Stella
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Stella Goes To The Races free porn video
Stella Goes to the Races
?Take off all your clothes, except for the thong,? ordered Robert.
?No,? replied Stella, ?not in front of all these people.?
?Do you love me??
?Yes, of course, Robert.?
?Then do as I tell you.? She hesitated. ?I'll give you a minute to think about it. Then, if you are not naked, you can go home with someone else, or walk.?
Stella thought about how she got in this situation. She was 29 and had been a waitress at Chez Jacques. Single men her age are hard to come by. It seemed all the handsome, considerate single men already had a boy friend. Robert was a regular customer, which suggested that he was both single and solvent, and the way he stared at her bottom pegged him as heterosexual. She was flattered when he asked to be seated at one of her tables and left very generous tips. They talked. He was an M.D., and he admitted that he admired her broad hips and curvy buttocks. Maybe he was Mr. Right. He was a pathologist, who worked days, and she was a waitress, who worked nights, so they could only date on weekends. The first date he kissed her. The third date he drew blood and gave her a thorough physical exam. The fourth date he pronounced her healthy and suggested they live together. She said yes.
He had a ranch house on about ten acres south of Kansas City near Peculiar, MO. She quit her job to be with him. There were no visible neighbors. She found herself isolated and more and more controlled by Robert, which she found thrilling. He made her shave her pubic hair and wear a small butt plug. Whenever they were at home together, he required that she be naked, and, since the thermostat was set for 80 degrees, she just stayed naked all day. He made love to her in the morning, before he left for the hospital, and at night, in bed, and sometimes he fucked her up against a wall or doggy style in the grassy back yard. At any moment he might stroke her bare bottom and fondle her breasts. Like as not he would slip his hand between her legs from behind, so his thumb slipped into her vagina and pressed her G-spot while his forefinger played with her clit. He was feeding her estrogen pills, so her cunt was always wet and her tits always sensitive. Now, at 29, she was getting the orgasms that she had wished for in vain at 19. She smiled all day. She was sure Robert loved her, and she loved the way he made love to her and spent time dominating her. She did not want to lose Robert by refusing his order. She was used to nudity, but not public nudity. But Robert insisted. She could do it. Clenching her teeth, she peeled off her tee shirt and said, ?Why am I getting naked??
?You are competing in the first race. You just signed an entry form and agreed to the rules. The rules say you must be naked but for a pink thong.?
She tried to make sense of that. He had said they were going to the races. She knew there were no NASCAR races this Saturday, and the Woodlands track, for horses and dogs, had gone out of business, and the drag strip, near Lee's Summit, was deserted, but she accepted that they were going to races. They had driven south and east, first on 71, then on two-lane roads, and finally they came to the end of a long dirt road, deep in the Ozarks. There were several dozen cars and trucks parked in a grassy field in front of a large windowless steel building. Robert parked the Escalade and led Stella toward the building. She was wearing a pink thong, which he insisted on always when she was dressed, a bra and tee shirt, a short black skirt, and flip flops. The day was oppressively hot and humid, but inside the entry of the building it was pleasantly cool. There was a teenage receptionist, a goth with black hair, black clothes, black nails, black eye shadow, and many piercings: three or four in each ear, two in each eyebrow, one each in her nose, lip, and cheek, and God knows how many elsewhere. ?Hi, Doc,? the goth said, ?Is she yours??
Robert nodded yes, and the goth handed Stella several papers and a pen. ?Sign each one,? she said.
Stella started to read one, but Robert said, ?No time for that, Stella. We're late. Just sign them.? She did.
Once inside the main building, it was even hotter and more humid than outside. It was a large room, like a big garage, with hundreds of people, mostly men but some women, milling around or seated on bleachers facing large blank high definition video displays. As Robert directed, Stella finished undressing, removing her bra and skirt and stepping out of her flip-flops.
There was a stage, and a sort of ringmaster in a red shirt, holding a microphone. ?The first race is for novices. Contestants, on the stage, please.?
