Hinterlands Book II: The Stables (6 page)

“Hold this bar here.” One of them said in a whisper. Molly
submitted to their requests, willfully grasping a wooden bar before her.
 
The girls had grown to trust their
attendants throughout the morning rituals, and Molly was no different, assuming
that they now meant her no harm. Despite this confidence, Amelia could see that
the gooseflesh had sprung up on the backs Molly’s thighs, and she was breathing
rapidly.

The attendants then unceremoniously pulled her legs apart,
presenting her sex and the tender bud of her buttocks to the girls gathered
there. Though they were naked, all of them, it was still shocking to see her
exposed like this, her sex advertised so openly. They began to whisper and
giggle. Amelia herself couldn’t help but be somewhat turned on by the
situation.
 
Molly was very slender
but she was pretty, her little buttocks rounded and pert.
 
The bright red patch of hair was visible
as it trailed into nothing on either side of the small pink vulva, a vulva that
held its secrets close, refusing to part it’s petals completely.
 
Amelia observed the girls starring
fixedly at the sex.
 
Their reactions
ran the entire gamut. Some looked disgusted or disinterested, while others
looked quite curious and concerned. Many of the more senior girls actually
appeared hungry or aroused.
 
There
was an element of danger to the situation, but also one of perversity and
immodesty that electrified all who were present.
 
Molly’s legs trembled, and Amelia could
swear her little sex was pulsating madly in front of them.
 
She could almost feel Molly’s face
turning bright red.

“So Ms. Jenkins, you are going to have to learn to run
faster if you mean to stay ahead of THIS!” Without even a pause she lashed
Molly firmly across her right buttocks with the leather riding-crop, causing
the girl to yelp loudly and take her hands from the pole.
 
She started to stand upright.

“Back on the pole Molly Jenkins…or I will tie you to it!
How does that sound?” She almost purred this threat and Molly bent herself
slowly back over the cask.

“P..please Ma’am.
 
I’ll run faster next time I swear it!”
 

The next strike was soft but solid; hard enough to leave
a red line across the cheek. Molly groaned. Ms. Farstone followed this up with
a few soft slaps with her hand, caressing the soft flesh salaciously, as if to
rub in the strike, and spread it around.
 
It was only another moment and she lashed the crop again much harder
this time, causing the girl to yelp and tense up.
 
Again, the old woman rubbed the cheek,
this time also rubbing and squeezing the other side of Molly’s buttocks,
squeezing and patting the ass almost lovingly.
 
This pattern continued for a few minutes
with Ms. Farstone regularly slapping the girl, alternating between hard and
soft blows, bringing out a deep blush.
 
Molly whined and flexed her legs in anticipation of each blow, waiting
for the contact, only to have Ms. Farstone pause cruelly here and there to ask
the other girls taunting questions.

“Doesn’t she turn a lovely red girls? My stars, my, my,
my, look at this!”
 
She continued
laying the crop down firmly across the cheeks

Now between lashings, she began to run her hand into the
crevice between the cheeks, slapping and cupping Molly’s sex. Molly responded
with a muffled moan, apparently not rejecting this punishment as entirely as
she had mere moments ago.
 
Encouraged
by this, Ms. Farstone slid her hands along the girl’s thighs, smacking the skin
up and down with the crop ever-so-lightly, yet ardently enough to elicit a shiver.
With the other hand she began running her fingers through the thick nest of red
hair that grew between the girls thighs, tugging it teasingly until Molly cried
out.
 
She then commenced slapping and
squeezing the tender pink flesh with her fingers, rubbing her hand in small
circles.

Molly’s cries of embarrassment had quickly become gasps
of pleasure and torment, and the transformation had happened slowly before all
of their eyes.
 
Ms. Farstone too had
noticed this change and was smiling wickedly. She now concentrated her
attentions upon the glistening and swelling vulva, pulling her fingers upward
and tapping it with the crop. Amelia noticed a change in the old woman’s
commentary as well.
 
