The Brief, Saucy Tale Of Lani The Stablehand

"Off with you, vagabond!" The stablehand makes a shooing motion at you. You stand before her, covered in a light coating of dust from days of travelling on the road, and sporting a fresh, bristly beard. The nag you'd purchased a month prior gave out some ten miles up the road, just up and sagged into a lying position mid-canter, expiring where it stopped, so you'd walked the rest of the way with a heavy bag on your back to the nearest inn. Said inn had turned out to be The Blazing Maid, a rickety little outpost notable only for being the last stop on the way into town, and the first stop on the way out; you'd gotten yourself something to eat and drink, then set your sights on procuring a replacement mount to trot your way into Byruss on. You'd asked around and been pointed to the stables just across the way, but things hadn't been so easy as all that.
"There's no need for that," you say, slightly perturbed by the cold reception. "All I want is a mount."
"The answer's no, vagabond. She's not for sale!"
"She?"
The stablehand folds her arms and glances briefly at the small barn behind her. "My mule. Merry. She's not for sale!"
You frown. Surely this girl can't be serious? "Are you not a stablehand? Is it even in your purview to refuse a perfectly good customer service?"
"It's my mule!" She insists. "Any of the other horses are fair game, but Merry's mine!"
"Alright," you concede. "What about one of the others, then? How much?"
"The cheapest of our available mounts is one-hundred-forty gold, it only goes up from there."
You wince. One-hundred-forty is steep, too steep in fact for your coin purse at present. "Um...might we negotiate a mite? I truly do think Merry would be as fine a mount as any and I—"
"I said: No! Now bugger off before I call our Vincenzo and have you tossed back out on the road!"
You bite the tip of your tongue irritably. "Tell you what, how about I pay you a rental fee to take your mule down to Byruss, then pay the first urchin I find to bring it back safe and sound once I arrive and find lodgings?"
The stablehand eyed you suspiciously, taking only the smallest of delays to think on it, before she shakes her head. "No, I don't trust you. You've a crafty look in your eye, I've no way of knowing you'd keep to your word. Now, off with you! I won't ask again!" She picks up a nearby broom and brandishes it, taking a warning swat at you that catches you on the shin and draws a pained hiss out from between your lips. "Ah! Gods! What on earth is wrong with—" Another swat at your other shin, you hop backwards, and at once the stablehand—along with the world around her—slows to a halt. You take a second to catch your breath, and look the girl up and down; she's pretty, hair cropped into that 'pixie' style so popular among followers of the Fey, and she's clad in simple roughspun peasant garb—brown tunic, breeches of the same colour—but looking closer you see her breeches are held up by a length of rope she's fashioned into a belt. Interesting, you think. An idea starts to percolate in your head, you feel the old familiar urge coming on, and you can't help but smile to yourself.

You yawn performatively before zipping into action, surging toward her, first homing in on the rope belt. Initially you think it'll be an easy matter to relieve her of it, but the knot tying it in place proves a smidge more difficult than you'd anticipated. It takes you several minutes and a brief recess to go interrogate some fishermen at nearby Lake Wandamere on the proper procedure for doing and undoing various types of knots, but eventually you manage to undo the tricksy little thing, tossing it a few feet behind you to rest on a hook crookedly affixed to the exterior of the barn. Next, you rub your hands together gleefully and, putting your hands on the waist of Lani's breeches, slide them smoothly down her lovely legs. Said legs are thin, but toned and a little pale. As you slow-motion pants her, she stands there in this frozen time, hands held firmly on her hips with that same haughty expression. You can practically hear her calling you a 'vagabond', and the arrogance of her demeanour contrasts with her breeches now having dropped to her ankles. The brown tunic she's wearing now hangs just low enough to cover her front, keeping her pussy just out of sight, but when you circle around to her back, you see it's ridden up sufficiently to expose her cute, pert bottom, its peachy cheeks glinting in the midday sun. You get in close and give one of the cheeks a squeeze, and smile faintly at how very much like a soft, smooth sponge it feels. Dancing back out of range, you let the world start up again, and watch as Lani starts to move.

