C.P. Mandara – Learning the Ropes (Review & Excerpt)

Learning the Ropes by C.P. Mandara

Series: Pony Tales #2
Source: Review by Request
Copy Provided by Publisher
My Rating: 4.5 of 5 Stars

In Book Two of Pony Tales, Jenny finds herself in the capable hands of Mark, her guide and tormentor for the day. She becomes accomplished in the art of crawling, gets an eye-opening tour of the facility and suffers regularly with the pain of orgasm denial. Finding herself at the mercy of his fingertips, when he demonstrates the complexities of breath play, she panics that each gasp of air may be her last.

Displayed, touched, fondled and at the mercy of others, Jenny begins to discover what life as a pony girl might entail, especially when faced with the wicked tongues of several pony boys! Getting acquainted with the rather aptly named Red Room and finding herself subject to a thorough spanking is her first discovery into the delicious world of pain and pleasure that awaits her.

But there are far more devilish torments than spanking to be found at the Albrecht stables…

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I’m loving this Pony Play series!
Jenny is tied and gagged for the grand tour of Albrecht Stables…

“I hate to say it, but you have pleased me, little filly. You may now beg me to stop any time you wish,” he said.

The words echoed in her brain. She’d rather die. She was a Redcliff and Redcliffs didn’t beg.

NOTE: You should read The Riding School before starting this book.

I’m in love with this delightfully naughty series – No sophomore slump for C.P. Mandara’s Pony Tales. We pick up right where we left off in The Riding School, and we get a thorough tour of all the torments Albrecht Stables has to offer.

Jenny discovers that there’s no escaping this vacation from hell, and is beginning to realize just how much trouble she’s gotten herself into.

Jenny Redcliff

She managed to push the lid back on her temper, but it was simmering and bubbling dangerously. Horsie land was becoming all a little bit too much for her.

I’m still trying to decide if I feel sory for Jenny… This is a definite Dub-Con situation – her Father enrolled her in Pony School without her knowledge (and eew by the way) The eminent Mr. Redcliff won’t be winning any Father of the Year awards this decision. And yet… I’m desperate to find out why he would do such a thing…

Jenny is the quintessential bratty sub – but she has a right to be. She didn’t sign up to be a Pony Girl! She’s a lazy spoiled heiress who has gotten everything she ever wanted. But not any more…

Now she’s at the mercy of the masters at Albrecht Stables…

Master Mark

…Ponies. Alas, under his hand they never stayed mischievous for long. He had a suspicious feeling that this trainee might prove the exception. The thought of a healthy challenge made his mouth water with excitement.

We met Master Mark in first book of The Pony Tales series. He’s the only trainer we’ve really been introduced to so far at Albrecht Stables. We’ve caught glimpses of the other trainers, and of the ladies who run the Tack Room, but Mark’s POV has been endlessly entertaining so far.

He likes his Pony Girls feisty, all the better to break them of their nasty habits… And oh, Master Mark wields his crop like a pro. He efficiently ties his new filly and takes her on a tour of the Stables before putting her on display for the village.

I’m thoroughly excited to read the rest of this series! I want to meet the rest of the trainers and get to know the other pony girls (and pony boys I hope *grins*). I want to know more about the “village” and I’m dying to meet Jenny’s dad and learn why he chose to send his daughter to Pony training!

Inventory of Kink:
– Bondage
– Dub-Con
– Pony Play
– Breath Play
– Humiliation
– Lots of oral sex
– Forced Orgasms
– Forced Exhibitionism
– Spankings & Whippings

If you’re at all curious about reading Pony Play, I say pick up this series (Starting with The Riding School) and see if it tickles your fancy! It certainly tickles me 😉

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Jenny was immediately swamped with sensation. Some of the hands applying themselves to her tacky skin were gentle and offered smooth, soft strokes with the tips of their fingers. Others, by contrast, were unbearably indelicate, tweaking the tender skin of her nipples and kneading her breasts with unnecessary force. Emboldened fingers forced their way past her lips and slipped inside her mouth, fingernails traced patterns all over her inscribed flesh and there were plenty of pinches, nips and squeezes upon the twin, reddened globes of her ass. The fingers weren’t in the least bit shy. They delved and dived everywhere. They reached under the leather straps of her harness and bridle, rubbing and caressing her oiled skin. Sometimes one, but more often two, plunged inside her pussy and when they pulled out, there were a queue of others waiting to take their place. Sliding down the fold of her ass cheeks, others skated along the slick surface and twirled themselves around the plug embedded in her ass, pumping it up and down rhythmically to some age-old priapic beat. In the space of a few seconds her body was as hungry as the proverbial wolf, dressed in his woolly sheep outfit.

That wasn’t the worst of it. The acidic oil was now being worked into every nook and cranny that the fingers could find entrance to. Mark hadn’t needed to apply it to her sex, he had known that these people would do his work for him in half the time. It was being worked into her lips, mouth, pasted along her tongue, trailed down her labia and being diligently thrust inside her core at every opportunity. The effect was a slow and all-encompassing agony as the caustic liquid performed its magic. Jenny had started to wriggle and writhe like a woman possessed. She couldn’t keep her ass still. Unable to stop herself making lewd, gyrating gestures with her backside, which was swishing to and fro with erratic abandon, she could only pray to be doused in a large bath of ice water. That was how bad the burning sensation had become. Her mouth was filled with scalding heat, her sex was on fire, the tender skin around the butt plug burned and her ass screamed for relief.

‘Eeese op,’ she screamed through the bit.

The fingers abruptly stopped what they were doing and she was rewarded with a sharp slap to her behind. The pain took her breath away.

‘Ponies do not talk,’ said a crackling, raspy voice which must have belonged to an old lady.

