I reached out, wiped it with my thumb, and licked it away. “Master J,” she said, assuming the position. “sprite; there is someone interested in...buying you,” I announced. “This lowly slave will do whatever you say, Master,” she said. “That’s the problem, sprite. Your Master is dead. Technically, you’re free.” I informed her. she teared up. “i don’t want to be free.” she barely whispered. “Okay, then, but I guess you should get to choose who owns you,” I told her. She looked from me, to. The California rich folk paid whatever she asked when their hot little daughters wanted a miniature stallion. The word was out at the fairs and horse shows, teen girls dreamed about someday owning their own little stud. It was more practical than a boyfriend. The horses never told anyone or cheated on them while they were away. A horse could not get you pregnant either and the wise fathers knew that was good reason to buy one. The rich fathers never told their daughters they knew the secret. More

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