"I've told you already, no mounts on credi—" she stops mid-sentence. "What..." Lani clearly feels a breeze down below and looks down, colour rising on her face. "Eep!" She squeaks, her jaw dropping as she pulls the tunic down to better shield her modesty. It does a decent job of covering her pussy, but the bountiful curves of her rear simply can't be contained by the tunic's length; Lani tries and tries, her features dominated by a look of open-mouthed horror, but her efforts are ultimately futile, and the pale, peachy cheeks remain in plain view. "The whole thing seems to leave her terribly embarrassed. "What happened to my...?" She trails off and her gaze darts around, before settling on the rope belt you relieved her of lying a short distance away. You see gears turning in her head and decide to throw out a nice lewd comment to distract her, "Cute cunny you got there, sweetheart! Could do with a shave, mind, but all the same that's one forest I'd happily go exploring in!" Lani gasps, hurriedly abandoning her attempts at pulling the tunic down over her bum and blushing heartily as she strives to cover her pussy with it instead. "K-keep such things out of your mouth, v-vagabond! My unmentionables—"
You scoff. "Your unmentionables aren't unmentionable at all, I'be already done it for crying out loud! Besides, that's too nice a cunny to forbid a man from mentioning!" Lani grunts irritably, looks down at her breeches all in a pool at her feet, then back at the rope belt. Clearly having come to a decision, she keeps one hand on the hem of her tunic while stooping to try and pull the oversized breeches back up with the other. Oh no you don't, you think. Lani slows to a halt. You deftly pull the breeches back down, then once again allow time to resume. Lani instantly senses the breeze on her bottom half, and a blush creeps onto her cheeks. "Oh, gods..." a third time she stoops to pull her breeches back up, and a third time you freeze the world in place. Lani is stuck bending forward, hands grasping for the waist of the breeches. You give her a playful swat on the backside, and you watch intently as a ripple spreads across the smooth young skin, slowing to a crawl and eventually to a halt, so that it looks as if her bottom is a great, pale ocean, and the ripple a wave flash-frozen at the apex of its rise. "Lovely stuff," you comment. Not one to rest on your laurels, you tap your chin with your index finger and brainstorm your next course of action. Your eyes rove over the scene before you before settling on the rope belt, still lying a few feet away, then back to Lani's arse. Oh, that's good, you think, snapping your fingers to punctuate your unfreezing of the poor, foolish stablehand. Lani squeaks at the sensation of your smack and the accompanying ripple finally finishing its journey across her backside, hands flying around to protect her peachy cheeks. A moment passes where she looks down and groans in dismay at her breeches once again being around her ankles. This time you let her stoop to pick them up, and when she straightens up she keeps one hand on the waistband while awkwardly starting to walk over to retrieve her 'belt'. "S-stop it!" She casts a nervous glance over her shoulder at you, eyes wide with fear. "Who do you think you are? N-no good whoreson!"

You don't let your anger at that last comment show on your face. Your mother wasn't the best, but that kind of language is hardly warranted, it's not like she taught you how to stop time and strip pretty girls down to their skivvies, now is it? You bide your time, letting her continue unimpeded, watching as she stoops to pick the belt up. Then, when she's preparing to tie it back around the waist of her breeches, you freeze her in place and stroll up to her, rubbing your hands in anticipation. This next idea is simple: you shuck her breeches down to her ankles one more time, negotiate them out out from under her entirely and take the length of rope out of her hands. Next, slinging the breeches over your shoulder while you work, you bend down (planting a long, wet kiss on her rear end for good measure, naturally) and tie the belt around her pelvis, cinching it tight so that the rope presses tightly into her bum at the back. The resulting effect is more than pleasing to the eye: her buns are softly bisected halfway up, the doughy flesh on either side of the rope bulging enticingly out from under it. At the front the rope is half-submerged under Lani's wiry brown bush—this pleases you for reasons you can't quite articulate—and with that done, you take the breeches off your shoulder and look down at them thoughtfully, then back up at her face. She's turned a healthy shade of red, the cheeks on her face two glowing ovals burning bright and clear amidst the rest of her thoroughly flushed complexion, and her mouth has settled into a firm pout. "Now where to..." you look around, before deciding on a large water barrel sitting up against the barn. You march swiftly over (though that's not strictly necessary, you technically have all the time in the world but stripping those who inconvenience you always puts an extra spring in your step), toss the breeches into the barrel and dust your hands off, before turning back around and unfreezing things. Lani lets out another squeak as she discovers her predicament, pulling at the rope belt to try and dislodge it, but the wicked knot you've tied it with stymies her attempts. "You...you pervert! Disgusting...limp-cocked...weasel...bastard!"