‘Ever,’ said a virile sounding male, and she was given an even heavier slap. Jenny choked around the bit.

‘Look at that fancy locket she’s wearing,’ a young female voice giggled.

‘Where is her tail?’ another asked.

There were a few titters and Jenny felt the chain wrenched from her neck. A moment later she felt it being tied and hung over the back of her plug, the locket dangling between her thighs. As she continued to buck her hips to and fro it swung wildly from side to side.

‘Prettiest tail I’ve ever seen,’ said an older man.

‘Pretty filly for that matter,’ said the elderly lady. ‘She’s going to be in demand. Just look at that hip action!’

‘Is it time to let the pony-boys loose?’ asked an amused male voice.

‘Go on, Dusty,’ said the elderly lady. ‘Do your thing.’

Jenny didn’t think she wanted to know what Dusty’s ‘thing’ was. She heard the sound of tiny, tinkling bells before something pressed itself into her wriggling backside. What on earth? Then there was a long stroke up the inside of her thigh, but not with fingers. It was something soft, something wet. Oh, no! A face was pressed into her behind and it was a tongue licking at her. He administered tiny little licks, flicks and swirls as he made his way up her left thigh, stopping tantalisingly shy of her pussy lips. He then began to repeat the process on the other side, again stopping just before he reached the promised zone. Jenny’s hip-swaying was increasing in intensity. There were more laughs from the crowd.

‘Should we let Dusty have a little suck?’ the elderly lady said.

The crowd sniggered. Jenny could tell by the volume of the gathering that more people had come to watch her predicament. Her cheeks flooded the deepest crimson and then, all thought fled as Dusty began to do as his owner had bid. His warm, velvety tongue began to thrust inside her, transferring yet more of the tea-tree oil mixture. Jenny’s body began to leak the tell-tale evidence of her arousal in response. He lapped it up neatly, before it could slip down her legs. His tongue danced on her pussy, teasing each little fold into fullness. When his tongue found her clit and started to lap her up like a chocolate-fudge ice-cream sundae, it was nearly her undoing. She wanted to arch her neck as pleasure began to spiral through her, wanted to push her backside out and grind it into his face, wanted to scream at him to press his tongue into her a little bit harder and all she could actually manage was a mewl of frustration.

‘That’s enough, Dusty,’ said his owner. Obediently, Dusty stopped and shuffled backwards, away from the straining pony girl in front of him.

Jenny released a strangled sob of frustration and still her hips beat a lascivious path from left to right. Trying to still them with every ounce of will power she possessed, she might as well have tried to discover the secret of time travel. It was impossible. She screamed.

The laughter intensified around her and vulgar comments were bandied back and forth.

‘Who’s going to stick their tongue into her next?’

‘I’d love to get my hands on that mouth and plug it good and proper.’

‘Nah, I’d bounce those tits up and down and take her ass.’

Jenny tried her hardest to ignore them, but it was rather difficult when you were naked, blindfolded, the centre of attention and unsure what the hell was going to happen next.

‘Legend, why don’t you have a go? But you’re not to let her orgasm. I’ll have your balls if you disobey me.’ It was the man with the deliciously deep and virile voice again.

Another face pressed up against Jenny’s backside. He nipped her ass playfully and she let out a loud squawk, much to the continued amusement of the crowd. He then proceeded to do his ‘thing.’ It wasn’t long before Jenny decided that Legend had been aptly named. He was a God with that tongue of his. He suckled and pushed, pulled and slurped and it wasn’t long before she was bouncing up and down and frothing at the mouth and reaching the knife edge of climax once she was shamefully devastated when he stopped and pulled away. How could he have timed that so perfectly? No. No! She couldn’t take much more of this. Releasing another pent-up sob of frustration she stomped her knees in the dirt. Raucous laughter followed that action and her cheeks blushed cherry-red, again.

‘Your turn, Mac.’

And so the torment went on. Jenny lost count somewhere after five. Her body was a seething mass of overstimulated nerve endings and volcanic lava. It flowed and ebbed through every pore of her body and she was fighting exhaustion from having her body expertly strung out and kept continuously on the brink of release. The suffering was such, that she was positive she wouldn’t have felt any worse had someone shot ten thousand volts into her. Finally her head slumped forward into the stocks and her back collapsed, arcing painfully downwards.

‘That’s enough, folks. Time’s up.’ Jenny registered the voice, somewhere in the back of her head, as Mark’s. It brought her little comfort. He removed her blindfold and watched her eyes as they tried to focus in the blinding light of day.

‘Quite a show, little filly.’ He swatted her backside and smiled as she surged forward, trying to escape the contact.

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About the Author

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Christina Mandara was born in the UK, but has spent most of her life travelling the world. She speaks three languages and has been chiefly employed in the fields of finance and travel. Her favourite city is Sydney and her favourite holiday destination is the south of France.
She loves keeping fit and enjoys running, cycling and water sports. No, not those kinds of water sports; think surfing or sailing. That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t enjoy BDSM in all of its glorious forms, be that pony girls, bondage, edge play, orgasm denial or a damn good spanking. Her favourite item in the toy closet (a box simply isn’t big enough) is her riding crop.
In her spare time she’s usually cuddled up with a good book, exploring the countryside or baking in the kitchen. In fact, she loves her kitchen so much she’s one of few woman who wouldn’t mind being tied to it! Her first and foremost love is writing, however, and more often than not you’ll find her on a laptop spinning tales of romance, erotica or dark, paranormal fantasies.
Those in the BDSM world might wonder whether Ms Mandara is a top or a bottom. Is she currently training a herd of pony boys or is she stabled up, in full leather tack, with the pony girls? It’s a good question. Answers on a postcard please…

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