Learning the Ropes (3 page)

Jenny trembled again, but this time due to ire. The man was insufferable. He was also mind-bogglingly handsome, clever, and had the most amazing finger prowess. It was he who was making her body perform strange sexual cartwheels, not this farcical pony set-up. It had to be.
Liar
, an inner voice wheedled, agreeing with Mark. Even her inner voice was on his side, it seemed.

'Calm down, Peaches,' said Daniel in a firm voice from the back of the room, and it was evident that the pony was getting a firm hand and a stiff brush.

Daniel had begun to use the curry comb, giving Peaches circular sweeps of the brush to loosen the mud and dirt that had become engrained on her skin. He paid particular attention to her buttocks, which had picked up more than their fair share of muck, and his free hand occasionally tweaked the leather straps between her legs. His pony threw back her head in evident enjoyment. He worked with an efficient, practised hand and it wasn't long before the stiff-bristled dandy brush was in his grasp. Working with firm flicks of his wrist, Peaches' body began to glow a light pink all over. Shaking her mane and neighing excitedly, it was clear she was revelling in his attention.

When the body brush came out, with its softer bristles and gentler motion, Peaches was a different pony and you could almost hear purring sounds. Her mane and tail were slowly combed to perfection and coated with a liberal misting of hairspray. It made her hair gleam. Daniel finished by using a small sponge to wipe her face clean and another for her groin area, dipping it frequently in a bucket of tepid water.

The whole process had taken about twenty minutes. Daniel appeared to be wearing the same uniform as Mark and, amazingly, hadn't managed to get a speck of dirt upon his white riding breeches or over his boots. A seasoned professional, it seemed. Jenny also noted, rather sourly, that here was yet another attractive male, this time with cropped red hair and cerulean blue eyes. He had a muscular, athletic build and an easy smile. It was all right for him, he had plenty to smile about, thought Jenny. Smiling was nigh on impossible for her, and a grimace would have been more appropriate in any case.

Thinking of facial expressions made her realise how much her jaw was beginning to ache, uncomfortably full with the rubber ball gag. It didn't taste particularly pleasant, either, but the worst thing was being unable to swallow. It meant she dribbled like a baby. As another line of dribble formed down her chin she shook her head madly to get rid of it, but the stubborn drool refused to budge. She eyed Mark's trousers thoughtfully.

'You even think of wiping that mess on me and I promise you won't be able to sit on your ass for at least a week,' he said threateningly and with menace. Mark knew exactly what the girl had been thinking. She got the message and quickly looked away. This trainee was easier to read than Goldilocks. Little did she know she'd be unable to sit down for a good deal more than a week, partly due to a lot of enthusiastic spanking or cropping, and partly due to the fact that she was a horse and horses didn't sit.

'Dungeon next on your list by any chance?' said Daniel, trying for an innocent smile and failing miserably.

'After a visit to the Red Room I think it might be appropriate,' he replied, his eyes flashing with devilish intent.

'Nice. I hope she likes all the colours
that
room has to offer,' Daniel replied, his smile reaching from ear to ear.

Jenny hadn't a clue what they were going on about. Red Room? Was the furniture red, or perhaps the walls? Nothing would surprise her at the moment. This place seemed to get stranger and stranger the longer she was here, which wouldn't be too much longer with any luck. Time couldn't go quickly enough in her opinion. Tomorrow morning would dawn soon enough, she supposed. For the time being she could toe the line, or the
rope
as it were.

The Red Room

Jenny found herself grumbling again. Her hair was dusting the floor. The ebony ends were picking up all manner of dirt and becoming a rather unpleasant shade of chalky-white. She spent a lot of time in the salon to keep her hair in tip-top condition and here she was crawling on it and rubbing it into the filthy concrete. While she was on the subject of woes, she had another one to add to the list. She had broken a nail. Her perfectly manicured, French-polished nails were now nine in number. It was unacceptable. She needed a shower, some food, a drink and, oh, some
clothes
would be nice! When did they stop playing ponies around here? What time was horsie-knock-off-go-and-get-some-rest time? Somewhere there was a hotel bed with her name on it and she dearly wanted the use of it.

When they neared the Red Room and Mark ushered her inside, Jenny found herself immediately disappointed. It didn't have a red door. It didn't have red walls and it didn't have red furniture. There wasn't even a red floor or a red pair of curtains in sight. The floor was, thankfully, made of wood once more and her burning knees said a prayer of thanks as they sank into the cold, varnished surface gratefully. She could feel tiny pebbles of concrete beginning to embed themselves in her skin and wondered when she'd be allowed back on two feet.

Looking around, she had to wonder why it had been called The Red Room. The paint was a boring shade of magnolia and the furniture, if it could be called that, was utilitarian steel. There were steel posts, steel frames complete with metal cuffs, steel blocks in varying sizes and a long steel table. They were obviously going for the 'wipe-clean' look, thought Jenny wryly. There were only two things of real interest in the room. One was that it was covered in mirrors. Some reached from floor to ceiling, some were framed and gilded exquisitely, others were plain or even mosaic in style. The overall effect was that the room fairly sparkled with light and colour. The second thing was a black, Murano glass chandelier, hanging in the middle of the room in massive splendour, dripping large, diamond-shaped crystals.

Mark watched as Jenny's face stared at the ceiling and appeared awe-struck. The Red Room had that effect on people. It was spectacular at night, as well as in daylight, when the mirrors caught the facets of the hundred or so gems that quivered in the slightest breeze. He knew she had no idea what the steel furniture was for and he also knew that in about twenty minutes his trainee would wish she'd never been born. He didn't feel sorry for her. Life was all about the journey and she was going to get a mind-blowing ride for the next few weeks.