You smirk. "That's really no way to—"
"Bastard...whoreson!"
"There it is again," you sigh. "For a stablehand you really are quite rude to potential customers." You briefly stop time to walk over to her, creating the impression that you've teleported. "Say sorry," you whisper in her ear, giving her another strong pat on the arse. She squeaks at your touch, but shakes her head. "You...y-you..." she licks her lips, uncertain of whether or not to proceed. "You can't m-make me...vagabond!"
SLAP Palm meets peach, leaving a faint handprint on her tush, and she makes the most lovely sound. "Wrong answer," you murmur. "Say. Sorry." Lani shakes her head jerkily, she interlaces her fingers and tries to cover her rear with them, but curiously a millisecond later she finds they've been bound together within the knot in the rope. "I...I..."
You sigh. Time seems to freeze. You extend your index finger and go round to Lani's front, placing it just below her stomach, then gradually sliding it down into the little forest of pubic hair that covers her crotch. You allow things to resume, just long enough for her eyes to dart downwards and somehow widen even further. "Y—" is all she manages before her consciousness is stalled by your unique ability. Her bush rustles faintly as you slide your finger slightly further.
Unfreeze "—ou—"
Freeze You twirl your finger around a few of the light brown hairs, wrapping them round and round, then suddenly jerking it away, plucking them neatly out.
Unfreeze "Eek—" she squeaks, chastened by the sudden jolt of pain.
Freeze Your finger continues its journey, finally arriving at the border of what you know to be Lani's slit, even without looking. You slide it in just a smidge, parting the soft lips.
Unfreeze "Ooh!" Her face is red like uncooked clay, red like the sky at sunset. The flapping of her tunic's hem about her waist accentuates the ridiculousness of her current attire—naked below the waist, her bottom reddened by your hand, that wild bush poking rudely out from under the hem. She knows what you're about to do and is blisteringly humiliated by it in advance. "Yes," you confirm. "I am, and no...you can't." Freeze You allow your finger to probe lower and further into her vulva, low enough to bump up against that naughty little ridge you always used to struggle with finding. You press softly down on it.
Unfreeze "Hhgh," Lani burbles, she feels that you've found it, and you feel that she feels it. "Dirty girl," you whisper. "Pleasuring yourself on the job like this."
Freeze You rub in slow, concentric circles at first, gradually increasing in intensity before you abruptly stop.
Unfreeze "Hoooh...o-oh...oh my—"
Freeze Rub, rub, rub, rub. Rubrubrubrubrub.
Unfreeze "Ohhhhhhhhh my...my...you—" she fidgets incessantly with her tied hands, the hem of her tunic fluttering endlessly, briefly exposing snatches of her midriff time and again.
Freeze
Rubrubrubrubrubrubrubrubrubrubrubrubrub.
Unfreeze
Lani is squealing openly now, flushing deeper and deeper shades of red. "Va...va...va...vag...vag..." her legs tremble madly as you play with her clit, her bush rustling constantly the whole time. "Vaga...you...you m-m-mustn't...master will..."
"I'm your master, now. Stablehand. Can't you feel that?"
