Hall of Infamy (28 page)

Blossom's wind was not broken, but she was gasping as she cantered up the hill. This time around she was really feeling Lord Alex's weight. It occurred to her for the first time that Jack was a much smaller man than her master, and a much lighter one, no doubt. Whether because of the relative weight of the drivers, or due to the comparative strength of their mounts, one thing became clear as they ground up the slope: little by little, Princess was, inexorably, pulling away.

There was a crack and a sharp sting in her flanks. The first time that her master had used his whip. Blossom put her head down and hauled with all her might. To no avail for, when she glanced up again, their rivals were several yards in front.

The slap was so sudden it took Amelia by surprise.

‘You see? Such a wicked, wilful child,' Lady Alicia sighed. ‘Now keep still, you dreadful fidget.'

They had watched the stragglers for a few minutes, the company laughing as Belinda struggled fruitlessly to haul her burden for a second time up the hill. The sound of riding crop on girlish bottom echoed across the lawns, but it was all too obviously failing to have the required effect. Eventually Lady Alicia had bored of the prospect.

Amelia and Clara had been made to turn, kneeling up and facing Lady Alicia and Mademoiselle Isobel respectively. The object of these ladies' scrutiny was their nipples.

‘They do stand out so, against the silk; why, they might almost as well be bare.'

Amelia tried to bite back a groan as Lady Alicia's crimson talons pinched the objects of her interest. She heard Clara give a pained whimper beside her.

‘These are stiff and pretty, but not nearly so protuberant as her cousin's,' Mademoiselle Isobel said gaily. Clara gasped with pain as the corsetier tweaked.

‘No, but then not many girls have nips like our Amelia's, do they dear? They are like claret corks, once they get engorged. My maid, Kitty, has nipples like loganberries, but I think Amelia's are even longer. Perfect for clamping. I say, that gives me a splendid idea.'

Amelia moaned as Lady Alicia's nails dug into the sensitive flesh through the gossamer silk. Lady Alicia pinioned the nipples between the nails of her forefingers and thumbs, and then she rolled. Amelia grunted as they were twisted through almost one hundred and eighty degrees. Tears sprang to her eyes and her fingers flexed helplessly behind her back, in their bonds, as Lady Alicia held this excruciating position for a few long seconds. Just as she thought she must explode with pain, the Marchioness untwisted them and relief flooded through Amelia. It was a sadly short-lived sensation, for her aunt promptly wrenched the engorged flesh, just as far, the other way around.

‘Ooh, please, Aunt – I, ah, ooh.'

‘For heaven's sake, be quiet, girl. You know, flimsy as this thing is, I do believe that this would be more fun on the bare.'

Lady Alicia released her hawk-like grip and Amelia gasped. Her aunt pulled up the hem of her smock, lifting it to Amelia's appalled mouth. Half of Hatherby was watching. She could hear the laughter from behind her and from either side. The discomfort of the back-board and her bondage, the constriction of the rubber bloomers, which were sticky now in places: all these things paled into insignificance besides her choking sense of shame.

There was no choice, however. Amelia knew she was helpless in her bondage and appallingly vulnerable to Lady Alicia's capricious cruelty. She took the silk in her mouth and held it there, trying to forget the fact that her breasts were now publicly exposed.

‘You see.' Lady Alicia beamed down and patted her cheek, which was still burning from the slap. ‘You can be good if you try, Amelia.'

The Marchioness of Hatherby flexed her fingers thoughtfully. Amelia stared, as if mesmerised, by her long blood-red nails. Clara gave a startled gasp of pain beside her, and she heard Mademoiselle Isobel give a delighted little laugh. Then Lady Alicia once again took hold of Amelia's already throbbing nipples between crimson talons, and Amelia heard herself shriek with pain.

Pain was shooting through her thighs now, and Blossom was gasping for air as she hauled the sulky up the last part of the hill. There was a sickening whistle and a flame of agony, even more intense than that in her muscles, blazed across her bottom.

