Shift

(The first two paragraphs are excerpts from a piece I wrote earlier this summer. I'm including the two paragraphs I edited right before my quick write, which is the last paragraph)

Kayla opened a set of double wide doors and stepped into a garden setting. A cobblestone facade wallpapered the room. Wrought iron railing lined a dimly lit wall to the right. Along a porch that extended beyond the railing, terra cotta pots stood like silent guards, cold and lascivious, quiet and foreboding. Silk flowers sprouting from the pots emitted the artificial scent of plastic, which Mistress Kayla’s staff tried to cover up with tropical musk. I felt nauseous from the smell. My head started to throb. I squinted my eyes, trying make out a squirming silhouette in the middle of the room. I couldn’t quite register the creature. 

It was man on all fours. His face was covered completely by a sheath of slippery black latex, except for two tiny holes poked in the vicinity of his nostrils for breathing. From the top of his head spouted a hairlike fountain, also of latex. Muscles on his naked back glistened in little light. Kayla must have polished him with oil. The man was wearing hoof like appendages on his hands and feet. And if one couldn’t tell by his stance, the status of this slave was confirmed by the cock ring tightened and locked onto his penis.  To complete the picture, a long black latex tail flowed out from his behind, held in place by a butt plug. He was beautiful  - Mistress Kayla’s prized slave - her “pony.”

Pony Slave had been on his hands and knees for hours. His sweat glistened in the rare specks of light. Every so often he would tremble, which hinted at his fatigue. Nevertheless, he stance on hands and feet remained stoic, like a statue. Kayla dug the point of her heel into his right ass cheek so hard it looked he was getting a vaccination. He didn’t flinched, armpit and hips still at 90 degrees. “You disgusting, hideous beast,” Kayla said, as his cock hardened and pulsed in its clamped metal ring. “You’re a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve to be in my presence. Show Mistress Kamala how pitiful you are.” Kayla met my gaze, then looked to my platform boots. With hesitation, I stomped in front of the Pony Slave’s  mummified face. By instinct, he jutted his neck forward. I could see the nub of his tongue sticking out past the “O” of his mouth opening, outlined behind the stretched out latex. I felt kind of grossed out but kind of turned on by the pressure of this strange mouth organ pushing against my foot, desperate to satisfy his kink through layers of rubber and leather and suffocated senses.