"Ummm... as you wish," Zia replied, sounding disappointed. "Perhaps we will revisit the riding crop some other time." With a final tickle of the leather tip on Etta's trembling rectal pucker, she withdrew the whip and hung it back on the wall. Etta sagged in her restraints, breathing a sigh of relief.
The Spanish girl turned to Philip. "You heard the Baron's daughter, stable hand. She requests her stallion."
"Yes, of course!" Philip replied with a grin. "I assumed the colt?"
"Oh no," Zia corrected. "Miss Etta wants the draft horse, Grey."
Philip's eyes grew wide. "Ah... You are certain? The draft horse is... muy grande... very large!" The stable hand gestured with his hands, demonstrating the length and girth. "The colt may be more to Miss Etta's... preferences?"
Zia shrugged indiffer