‘Go on, Blossom, giddup! You can do it, girl!'

She blinked away tears as she hauled the little cart around the clump of holly that marked the crest of Holly Hill. Her arms ached, her lungs were bursting, and her thigh muscles were shrieking from the strain, but Blossom was far from beaten yet.

Taking a great lungful of air, she settled into a lope through the rhododendron maze. Lord Alex was showing his anxiety by giving her frequent lashes with the whip, but she had to get her breath back so she did not run full pelt. Blossom understood what had happened on the hill. Princess had been the stronger. She had not been able to match the strength in the black girl's powerful thighs, certainly not when hauling a greater load. Now they were on the flat, things were different. Blossom's legs were longer and she was very fast. If she did not succumb to panic, there was a way that she could still win.

Moving swiftly through the rhododendrons, she began to feel better. She was still blowing like a steam train, but her lungs did not hurt as much as they had. They passed the stable-block and the familiar sight made her quicken her pace. What if she were to lose? Blossom thought, fighting back the panic. What would happen to her then?

Princess had passed out of sight by the top of the hill, and Blossom ran through the rhododendron groves alone. She caught sight of a carriage as they set off around the walled garden and her heart surged with excitement. Then she realised it was only Connie and Mrs Treadwell, still struggling to complete their first lap. Connie was bathed in sweat, her broad back and bottom welted now. Mrs Treadwell reined her mount over to the side to let them thunder past.

Panic was truly setting in now. Surely they should have caught up with the other cart by now? Then, as they rounded the last corner of the garden wall, she saw them up ahead. Lord Alex must have seen his rival, too, for the lashes fell like a boiling rain across her back and bottom. Not that Blossom needed the encouragement. There was no more thought of reserving strength, the final slope was far too close. Blossom just put her head down and ran.

‘That's it girl! We're gaining on them! Come on, Blossom, giddup, girl! We can take them on the slope!'

For all the pain in every screaming muscle, Blossom felt a sense of exultation seize her. Every time she glanced up the target was closer. Now it was only a matter of yards ahead. Blossom knew how difficult it was to run down the slope full tilt. No one else had had the chance to practise it like she had. Her master was right; they would take the other sulky on the slope.

With perhaps five yards of lead, Princess hauled her cart over the lip of the long downhill slope. She was so close now that Blossom could see the beads of perspiration gleaming in the sunlight on the girl's dark skin. Gulping what air she could, she followed as fast as possible, meaning to overtake her rival as soon as Princess slowed.

The black girl did not slow. There was a roar from the crowd as the two carts emerged into view, but Blossom was barely aware of it. Her eyes widened as she watched Jack Campion's pony-girl hurtle down the slope. Surely they would upend at the first bend. Blossom sprang after them, long legs eating up the ground now that gravity had removed the weight of her load.

The other cart did not go over, not at the first bend, nor the second: incredibly it did not slow. It was as if Princess knew that switchback descent as well as Blossom did herself. The prodigiously endowed pony-girl fairly galloped down the slope, slowing just enough to navigate the turns before her powerful thighs sprinted on again. Not only could Blossom not catch her, it was all that she could do to keep up without tipping over her own cart at this phenomenal rate.

The final lakeside stretch was a formality. Blossom's legs no longer had the strength to make up several yards of lead. In fact, her powerful, perfectly conditioned thigh-muscles, felt about to buckle beneath her. Lord Alex must have realised that the game was up, too, for he scarcely bothered to whip her bottom as she staggered, gasping for breath, along the shore.

Blossom did not see Princess canter through the ribbon held up by the stable-lads. She heard the roar from the watching crowd, though, and that told her that Jack had won his bet, as she staggered, head down, over the last few yards of the course.

‘Amelia! Amelia! Pay attention to your aunt.' Jamie's voice cut into Amelia's reverie.

