Cupping her elbow lightly in his hand, Goncourt led Lady Huysmans from the dining room, across the tiled hall to the broad sweeping staircase. She was a haughty woman, he knew she would flinch at any more intimate touch, a woman of breeding who hunted and rode to hounds and would feel herself to be a little above the likes of him. Her cool reserve throughout dinner had been an annoyance to him, the ice in her eyes and the pride in her smile infuriating. She held herself aloof, looked down on him, as if challenging him to even dare think he might be her equal.

Yet if there was annoyance in that challenge there was also excitement, for she was a beautiful woman, a delicate aristocracy about her features, a dark disdain about the set of her mouth which he could not disregard, and Goncourt felt a thrill in his loins as he thought of how her pride might be broken.

Slowly they climbed the staircase to the first floor of the manor house, gently he guided her along the corridor to the playroom, the only sound for the moment the soft rustle of her long silk skirt.

Her marked disinterest when he had first mentioned the room had momentarily angered him, the condescending way she had said 'how interesting' when he had told her of his collection of toys. As if such things were beneath her, as if such a passion on his part could be no passion at all, but indicative of a solitary man's sad life.

She had finally been persuaded to see, though, if only to satisfy her curiosity about the man who had bought the manor, if only to humour him. And now she would learn, about passion.

"They are mainly Victorian items in my collection," he told her, as they reached the end of the corridor and began to mount a final shallow flight of stairs. "The Victorians were not the dull people they are sometimes made out to be," he continued, as he produced a key and slipped it into the lock. "They too had their secrets, their passions, their dark desires."

"Really?" she said, stifling a yawn behind her hand as she waited for him to turn the key.

"Oh yes, as dark as yours I would guess," Goncourt smiled, finally unlocking the door, and as he pushed it inwards he caught a first glint of interest in her steel grey eyes. "After you, Lady Huysmans," he gestured, with a courteous wave of the hand.

She entered the room, her skirt brushing against him as she passed, leaving a faint hint of her perfume in her wake, a delicate fruity fragrance. Goncourt followed, closing the door after them, remained a step behind Lady Huysmans as he admired her slender waist, the swell of her hips, imagined the firm thighs beneath the fine silk.

He gave her a moment to take in the room.

It was dimly lit, lights flickering to resemble weak yellow gas lamps making shadows dance lazily across the walls, and in the amber gloom she could make out cabinets and shelves bearing all manner of objects; soft toys and tin automata, porcelain dolls and carved ivory figures, wind-up toys which stood eerily still for the moment, looking almost menacing in their inert state.

In the centre of the room, though, dominating all and commanding her attention, was a large wooden rocking horse.

It stood the size of a pony, exquisitely carved, the wood polished and lacquered, painted a creamy white and dappled with grey, its mane and tail of coarse jet hair. Its forelegs reared dangerously, its hind legs stretched back gracefully; face snarling and eyes bulging, it seemed imbued with power, a magnificent beast caught in mid gallop.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Goncourt said, speaking softly as he came up beside Lady Huysmans, then taking her by the elbow once more and leading her towards it.

"There is some craftsmanship there," she conceded, touching her hand to its polished flank, lacquered nails resting lightly on the lacquered wood which felt warm, as if the beast breathed. She stroked her fingers back and forth, said, "Yes, there's no denying it's well made."

He let her stroke the horse for a moment, then asked, "Would you like to mount it, sit astride it, perhaps? Its polished flanks would feel so good between your thighs."

She withdrew her hand sharply, as if the horse had turned and snapped at her. "Oh, I think not!" she laughed nervously.

Of course! Such childish amusements would be beneath such a haughty woman!

"Just for a moment?" he pressed her, smiling slyly to himself as he noted how her pale cheeks had coloured slightly, how the matt steel grey of her eyes had taken on a brighter sparkle. He looked slowly about the room, as if searching the shadows. "There is no one else here, no one to see. And I did say the Victorians had their secrets. The horse is not all that it seems to be."

Her curiosity was piqued, for the first time that evening she grinned, albeit cautiously. "Well…"

"Come on!" he encouraged her, his hand in the small of her back to urge her forward, moving her that final step so that her thighs pressed against the side of the horse. "You could be a child once again, laugh with joy for once, rather than out of disdain."

A little modestly, she said, "I would have to pull up my skirt. It is too long, would get in the way of me sitting astride the saddle."

"Or you could go naked perhaps?" Goncourt now bravely suggested. "Bareback riding? You could pretend to be galloping naked through the night, you and the horse dappled by the moonlight, a flashing free spirit in the darkness of the woods."

