#3024: Almaty, Kazakhstan
Original photo: @bellesaco
Aimen, a young woman who leaves her rural village to pursue her dreams, finds herself working at a horse stable on the outskirts of bustling Almaty. Amid long days and hard labor, she builds a life with her lover, Gulnaz, where each evening becomes a passionate exploration of power, trust, and intimacy.
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Transcript
The day promised to be long and exhausting, but that never bothered me. Unlike many who dreaded their jobs, I loved mine, no matter how physically demanding it was. Being around horses and riding through open fields gave me a kind of freedom I couldn’t find anywhere else. My father used to say it was the blood of our nomadic ancestors awakening in me. I didn’t think much about heritage, but I knew that on horseback, I felt strong in a way that everyday life rarely allowed.
Though I lived close to the city center, my work took me to the outskirts of Almaty. Public transportation was crowded and slow, with people flooding into the growing city faster than the infrastructure could adapt. I often found myself pressed against the bus windows, trying to focus on the view instead of the discomfort. The mountains rising beside the city never failed to ground me. Whether snow-covered or sun-drenched, their peaks reminded me that some things were still constant, still magnificent.
An hour later, I arrived at the stable and dove straight into work. Horses don’t wait. They needed feeding, grooming, and care, and I had no time to ease into the morning. I had a favorite among them—a striking black mare named Altyn, marked with a white stripe down her nose. She was wild, uncooperative, and proud, which only made me love her more. She challenged me, and I relished every moment of proving myself as her match.
I brushed her coat and slipped her some carrots. Favoritism was a given. Afterward came the real labor—mucking out stalls, lifting feed, hauling gear. People often romanticized working with animals, forgetting the sheer physicality of it. But I welcomed the effort. The hours flew by when I was busy, and I almost forgot the time until a glance at the clock reminded me I was already running late.
I knew Gulnaz wouldn’t be thrilled. She never liked waiting, but I also knew I could make it up to her.
Gulnaz and I had met a few years back when I first moved to Almaty. We became fast friends and eventually more. She was everything I had ever looked for—beautiful, brave, and unshakably self-assured. Though our relationship had started quietly and cautiously, it quickly deepened into something fierce. We moved in together not long after, and I had never looked back.
Our time together was limited by our demanding jobs, but we made the most of our evenings and weekends. That was the rhythm of modern life, and we adapted to it with care and gratitude. I cherished every moment with her.
When I returned home, the routine unfolded. I went straight to the shower. Gulnaz never liked the lingering scent of horses, and I didn’t blame her. I took my time beneath the stream, scrubbing every inch of myself until I felt new. The scent of rose soap filled the small bathroom. I debated wrapping a towel around myself, but something told me there was no point.
I walked out naked, hair tied up to stay dry. Gulnaz was already waiting in the bedroom, her expression making it very clear what kind of evening she had in mind. She wore black lingerie, the fabric clinging to her pale skin like a whisper of power. She was petite, like me, but there was nothing small about her presence. She looked at me the way a warrior might gaze at her prize—possessive, confident, wanting.
I stepped forward, already anticipating her mood. We had explored many things together—bondage, toys, teasing—and were always curious to try more. She picked something up from the bed, something I hadn’t noticed before. It was a riding crop, dark and sleek against the sheets. My chest fluttered with intrigue.
She approached slowly and touched the crop to my hip, trailing it upward across my body, letting it graze my breast. A whimper escaped my lips—not from pain, but from anticipation. I didn’t know yet how it would feel, but I trusted her completely. She never hurt me; she only ever challenged the limits of what I thought I could want.
She motioned for me to get on the bed and lie on my stomach. The command was silent but firm. I obeyed, feeling the exposure of my position—my back, my legs, my bare ass. Vulnerability settled over me, laced with excitement.
The tip of the crop touched my skin again, gentle at first. Then came a light strike—not painful, just a sharp sting. She immediately soothed the area with a kiss. Again and again, the rhythm continued: sting, kiss, burn, balm. It confused my body in the most pleasurable way. My breath quickened, sensations blending into a heady rush.
Eventually, the strikes grew faster, the kisses fewer. My skin tingled, the warmth deepening into heat. She noticed my body tensing and stopped before I had to say a word. She retrieved ice and pressed it gently to my cheeks, cooling the burn, restoring balance. Then she lay beside me, touching my face with tenderness and calm.
The concern in her gaze made my chest ache with affection. I reassured her silently with a glance, lifting the ice away from my body to enjoy the lingering sting. I smiled at her, the kind of smile only she could draw from me—wicked, inviting, eager. I shifted, ready to offer myself again, knowing that this time, I wanted her on top of me in a different way.
She climbed over me slowly. Our bodies pressed together—breast to breast, thigh to thigh. I nudged my knee up between her legs and felt her heat, wet and wanting. She was ready, and so was I.
She discarded the last of her clothing, and the room pulsed with heat. I lay back and watched her move, her body graceful and confident. She swung a leg over me, positioning herself above my face. Her pussy hovered, glistening, fragrant. I took a deep breath, letting the scent of her arousal fill my lungs.
She lowered herself, not hesitantly, but with force. Her thighs locked around my head as she rode my face with abandon. I used my tongue the way only I knew how—slow and deliberate at first, then faster, flicking, circling, tasting. Her moans grew louder, her thighs trembling as her hips ground against me. She drenched my mouth, her climax building and finally washing over her like a storm. I felt the wave of her release, heard the gasping exhale of satisfaction.
Before I could savor the aftermath, she had already moved. She slipped between my legs, and I opened them for her without hesitation. Her fingers entered me with purpose—two inside, twisting, her pinkie teasing my other hole. The sensations overwhelmed me. My body arched, breath caught, the heat spreading like wildfire.
She knew exactly how to break me open.
I looked down at her—smiling, focused, radiant. My walls clenched around her fingers, orgasm overtaking me with a cry I couldn’t suppress. My body quaked, then stilled.
She lay beside me again, soft and gentle. Her hands traced my skin as if memorizing me anew. I felt tamed in the best way—not broken, but claimed.
And I knew she would tame me again.