Like everyone else in the crowd, she had watched the final stages of the race with rapt attention. So exciting had been the final descent that she had even forgot the discomfort of the back-board, and the maddening rubbing of taut rubber over her clitoris, and the throbbing of her tortured nipples, for a moment. The two front runners had hurtled down the slope, careening around the corners in the winding drive so precipitously that it seemed they must overturn. Jack Campion's girl had held her lead somehow, her breasts bouncing as she hurtled down the hill, her dark sweat-soaked skin gleaming in the September sun.

No more than a few paces behind had hurtled Blossom. The tall girl's breasts had jiggled as she ran in great loping strides. It seemed she must catch the shorter girl. But Amelia could see that Blossom's gait was ragged now, her long legs less steady. Amelia felt a surge of secret satisfaction, knowing that Lord Alex was going to lose.

A great cheer rang out as Jack's mount breasted the ribbon. Blossom limped in a few yards behind.

‘Oh, heavens,' Lady Alicia said in a voice that sounded secretly delighted, ‘Alex has lost his fabulous thoroughbred filly!'

‘How did he take the slope so fast?' wondered Jamie.

‘The sly dog must have been practising,' Lady Alicia said, ‘it is the only way. He must have found a similar slope somewhere.'

At that point the cracking of a crop on flesh drew the company's attention. Rose pulled into view, hauling the Reverend Dawes. The buxom redhead limped down the slope, the welts on her back and bottom visible even from a distance. Amelia watched the Reverend whip her mercilessly as she stumbled on. Great heavens, she thought as she watched, appalled, that man really is a brute.

Somehow Rose managed to stagger the final furlong, only to sink to her knees as she crossed the line. Then there was a wait. The hubbub of conversation in the crowd resumed, though Amelia kept watching as the pony-girls were unharnessed and sponged down by the stable-boys. The sight made her shiver. How terrible it must be, she thought, to be treated like an animal that way. The awful compelling sight of the naked girls provoked a more insistent tingling in her loins, and she shifted carefully, trying not to make her bloomers squeak.

After several long minutes, Connie appeared, pulling Mrs Treadwell's sulky down the slope. She seemed less exhausted than Rose had been, but she descended slowly and cautiously. Clearly neither rider nor mount felt confident. Wondering how far back Justice Ormorund had fallen, Amelia looked over to her left, to Holly Hill. The Justice was trotting Belinda dejectedly down the incline. It seemed he had abandoned the attempt to complete the course altogether. He arrived at the finish line the wrong way, at the same time as Mrs Treadwell and her girl.

‘It is customary to give the ponies some minutes to recover,' Lady Alicia said as she looked into Amelia's eyes, ‘before presenting the Silver Cup and… what not. We usually like to provide some amusement for the company. Stand up, please, my dear.'

Amelia's mouth went dry as she saw her aunt produce the evil little paddle, and slap it into her palm with a sickening crack.

‘Jamie, dear, would you mind peeling those rubber bloomers off?'

For a moment Amelia very nearly bolted. It was insane. Pinioned in her back-board bondage, where was there to go? What on earth could she do? It was not the fear of the nasty thing in Lady Alicia's hand, though that was real. It was the shame. Amelia heard a score of conversations trail away, and knew with sickening certainty that the eyes of half of Hatherby were now firmly fixed on her latex-encased rear.

Somehow she managed not to bolt. The thought of whooping stable-boys chasing her across the lawns helped to keep her in her place. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as Jamie took a firm grip of the waist of her rubber pantaloons and began to tug, producing a positive cacophony of rubbery creaks and squeaks.

‘I say, what a peculiar noise!'

‘One might think those things were glued to her, they seem to grip so tight.'

‘It's the wet – it makes a vacuum. The slut has been producing fluids all afternoon, and now her drawers are stuck!'

Amelia fought tears of pure humiliation as the laughter and ribald comments came thick and fast. She was almost relieved when Jamie finally got the damned things off, for all that comment now turned to another source of shame.

‘By God, that is a juicy-looking little pussy! I'd love to see if it's as tight as it looks!'

‘Ah, your little motte is so pretty shaved,
cherie
!'

‘The trollop is not looking so haughty today, eh?'