She frowned, her eyes flashing like daggers at him, then hitched up her skirt daintily with one hand, offered him the other. "Help me," she said.

Steadying the horse with one hand, with the other Goncourt took hers and helped her to climb into the saddle, enjoying the momentary glimpse of firm white thighs before her skirt spilled back over them.

"Now put your feet in the stirrups, take hold of the reins," he told her, and when she was settled, once she had done as instructed, he took his hand from the horse.

It rocked gently beneath her weight, an inch or two forward, an inch or two back.

Lady Huysmans' smile returned, her manner again a little less aloof, as if she was allowing to surface some vestige of that child which he had encouraged her to be. She turned to him, said, "I can almost feel its heart beating between my legs."

Goncourt nodded his understanding, said, "They do say that horse-riding can be exciting for a woman, all that raw power between her thighs. Is that true, Lady Huysmans?"

"Yes, I suppose there is something in that," she agreed, running her fingers through the horse's mane, along the side of its neck.

"And the control you have over that power? Perhaps that has something to do with it?"

"Perhaps," she said, a little distractedly, her mind perhaps taking her back to the hunt, or to the point-to-point, enjoying the sensation for real.

"But suppose you had no control over that power," Goncourt ventured, and his voice now took on a darker tone. "Suppose that power was unbridled, so to speak, in the same way that passion is sometimes described."

"Meaning?" she asked, turning to him once more.

"Lean forward a little, take firm hold of the reins," he told her, offering no explanation. And then, when she hesitated: "Please? Trust me? Take tight hold of the reins as you would do when riding to hounds."

With a patient smile and a shake of the head, humouring him once more, Lady Huysmans did as he asked, fingers clenching around the leather reins, bowing her head forward so that the horse began to dip.

"But did you not see the hole in the saddle?" Goncourt then asked, stopping the horse's movement for a moment.

"I did wonder," she admitted.

"About its purpose, perhaps?"

"Yes."

Grinning, Goncourt gave the horse's rump a push and it rocked forward again, but this time with a little more force than when she first mounted it. And as it rocked forward, as she bent over its neck, an oiled wooden phallus slid up from the hole to nudge between her parted thighs, push up against her knickers, pressing the smooth silk against the lips of her cunt.

"Good grief!" she gasped, her head snapping up, and the horse rocked back before the phallus could penetrate her.

Goncourt caught the horse, held it still, asked, "A nice surprise?"

"God yes!" she was forced to admit.

"Then part your knickers, or better still remove them, and the surprise will be even more delightful."

"Dare I?" she asked, but already she was rising in the saddle, lifting one foot from the stirrup, then the other, to pull the flimsy silk knickers down her legs.

She flung them away and then sat, feeling the smooth lacquered saddle against her bare flesh.

"You have positioned yourself?" Goncourt asked her, and Lady Huysmans simply nodded, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the reins. "Then ride a cock horse, my fine lady!"

Goncourt gave the horse a firm shove and it rocked, dipping forward so that the phallus slipped into her bared cunt, then rearing back so that it slipped out. A second penetration followed, a third, but each one shallower as the horse slowed. This time he let the horse come to a rest of its own accord, standing back a little with arms folded to enjoy Lady Huysmans' delight. He waited until she turned to him once more, grinned at her, his eyes questioning, asking….. More?

Lady Huysmans grinned back at him lasciviously.

"Okay then, at a canter," he said, and gave the horse another push. It rocked, back and forth, back and forth, the phallus slipping in and out of her seven, eight, nine times. She gasped and tightened her thighs, but with each rock the movements of the horse got slower, shallower, until finally it came to a halt again. "Does that frustrate you?" he guessed.

"Push me harder!" Lady Huysmans demanded, her face contorting into a snarl, baring her teeth..

"One moment, I have an idea," said Goncourt, set the horse rocking gently so that the phallus just teased the lips of her cunt, and then moved away, crossed the room.

"Where are you? What are you doing?" Lady Huysmans asked urgently, twisting to look over her shoulder but unable to see him.

And then, just as the horse was slowing to a frustrating halt once more, she heard him return, his step heavy, his stride quick. She wondered, heard a 'swish' along with his laughter.

"How do we make the horse go faster?" he asked, and struck a riding crop hard across her buttocks as he answered, "Why we beat it of course!"

Lady Huysmans screamed as her body lurched forwards, driving the phallus deep inside her, threw her head back as the horse reared, her mouth open in a rictus of pain and delight. Again he hit her and she sobbed, moaned, felt the crop sear her buttocks and the phallus fill her cunt, and with each stroke she was made to bend lower over the horse until she was rocking back and forth in a frenzy.