It had become
eager and unconscious, ribald and lewd. “Yes darling, yes! Give it to me!” She
was a true deviant, knowing precisely how to stroke a young girl’s flesh in
order to make her lose control, and poor Molly had begun to do just that, bending
her knees and shuddering at each new contact with her hardening clitoris.
 
She even called out that she was sorry,
apologizing for her poor performance in the race, and yet in the midst of
saying this, she seemed overcome with pleasure, sighing in mid-sentence and
grasping the pole in front of her.
 

It was apparent to all present that Ms. Farstone was
intent on toying with the girl.
 
She
tickled the quivering sex, playing at the moist opening that glistened between
the petals. Ms. Farstone then did the unthinkable. She slowly slid two fingers
directly into Molly, bringing forth the loudest moan yet, and causing the girl
to stand on tip-toes.
 
Ms. Farstone
brought her back down flat-footed however, using her other hand to deliver a
powerful slap to the girl’s rump. This had the effect of driving Molly wild. She
pressed back again into Ms. Farstone’s fingers, only to receive another
stinging slap from the other hand.

“God!” Molly’s breath fluttered from between her lips in
a much huskier tone than Amelia had ever heard before. It was airy and full of
pleasure. The young women all glanced at one another and then back to the girl
so exposed before them. Her motions had become undeniably sexual now, meeting
each slap with a force of her own, seeming to relish the sensation of the hand against
her buttocks, moving with raw abandon. It was more enthusiasm than Ms. Farstone
expected, and her face appeared flushed and excited at this irrepressible young
creature before her. Molly continued rhythmically moving against the fingers,
letting them slid in and out with a wet, clicking sound.
 
Mad and rapid, Ms. Farstone slapped the
buttocks in a regular cadence. This only lasted a few moments more before
Molly’s hips twitched violently. She grasped the pole in front of her with both
hands and cried out loudly as waves of pleasure shivered through her body.
 
She then seemed to slump defeated over
the cask.

Amelia glanced around at the other girls, many of whom knew
Molly well. Each of them was wide eyed with excitement and pleasure. Even her
best friend, the oriental girl Lin, looked provoked and passionate and her brown
nipples appeared hard and erect after this display. Curiously, no one present
seemed to feel sorrow for the girl.
 
On the contrary, they all seemed as though justice had been done,
pleased even in the face of their own uncertainty.

Amelia felt ashamed at her enflamed passions, disturbed
that she should be so enlivened by another girl once again.
 
She felt feverish and out of sorts,
unable to look at Molly as her attendants led her down from the platform. She
saw Psalm looking at her through the crowd with her soothing brown eyes.
 
The lily in her hair looked almost fresh
again, stark white and radiant in the sunshine. She looked to the ground
briefly, before meeting Psalm’s gaze.

“Well, well, well girls.” Ms. Farstone had regained her
composure and was back to old self again. “
Now
you see what can happen when you fail to perform for me. Though I think Ms.
Jenkins gave us a little performance of her own...didn’t you dearie?”
 
Molly hid her face in her hands as Ms.
Farstone cackled.

“Now. All of you!
 
Back to the stables for midday rest.
 
And If I hear so much as a peep from
you, I’ll have my paddle for the lot of you!”

The girls began to file away somberly, the afternoon sun finally
dipping from its zenith.

Just before Amelia passed through the threshold of the
stables, she turned to see her attendants standing there in the grass beckoning
to her.
 
She approached them
quickly, wary of drawing the attention of the others.

“Hello there!”
 
She smiled at the two old women, realizing they probably wouldn’t
respond. They grinned at her silently, nodding their heads. They were apparently
pleased with her performance in the race.
 
The young man stood behind them staring placidly at the ground, refusing
to look at her, though he too was smiling to himself.

