Latex Fetish Worshipping

Helly always makes me look good in competition. It doesn’t hurt that she’s such a fine, tall, golden-haired fuck-mount. But I take some credit for the dedication with which I train her. Not that I don’t enjoy every minute of watching her clack around the practice-ring with her head up, tits out and muscular haunches rolling smoothly. It just takes some self-discipline on my part to stay focused, keeping her high-stepping until she breaks a good sweat, correcting her with the dressage when her rhythm falters. The real secret of my regimen, however, is knowing when to give my pretty steed a little sugar. After a particularly challenging routine, I don’t hesitate to pull her bit from between her saliva-dripping lips, put her on her back and lift my latex skirt to give Lonnie a taste of her favorite treat. And I see nothing incorrect about giving her some back in kind. It’s even more of a test to make her run her paces when she’s drippingly close to coming. I save her real reward for the last, when she’s shaking with the effort of keeping her posture. Collecting the reins, I back Lonnie onto my thick, red-rubber strap-on, opening her slit for a long, hard ride that leaves her suitably exhausted and grateful. I know just what will be going through her pretty head when she prances for me in the arena.