The Copper Horse: Two Erotic Short Stories of Desire, Longing and Romance

By Vina Green

Two spectacular short stories from Vina Green. One BDSM-centric, another sapphic. Whilst this may seem like a strange mix of genres, both stories are tied together with both the common theme of employer/employee romance and the bittersweet nonpareil of Vina's writing.

The Copper Horse:
When a young student accepts a summer job, cleaning for a sophisticated and reclusive older man, she could never have anticipated the path down which her body and mind will take her as he tests her submission to its limits. He loves the smell of leather, and she loves to give him what he wants. Pain and pleasure collide in this subtle story about lust, longing and power play.

The Orchard:
A young woman learns to unlock her own pleasure and fulfil the desires of another when she enjoys her first lesbian encounter - with her employer. Their forbidden romance reaches an unexpected climax in this short coming of age story set within the sweet confines of an apple orchard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: House of Erotica
• Release date: May 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781781662243

Book preview

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The Copper Horse

The interview was short. Aside from showing me around the estate and explaining the duties I would be required to fulfill, he asked me only one question.

What are you most afraid of?

The dark, I replied.

I got the job, and he told me that if I was ever afraid, I should just ask him to turn on the light. And, I was to call him ‘Sir’. Had any other employer said the same thing, I might have found it odd, or inappropriate. But there was something about him, a weight in his voice, which held me like a magnet and made my heart jump, at the same time.

He liked the smell of leather. That was how it began, really.

I was employed as his cleaner and personal assistant. He’d been born blind, though you wouldn’t know it. Despite his visual impairment, he was an artist. He worked with large, heavy sheets of thick white paper, and charcoal. His work was rough, full of flowing lines which didn’t meet neatly, but combined to make a whole. Nonetheless, the portraits that I saw bore an incredible resemblance to the customers who left with them, and he had a steady stream of visitors to the house, each wanting to leave with their own small miracle, a picture of themselves reflected through the eyes of a blind man. One woman, who returned several times, told me that she wanted to know what a man, who couldn’t see, saw in her.

I wondered the same thing.

It was only ever meant to be a summer job, but when term time came around again, I found that I didn’t want to leave. I was paid well, and I liked the work. He had a big, old, Victorian house, the sort that never really looks clean no matter how often you tidy it. There was a small greenhouse, and a stable, no longer in use. He had converted almost the entire upstairs floor into a studio, where he spent most of his time. There were several large windows, so that light tumbled into the room all day, casting long shadows over his strange assortment of furniture during the afternoon. He had several chaise longues, a set of narrow, wooden, uncushioned chairs with tall backs, and a strange frame in the shape of a small horse, made from copper, which I supposed was some type of art. He had laid an old saddle along the top of it, complete with stirrups, because he liked the smell of leather, he said, and the feeling of the stitching. There were no curtains, but we did not have any neighbours, and until I arrived he had always worked in the dark. Now he left the lights on. The power bill, he said, was neither here nor