“I almost won the race there, did you see?” Amelia said
excitedly, feeling like at least she was amongst friends. Ignoring her
question, the old women began to examine her body, rubbing their hands over her
arms and legs, massaging her flesh, like she were a price racing horse. “Of
course I’d never done that before, run a footrace and such. I didn’t plan to do
so well, I just felt so free and wild.” Despite their friendliness she felt
unnerved by their silence, she continued on like this, talking of this or that
thing as they primped and prodded her, making sure her hair was fixed into its
unique braids, and replacing the drooping nightshade with all new purple
blossoms. Then the young man removed a small bottle of oil from his bag and
poured some into his hands. It was the oil from before, the wild smell from the
moors. “Oh that’s not necessary,” she said politely, as he kneeled down before
her, taking each of her small feet gently into his hands. As he began to work
the scented oil into the pads of her feet, she almost groaned out loud the
sensation was so pleasurable.
 
After
finishing with her feet he worked his way up her calves and thighs, causing her
to blush.

After another moment or two, they took her by her hands
and began to lead her down the grassy path and away from the others. She looked
back nervously to see both Ms. Farstone and Mr. Stephen watching her intently.
 
She was relieved to see that they made
no motion to stop her of any sort and actually seemed to look upon her leaving
with some level of approval.
 

The trio led Amelia around a bend in the path and she
could see that they were heading toward the carriage that she had run past over
and over during the race.
 
There it
sat, just as before, the curtains drawn across the windows, the driver nowhere
to be seen. They stopped a few yards away, refusing to go any further.
 
The two horses nickered as if to say
hello.

“Do you mean me to go and knock?” she asked her trio curiously.
The old women gestured for her to go ahead.
 
She felt a sudden apprehension about
knocking on the carriage that she couldn’t quite identify, but riding the
success of finishing second in the race, she pressed onward, courageously
stepping up to the carriage door.
 
She rapped lightly on the glass. “Hello.
 
Is there anybody here?”

“Come in darling.”
 
A familiar muffled voice called out from inside.
 
Amelia pulled on the handle and the door
popped open.
 
She was met with a
burst of perfume, fresh and verdant.
 
Feeling nervous and excited, she peered in to the darkened inner space
of the carriage to see the Duchessa de Montaigne herself sitting quietly upon
the plush red velvet seat. She was wearing a brilliant green ruffled dress, the
skirts splayed out around her like giant leaves.
 
Her bare arms were smooth, white, and
folded neatly in her lap. Her dark hair was pinned up high above her head and
covered in the flowers of the trumpet vine.

“Duchessa!” Amelia exclaimed not knowing what to do since
she had no dress with which to curtsey.

“Hello Little Bird. Come in, sit down and shut the
door.”
 
Little Bird
.
 
The
Duchessa remembered her.
 
This was a
shocking revelation to Amelia.
 
She
did as she was told, climbing onto the seat opposite the Duchessa and pulling
the carriage door closed with a click.
 
It was dim inside.
 
The pink
lace curtains filtered the light into a speckled pattern upon her naked
skin.
 
The Duchessa sat unmoving,
her face frozen in a statuesque half-smile. Amelia felt her eyes upon her,
running over her flesh, examining her body.

“So Nightshade, is that what they are calling you now?”

“Yes Mistress…my trio.” Amelia fiddled with the blossoms
in her hair absently.
 
She felt that
the Duchessa’s eyes were actually caressing her now, running upon her skin the
way warm water might run, leaving no space untouched, finding every deep and
hidden recess.
 
She had never been
looked at like this.

“Yes…a good trio.
 
The best, actually.
 
I made
sure of it Little Bird.
 
Little
Nightshade.”
 
The Duchessa moved for
the first time now, reaching into a chamber to her right and drawing out a
decanter filled with wine.
 
She began
to pour the ruby-colored liquid into a metal goblet. “Can I interest you in
some wine?”
 
She handed the goblet
to Amelia without waiting for an answer.
 
The Duchessa was someone that was not accustomed to having her
suggestions turned aside, politely or no.