Her pussy is slippery with her juices, your finger rapidly becoming drenched in them, flecks of it saturating the pubes surrounding it. "I—I—I'm an honest...honest girl...please...can't be seen...on the...the j—j—j—" she jolts up and down on the balls of her feet as you throw in a few particularly wicked diddles with that finger of yours. "What's your biggest fear?" You ask her, casual-like, as if you're not furiously fingering her right there in broad daylight. Lani's eyes almost seem to light up with the memory of her mother scolding her, years back, as a younger girl in the village. She'd taken to exposing her rather generous teats to the local lads for half a haypenny. "Never let a man see your boobies before marriage, Lani!" she'd scolded. She looked down at her chest at the memory, whimpering incoherently. "Ah," you say. "Your tits? Interesting." You give her one last round of fingering, drawing higher and higher pitched screams from her, before you freeze at the apex of her imminent climax, her eyes already closing, her mouth a wide open hole. "Now..." you mutter, spinning on your heel and going over to the nearby barn. Above the mouth of the barn there is an unused pulley, slackened slightly by disuse. You then note a hook set into the barn wall next to its open entryway, it looks old and rusted, and it bears another length of rope. You take the rope off the hook, attach it to the pulley, then wrench the hook off the wall and tie it to the end of the rope as securely as you can, giving it an experimental tug to ensure it stays put. Finally, without further ado, you go round to Lani's back, slip the hook under her tunic, go back over to the other end of the pulley, grab it and unfreeze. Lani's expression comes to life again."HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNH" she screams, her thighs are slick with moisture, she's so, so embarrassed, but her brain is flooded with ecstasy and she's cumming so very intensely. After almost half a minute it begins to subside, her eyes flutter open, two flecks of coal amidst a sea of crimson. She gasps and casts a glance over her shoulder—clearly detecting the cold touch of the hook's metallic surface on the small of her back—then exhales shakily, the breath hitching in a throat still raw from all that screaming. You smile, nod, and give the length of rope a harsh pull. The hook sails upwards and takes the tunic with it, inverting the it as it sways to and fro on its journey into the air.

You look back down to see Lani, now utterly, hopelessly naked, her face a mask of horror and confusion. The fruits of your finger's labour is running in a slow series of beads down her tree-trunk thighs, and between her legs the light brown thatch of pubic hair nests, so thick it almost obscures the neat, dark slit beneath, and both of them sodden and sopping. Her breasts—no, not breasts...that doesn't do Lani's fat, milky mammaries justice—Lani's titties are deceptively large, hidden as they were under the tunic. They boast an admirable balance of heft and perkiness, and their nipples are a kind of ruddy brown colour, the points gently protruding from the penny-sized areolas that surround them. She looks down, eyes now like dinner plates. "Eep!" she says, at first trying to gather them up in her hands—though they are woefully undersized for the job—all the while shifting and fidgeting on the spot, going ever more red-faced as her thighs rub up against her bush, making a faint rustling noise as they do. "Magnificent rack!" You call out to her, looking up at the stolen tunic, which now hangs limply from the hook high above you. Her response is a guttural noise of disgust, her fingers moving back and forth over her nipples, struggling to contain even those as they poke out repeatedly from between them. "Are we quite finished stable girl? Or do I need to play with your arse, too?"
She doesn't respond, too overcome with shame to form a thought, much less say anything. "Nothing? Not even a 'sorry'?"
Her response appears to be a deep shudder, a rubbing together of the upper thighs. "Hnnnnhh..." she groans. A horse whickers loudly from the barn behind you, and that sparks one very, very final idea. "Stable girl," you say, sweetly. "Ever gone riding yourself?"
Lani blinks several times in quick succession. "Good!" You let go of the pulley, turn around and enter the barn, disappearing from Lani's sight briefly. After a small bonding session involving oats and a few gentle pets on the mane, the closest of the horses the barn holds allows you to get it out of its pen and lead it outside to where Lani still stands, too scandalised to move. Freeze, with a small degree of difficulty, you pick up Lani and bring her over to the horse, hoist her up onto it and part her legs just enough to get her into a sitting position on its back, taking a second to admire the shining, wet deliciousness between them as you do. When you allow her to come to, the sheer shock of being naked on horseback snaps her out of her stupour. "W—what? Where...?"
"You're riding bareback today, stable girl!" You give her one last smile. "Do enjoy your trip!"
Lani blinks again, looking down at you with a caustic mixture of rapidly escalating rage and revulsion, her face luminous in its redness. "T—trip?! What trip?!"
"This one!" You give Lani's bare bum its firmest slap yet, strong enough to make her squeal—you appreciate the fat little jiggle it makes—then do the same to the horse. It neighs loudly and takes off, but you activate your power once more in order to enjoy the sight of the young stablehand—naked and terrified—trapped atop the horse, her breasts caught mid-bounce, skin rippling, nipples poking, her bottom slapping painfully against the saddle, and lastly her face, burning crimson, while her eyes are screwed shut as she throws back her head and begins to scream anew. You allow things to resume, watching her careen off into the distance, a streak of red, bright and beautiful against the horse's dark coat. As you admire the view, you can't help but wonder just where she'll end up.