reached the middle of the store, the nearly overwhelming smell of leather awakened my senses and I stopped to breathe deeply, which calmed me immeasurably. I love everything about leather: its smell, its feel against my skin, its uses, and the way it can be made into the softest of clothing or the strongest of boots. And even the sound of it: the snap of a whip, the 'splat' of a cat, the creaks as it moves against itself.

Awakening from my momentary reverie, I moved on to the back of the shop. As I reached the counter, I saw a young girl sitting behind it, working some lacing through a garment of some type on top of the counter. She appeared to be a few years younger than me, and was quite pretty. As she looked up at me, she moved the piece she was working on aside, clearing a space. I could see that she was wearing a leather vest covered with quite intricate patterns; it was very beautiful, and closed with what appeared to be a short chain, also of an intricate design. Surprisingly, she was wearing nothing under the vest, as the inner curves of her large breasts were very visible when she looked up at me.

"Is there something I can help you with, Miss... ?"

"Yes. I need a new riding crop," as I threw the pieces of the old one on the counter. She picked it up and examined it closely.

"Well," she said. "If you are interested, we can actually recycle the leather. None of the leather braiding is actually broken, or even torn, so it can all be re-used. The cane centre of the crop is, of course, broken and we can't simply fit a new one in its place. But, we can unbraid all of the leather from the old crop, revitalize it, and rework it into something new ... a quirt, perhaps. They are quite popular these days, and quite useful. There is probably enough leather here to make one of a decent size with two tails."

"You can actually do that?"

"Oh yes. We try to never simply throw out any leather that could still be used. It takes a long time to properly break in something new, and leather has suppleness and a patina that can't be matched by other materials. Our chief leather worker is a true master."

"Okay then, I will do that. This was my favourite crop, and if its spirit can live on as something else, then so be it. Now, I still need a new crop, so what are my choices?"

"We have a wide range of crops, just over there on the left."

"Could you show me some samples? It's been so long since I've had to buy a new one."

"Certainly, Miss. Let me just come out from behind the counter." As she stood, I could see that she was wearing flowing leather pants, themselves intricately tooled like her vest. The leather looked to be very soft and supple from the way it moved as she walked. The real surprise came when she walked out from behind the counter, as I could see that she wasn't wearing pants—they were a set of chaps, and her delicious bottom was quite bare.

"Interesting outfit." As she passed, I couldn't help but to reach out and pat the exposed flesh. It was quite firm to the touch.

"Thank you, Miss. I do love wearing leather." She paused and allowed me to explore for a moment, before moving to the rack of crops. "Was there a specific length, weight, or flexibility you were looking for?"

"Well, I want something about eighteen to twenty inches long, medium weight, I should think, and fairly flexible. I guess that would mean a relatively thin crop."

"Yes, Miss. As well, do you want a loop end, or the more traditional flap?"

"Oh, definitely the flap."

She laid out a selection of crops, varying slightly in length and heft, and in a range of colours, from a very light tan through to a deep black. I picked them over, selecting three that looked about right, then picked each one up to test. I bent each of them, watching as they sprung back, gave them each several swipes through the air, and smacked each along my leg, feeling the burn from each strike through my jodhpurs. The young girl watched each of these manoeuvers closely, and strangely, I thought I could detect a light tremor in her breathing, especially when I stood there smacking my own leg.

"It's too bad you don't have something to practice on," I said somewhat jokingly.

The girl started a little, then took in a ragged breath. "If the Mistress would like, that can be arranged."

I was a little taken aback at the formal address, but nodded, and said "Yes." If nothing else, I was curious to see what she meant.

She moved toward the front of the store for a moment, and then returned pushing a small leather-covered toy horse. I had seen it in the store's display window. I expected that she would have me swat it with each crop, although I didn't think that would be much of a test. I furrowed my brow in puzzlement when she removed the horse's head and tail, and set them aside.