"Gee up! Faster!" cried Goncourt, striking her cruelly now, with all his force, making the horse dip so low that the only thing keeping Lady Huysmans in the saddle was the wooden cock inside her. "Ride! Ride like the wind!"

The cries which came from her now were as bestial as any the horse might have made, racking sobs, unintelligible gasp of pleasure, howls of pain and delight reverberating about the playroom. Her carefully pinned hair had come loose and hung about her shoulders, damp strands against her neck, there was a flush to her cheeks and a sheen of perspiration on her brow.

And a more vivid flush to her buttocks where angry red weals had been raised by the crop.

Finally Goncourt brought the blows to an end, stroked the crop lightly over her stinging buttocks as he let the horse's movements subside.

"But perhaps there is a gentler way to do this?" he mused, once the horse had come to a halt and Lady Huysmans lay sprawled across it, exhausted, her arms wrapped around its neck.

Wearily she turned her head to see Goncourt starting to remove his clothes, slipping off his shirt to reveal a body which was as finely sculpted as the horse's, kicking away his trousers to bare thighs which she knew could grasp her firmly, finally stepped from his shorts to produce a cock which was every bit as magnificent as the wooden one which had been pounding inside her.

She sighed and closed her eyes, faced ahead as she felt his naked body mount the horse behind her, his strong arms wrapping around her and clutching her to his broad chest. With a thrust of his hips against her he started the horse gently rocking once more, tapped the crop lightly against her thigh and pressed his body against hers, teasing the wooden phallus against her cunt.

She leant her body back against him, wanting the phallus deeper, the horse rocking more vigorously, but for the moment he denied her. His hands travelled down the front of her dress, slowly unfastening the buttons, then peeling it from her shoulders and flinging it away. Leaning back a little, he unhooked her bra and tossed that aside too, then cupped her breasts and held her close.

Leaning into her, hands squeezing her breasts and fingers toying with her nipples, he brought his face alongside hers and kissed her ear as he rocked the horse faster. The wooden phallus felt larger still inside her now, the beast beneath her even more alive, and she felt weak in Goncourt's embrace, his strength sapping hers and crushing her will. She was no longer the haughty aristocrat, cold and detached; she was now a rampant creature burning with passion, his to do with as he pleased.

He bit her ear, said, "But if I now ride you like a horse…."

"Yes?" she gasped, feeling the phallus pumping rhythmically in and out of her, stroking and tugging at the walls of her cunt. "Yes?"

"Then perhaps my horse should be wearing a bridle like the rocking horse!"

Even as Lady Huysmans opened her mouth to protest she felt cold steel between her teeth, leather straps around her face, bound so quickly and tightly that they bit into her cheeks.

"A bit and a bridle! Now I can ride you!" he laughed, pressing his body hard against hers to pick up the horse's movement.

If they had started at a canter they were now breaking into a gallop. He leaned back, pulled on her bridle so that she had to stifle a gasp behind the bit as her head was pulled back onto his shoulder. He kissed her neck, lapped at her ear as the horse reared high, then let his added weight drive the horse forward harder, ever lower. The phallus pummelled into her now, seemed to suck out a portion of her soul each time it slipped back out, and he slapped the crop viciously against her thigh as he urged her on. She screamed, but with more pleasure than pain now, feeling his weight bear down on her each time the horse dipped low, slamming her onto the wooden cock. It was as if the horse had come alive at last and she gave herself up to the delight it afforded. It seemed to be moving of its own volition, Goncourt had control of them both, so she released the reins and moved her hands up to her breasts, pinched the nipples cruelly with her nails each time they fell back, squeezed them firmly each time they fell forward.

Goncourt licked up her neck, whispered in her ear as he galloped her to an orgasm, she moaned in time with the rocking motion and tossed her head wildly against the pull of the bridle, feeling his own hard cock slipping up and down her back, smearing her with its sticky juices.

"I will come," he warned her, his breath hot against her cheek "I will come over your back, over your buttocks."

"Then do it!" she begged, his promise making her shudder, she felt him hold her tighter still, as tight as her cunt gripped the phallus, and a cry escaped from deep inside her as his body stiffened, trembled. He was hard and hot and wet against her and the phallus slid in and out more slowly now, then slower still, slower, until it slipped smoothly from her.

Then they were motionless, his embrace was soft, her heart was racing and the power of the beast thrummed steadily between her thighs.