Robert said, ?Quickly, on your hands and knees,? and Stella complied. He pulled on the strap which ran up her butt crack which caused the pink triangle in front to fold in between her pussy lips in the classic camel toe. He removed her everyday butt plug and inserted a much bigger one which had an attached curly pink pig tail. When he replaced the strap, it held in the plug but also teased her with the taut fabric pressed against her slit. Robert helped her to her feet and led her toward the stage. A video screen showed the naked contestants as they mounted the stairs to the stage and lined up along a railing, each one greeted with clapping, whistles, and shouts. The first woman was very tall and muscular with shoulders wider than her hips. Stella thought that she looked like a man, but it was obvious she had no balls or penis, transgendered, perhaps. Her owner was a gray haired woman. A steward with a wide felt-tip pen put a large numeral one on each of her butt cheeks. The second entry was a short, slim girl, probably not yet twenty years old but owned by a man who might have been her father. The steward drew a 2 on each side of her bottom. Number three was a worn looking woman with a leathery face, a once broken nose, and gaps in her teeth. Her owner, shirtless in bib overalls, was your stereotypical Ozark hill tick. Number four was a large black woman with a huge dimpled brown butt, with the pink pig tail incongruously sticking out. The steward marked her butt cheeks with white paint. She apparently was owned by a trio of black men. Number five was a shapely brown-eyed blonde with dark roots and firm breasts which looked store bought. Her owner and Robert seemed to know each other; they waved and smiled.
Stella was last on the stage, lining up with the others. All those people were staring at her, and she was naked! She could see herself on a video screen, a close up of her bottom as the steward drew a 6 on each cheek. Bookmakers moved around in the crowd taking bets. After several minutes of exhibition, the women with their silly pig tails were led one by one down the stairs. Robert had a last chance to speak to Stella: ?Try to win, but second or third place is OK. I've bet on you to win, place, or show. Whatever happens, don't let yourself be last.?
The steward led Stella to the starting line, where she got down on her hands and knees beside the other five pigs. The steward raised each foot and taped her ankles to her thighs, as he had with the others, so it was impossible for Stella to stand up. She crawled to the starting line, a bar across a dirt covered track, about 12 feet wide so six pigs could line up side by side. Now it all made sense. Robert had told her that she must stay healthy and fit, and romping on hands and knees exercised more muscles than simply jogging. He had led her around the back yard with a collar and leash, urging her to go faster and affectionately calling her Pet and Miss Piggy. She found that, since there was no joint between her hip and her knee, lifting her knees required swiveling her hips, and her broad bottom was an advantage. Those exercise sessions were always followed by satisfying sex, often with her still on hands and knees in the grass, so she had looked forward each day to his walking his pet. She had never dreamed he might be training her for pig racing.
The dirt track was delineated with plywood walls, about 4 feet high, and it was a serpentine shape about 100 yards long. After the first turn the track narrowed and grew muddier. Then there were even narrower stretches which would sort out the pigs by forcing them into single file. Spectators stood leaning on the wooden walls, but most were content to watch the action on the video screens, which could display the pigs from front and back as they progressed down the track.
The ringmaster called out, ?Ready, set, go!?, firing a starter pistol at go. The bar dropped and the race was on. Number one was first off the line and was leading going into the first turn. The rest of the pack crowded the inside wall around the first turn. The noise level, from spectators cheering and calling out advice, was incredible, but Stella ignored it. As the track began to narrow, the skinny girl, Number 2, squeezed through the pack to the second place. Stella found herself beside the big, black number four, who roughly bumped her against the wall and took third place, leaving Stella, the leathery Number Three, and the blonde, Number Five, to fight it out for fourth place. Number Three pulled up alongside Stella. Then she reached under Stella's swinging breasts, grabbed the offside wrist, and neatly spilled her onto her back in the mud. The blonde charged past, leaving Stella in the dreaded last place.
Thinking of Robert, Stella righted herself and put on a burst of speed, pulling past Number Five. She pulled up behind Number Three in a narrow portion of the track, where she could not pass. Stella reached out and grabbed the woman's pig tail, yanking downward. As the butt plug pulled free, it dragged the woman's thong down around her thighs, hobbling her. Stella grabbed the leathery woman's ankles and pushed her face down in the mud. Then she clambered over her and regained fourth place. The big black woman was tiring, and as the track widened, Stella pulled alongside. When the woman tried to repeat her bumping trick, Stella got across the broad black back and jammed her knee hard against the squishy cunt. As the squealing pig raised up, Stella rolled over and regained her stance in third place, vaguely aware that the crowd was going wild. The track narrowed to two feet. There was no opportunity to pass the leaders, so Stella crossed the finish line in third place, behind the manly Number One and the girlish Number Two. As each pig crawled out of the narrow chute, the steward cut the tapes and helped her to her feet, sending her toward an area where willing volunteers hosed the mud off the filthy pigs. From there the wet contestants were directed to the stage.