Her next move took my breath away. She moved to the now headless horse, and lay across it sideways. I realized that it was at the perfect height to be a spanking bench, and that its rounded shape would present the user's buttocks perfectly, as it did hers. She was tall enough that her hands rested on the floor, and her toes just touched on the other side; she would be unable to spring to her feet quickly in the event that anyone entered the store, or she received too hard a stroke.

In this position, her ass was truly beautiful—wonderfully rounded, and very pert. As her legs were spread apart, her vulva was also on full display. I noted that at least its lower portions were shaved completely bare.

"Are you quite sure about this?" I was desperately hoping for a positive response, but was fully prepared to simply help this young beauty back to her feet, and to be on my way.

"Oh, yes Miss ... whenever you are ready."

"In that case, the proper form of address would be 'Mistress', don't you think?"

"I'm sorry, Mistress. I await your punishment."

"Oh, this isn't punishment, little slut. This is just a trial of new crops. Now, I expect you to keep the count. I will tell you when I am changing to a new crop, and which one I shall use, but you are to keep the statistics. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Very well then, we'll start with the tan one. Appropriate, since I shall be tanning your little rear."

I lifted the crop, swung it through the air a few times to get a feel for it, and brought it horizontally across her rear, dead centre. I had hit hard enough that I saw the flesh of her buttocks indent, and then spring back. I half expected her to scream, or to try to jump up, but she only flinched slightly and gave a little grunt. The braid marks from the crops leather sprang out into stark relief against the white flesh of her ass.

"One, Mistress. May I please have the next?"

I was surprised at her calm demeanor, and resolved to actually get a response from her. I leveled another strike across her rear, an inch below the previous one. Again, there was no reaction other than a small grunt.

"Two, Mistress. May I please have the next?"

I was starting to get mad as I wound up for the next swing. At the top of the arc, I stopped myself, recalling my training, and remembering that one should never wield a whip or a crop in anger. I calmed myself, and took a deep breath, and reminded myself that I was here to test the crop, not punish the young girl in front of me; submissive she might be, but she had volunteered to be my test subject, and I should respect that.

After a moment, I leveled another stroke at the crease of her rear, just at the top of her thighs.

"Three, Mistress. May I please have the next?"

I put the tan crop down, and picked up the mid-brown one. Before saying anything, I walked over and inspected the stripes I had inflicted. They stood out boldly against her rear, and I ran a finger over each one. Teasingly, I let the finger slide over her exposed anus, and down to her prominent pussy. As I slid my fingernail between her labia, she whimpered, and I realized that she was very wet. The whimper was the biggest reaction I had yet seen, or heard, and I lifted an eyebrow in quizzical interest. Perhaps the way to this girl was via a different target.

"I am now about to use the brown crop," I announced.

The first strike was placed an inch above the first one from the tan crop, and I did my best to keep it at the same strength. The resulting welt looked to be about the same.

"One, Mistress, from that crop. Four strokes in total. May I please have the next, Mistress?"

I laid the next strike an inch below the second stroke, again making sure to equal the strength, so that I might judge the marks better.

"Two, Mistress, from that crop. Five strokes in total. May I please have the next, Mistress?"

With this stroke, I surprised the little minx. Instead of delivering a strong hit to her ass, I moved directly behind her, and used the flap of the crop in a vertical stroke down against her bare little pussy. Because she was so wet, the sound was more of a 'splat', and the leather flap was dripping as I drew it back.

I had purposefully lightened the stroke, not hitting her all that hard, but the reaction was amazing. She bucked her legs up from the floor, yelped out loud, then moaned as the feel of the stroke sunk in.

It was a full minute before she drew a ragged breath, and said, "Three Mistress, from that crop. Six in total. May I please have the next?"

I laid the brown crop down, and picked up the black. It was noticeably thinner than the previous two, and much more flexible. I bent it back and forth, and swished it loudly through the air for a minute. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the girl tense as she heard the loud noise of the crop cutting the air.