The ringmaster announced: Each owner of a finisher will receive money, but the first prize and ribbon go to the owner of Number One, who came in first. There was applause as the ribbon was awarded. ?According to the rules, those who failed to finish first are punished according to their finishing order.? The girlish Number Two bent over and held onto the rail, her bottom thrust back. The steward pulled her plug and stood by with a cane that was longer than his arm. ?Second place gets two squared, four strokes.?
Stella watched in awe as the cane savaged the little buns. Number Two tried not to scream, but she grunted as tears wet her cheeks.
Stella was next, three squared or nine strokes, and the butt plug was pulled. The first stroke hurt more than anything she had ever experienced, and she yelled, ?Ow!? then she heard Robert's voice, telling her to be strong and not embarrass him. She clenched her teeth and mentally counted strokes. She could see on a video screen a close-up of her own bottom, and she could see the parallel pink welts across both buttocks, each one below the other, like the slats of a Venetian blind. The eighth stroke was just at the top of her thighs, and for the ninth the steward brought the cane up between her legs, laying it neatly in the fold of her thong. That brought forth a howl of pain from Stella and applause from the audience.
The gap-toothed Number Three stoically bore her 16 strokes, some of which, overlapping previous welts, left bloody streaks. The last two were downward, almost parallel to her skin, leaving wide vivid ?bacon strips? of reddened flesh. For Number Four, of the broad black bottom, the steward switched to a broad leather strap, with rows of holes in it, as the ringmaster explained that they wanted to avoid too much blood. Twenty-five times the strap sank into the fatty buttocks, sending waves across the dark surface. The woman was silent for the first dozen or so blows, but then she lost control, calling for mercy and blubbering that she would never race again.
That left Number Five, who had finished last, sixth place, and would receive 36 strokes, plus, the ringmaster added, it was traditional that the owners should sodomize the last place finisher. Remarkably, the blonde with the marvelous tits bore her punishment by the strap, which left her formerly pale bottom a huge bruise, pink, dotted with hundreds of red circles where the flesh had bulged into the holes in the strap, tearing the tiny blood vessels under the skin. Number One's owner, the woman, announced that she had come prepared. She strapped on a rubber dildo, bright pink and twisted like a pig's penis. Mercifully, she lubricated the strap-on and then fucked the blonde's ass for ten minutes or more, after which the spiral invader pulled out, leaving the crimson ass hole gaping. The steward handed condoms to the other owners. Number Two's owner and Robert declined to participate, but the blonde was publicly butt-fucked by three black men and a redneck hill tick.
The ringmaster announced that the next race would begin in half an hour, and the entrants should be on the stage in fifteen minutes. The screens showed recordings of the race just finished. Most of the spectators moved around, buying beer or DVDs of previous races. As the punished women left the stage, Stella ran her hands over her bottom, feeling the raised welts. ?Please, Robert, take me home.?
?Don't you want to stay to watch the next races? You should see the pigs you will have to race against next week. I'm proud of you.?
?No, please,? she replied, bursting into tears. Robert handed her her clothes. She slipped into the flip-flops and pulled the tee shirt over her head, but she declined the bra and the skirt. ?I don't think I could stand the skirt rubbing my sore bottom.? They walked slowly back to the car and, while Stella stood leaning against a door, Robert smoothed a soothing lotion over her bruised bottom. Stella straightened up and said, ?I don't think I want to sit for a while, and you don't want gunk on your seats. Perhaps we should go back and watch.? After Stella watched two more races, it didn't seem so strange and perverted. When the pigs were caned, and the last one was sodomized, Stella ?could feel their pain,? but it was strangely thrilling. What woman doesn't secretly wish hundreds of men would be watching her and lusting for her?
Later, riding home, Robert said, ?Really, Stella, I am very pleased with your performance. I'm proud of you, and you won me some money. Will you be able to race for me next Saturday??
After a few seconds, Stella replied: ?Yes. I've got over being modest, being ashamed of my nudity. When you have been practically nude in front of hundreds of howling men, and starred on a DVD, stripping off before the race is pretty trivial. The race itself was exciting. I could do that again. The punishment, I didn't like that. I hate to think of the pain, and if I ever came in last, oh God, I couldn't stand it.?
?I have been thinking, my treasured pet, that there may be ways to lessen the pain. If I could, I'd give you a shot of morphine, but I might not have a chance, after the race, and the Drug Enforcement Agency would think I'm a drug dealer, prescribing morphine when a pathologist doesn't treat living patients. But, you know, the brain would not have morphine receptors if there were not natural equivalents. They are called endorphins, and when your body makes its own, you don't experience the pain in the same way.?
Stella entered training in earnest. Robert made a ?racing thong.? It looked like the standard pink thong, but the waistband was reinforced with stranded wire, with a catch in front, so if would be more difficult to pull off, yet Stella could easily release the catch. The little fabric patch was stiffened by painting the inside with latex, liquid rubber, so it would protect her tender labia, and he fitted her with a special vibrator. There was a curved cylinder, which contained the batteries, motor and radio receiver. It was contained within her vagina, next to her G-spot. A thin rubber extension, with the radio aerial, extended forward to overlie her clitoris. It was unnoticeable when covered by the pink thong. He also bought her various sized butt plugs, so she could gradually work up to being comfortable wearing the full-sized pig tail plug.
Robert measured off a practice race course. It extended out 50 yards, went round a flag, and returned to the starting point. Various obstacles could be placed on the grass to test her adaptability. Morning and night, he would have her ?run? the course, on hands and knees, as he timed her. She practiced different gaits, pacing, where the right hand and knee went forward together, while the left hand and knee propelled her forward, or trotting, where her hand an knee on one side approached each other, while the other hand reached forward and the other knee pushed back. For quick starts or getting over obstacles, she practiced hopping, pushing back with both knees while she reached forward with her hands, then putting her weight on her hands while she pulled her knees forward. When she crossed the finish line, Robert would activate the remote control. The vibrations were strong, and she would have a strong orgasm, going weak as the device raged inside her. Each race, the orgasm came sooner, and, even if she practiced alone, when Robert wasn't there to activate the vibrator, she experienced an automatic sexual excitement a soon as she crossed the finish line. Then she would crawl to the transmitter to finish her off with a serious orgasm. She practiced so hard and often that she lost an inch off her waist measurement.
The next Saturday, Stella wore her vibrator and racing thong, with the pig tail butt plug already in place, as they drove to the race track. She wore no bra, only a simple cover-up, beachwear, light as silk, orange with black tiger stripes. It was Rima brand, made in India with a kind of plastic microfiber, stain resistant and wrinkle free and very comfortable, even when she was drenched with sweat.
They got there in plenty of time, and watched the race for novices. There were only four novice contestants, but the crowd was satisfied, cheering them on and applauding as all four owners buggered the loser. Apparently the entrants in the next two races were selected randomly; there was no handicapping system. The second race was veterans, including the former Number Four and the brown-eyed blonde, formerly Number Five. Again, the blonde came in last and suffered 36 whacks and sodomy by seven men, including the three black men. Robert remarked, ?Her owner, John, told me that she is a real pain slut. She loses on purpose.?
Stella, with fours on her buttocks, raced against three pigs she had seen the week before, plus the former Number One, the former man, and the leathery woman, the former Number Three. The former Number One won once more, but Stella was right behind her. Robert turned on the remote-controlled vibrator, and Stella was in the throes of an orgasm when she received her four strokes, which seemed to heighten her excitement as she came, gushing pussy juice which seeped around her thong and glistened on her inner thighs. The gap-toothed woman, Three, was tripped up by a wily veteran and finished last. By the time she was punished, Stella had regained her composure, and she almost enjoyed watching the bitch getting beaten into blubbering helplessness and then ass-fucked by the woman and four men, the last being her hill tick owner, who kept telling her she deserved it for losing.
Stella was in good spirits during the ride home, more so when Robert teased her with short bursts of vibrations. ?Next Saturday,? she said, smiling, ?I plan to win.?
Clover
- 06.02.2023
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