Pulling a penknife out of his pocket, he flicked the blade and had to bite his tongue as she drew in a breath of fear, watching its reflection shimmer across the multitude of mirrored surfaces.

'There's no point in me saying I'm not going to hurt you, because in a few minutes, believe me I am. If there's one thing in pony-land you can count on, it's the fact that I never lie.' He watched her carefully. He wanted to see her reaction. She didn't move, she didn't lower her eyes and, interestingly, she didn't make a sound. Was she planning to fight him? That would be a first. 'Relax; you can breathe easy for now. The knife will be used to cut your ropes, nothing more.'

Jenny's breath was coming in shallow gasps and her fear was palpable, but when faced with the fight-or-flight response, she would have fought. Tied and crippled as she was, she would have gone down all guns blazing. It was an insane thought. He was bigger, had a knife and, most importantly, had proper use of all of his limbs. Before she had a chance to examine her thoughts further, the knife began to cut a rapid path through the mountain of rope that covered her. Strand by strand and thread by thread, the thick rope was severed. It scattered over the wooden floor below her in a sea of worm-like ribbons. When it finally unravelled to reveal the skin of her knees and elbows, Jenny found herself gasping. The rope had scorched her delicate skin. What was once silky-smooth and milky-white was now fiery red, grazed and inflamed. With her skin wrecked in such a fashion, she wouldn't be able to go out clubbing for weeks. Long-sleeved tops and trousers would be her new wardrobe for the foreseeable future. She managed to push the lid back on her temper, but it was simmering and bubbling dangerously. Horsie-land was becoming all a little bit too much for her.

Mark worked efficiently but carefully and the penknife did not once touch her skin. In a matter of seconds she was free. He also released the collar from her neck, giving her a chance to flex her muscles for a few minutes, knowing she would be stiff and sore. They were on an even playing field now and at this stage in the game they needed that, if only for a few seconds. Judging by the earlier look she was after payback, and it was time for her to find out who was boss.

'I suspect you're wondering why it's called the Red Room,' he said, running his hand through the short, immaculate spikes of his hair. 'It's to do with the colour your backside will be when I've finished with you in here. Each and every pony in this facility has their backside whipped, smacked or cropped at least once a day. That way, your trainer need only apply the lightest of touches to your rump and you will rush to do their bidding. If they decide to give you a tap with the crop it will send a lightning jolt of sensation throughout your body because your flesh will be incredibly tender. It will also help to keep you aroused throughout the day, which is an important part of being a world-class pony girl, and that's what we do here at Albrecht. So, let's get started. Hop up on the table.'

Jenny stared at him. Had he just asked her to prepare herself for a spanking?

'I suggest you start on all fours and dip your head forward onto your hands and push that beautiful backside up and outwards for me. Show me how much you'd like that delicate little tush to be spanked.'

Mark didn't bother to acknowledge the seething look of hatred on Jenny's face. He concentrated his focus on the table, slowly relaxed every part of his body and silently counted to ten.

He only made it to number three before she flew at him.

Jenny was on two legs in a matter of seconds. They didn't cooperate as they should, her calves cramping instantly, but it didn't matter. Adrenaline succeeded where bodily functions failed. Her hands made claw shapes, nails flew at his face and a knee aimed for his groin. She didn't play nice. The only thing missing was her teeth, which would have sunk into his flesh. Fighting harder than she'd ever fought in her life she kicked, punched, pummelled and scratched. The urge to have him suffer under her hands was strong and the anger that devoured her was fresh and sharp.

Later she would question the emotion she felt in that room, over and over again. Unbelievably she would admit to herself that even had the chance to kill him presented itself, she wouldn't have been able to do it. It wasn't because she wasn't capable of the deed; with the circumstances she found herself in she would have felt vindicated had she extinguished his life. No, there was something about Mark that wouldn't have let her seriously hurt him and she adamantly refused to examine that.

As it was, no such opportunity presented itself. She found herself flat on her back nearly as soon as her attack began and by the look in his eyes, which were black and murderous, he had no such compunctions about killing her. Having been sharply winded as she hit the floor she now found a large hand circling the contours of her neck.

At first he pressed softly, restricting her airflow little by little. Jenny hardly noticed initially, unable to breathe as a result of her harsh fall. As the pressure continued her eyes began to bulge in their sockets, but movement was impossible. He had pinioned her with his large body and she didn't have enough energy left to dislodge him. To distract her further his free hand found the wet, sticky folds of her labia and began to stroke them. Soft, gentle, fluttery strokes that made her body want to reach up and greet them.

Jenny couldn't fight him, she could barely inhale. The attack by his fingers was merciless. They flowed from pussy to clit and dipped and dived with wicked precision, one moment gently caressing, the next pumping and drilling vigorously. His other hand kept tightening its hold around her neck, pressing more firmly, degree by degree. Jenny wouldn't have been able to breathe even if he relaxed his hold, as arousal had begun to overwhelm her with a sudden intensity that was terrifying. The man was slowly beginning to squeeze the life out of her and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Upon discovering he was serious in his intent the onset of panic was swift. This man was going to hurt her. His dark look said he had every intention of doing so and those expert fingers had apparently practised this type of thing before. What sort of sexual deviants did they employ here? The staff were completely insane! Fingers clamped over her windpipe and began to press, crushing and bruising her fragile airway with frightening speed. It wasn't long before she became lightheaded with lack of oxygen and all she could do was watch while those dark brown eyes bored into hers. Was he going to kill her?

Black spots danced before her eyes. Still his fingers plied her clit, driving her body to planes unknown. She was going to orgasm and then die, without making a single sound of protest. Absurdly, she wondered if she'd enjoy the experience. What a way to go! Her body was on fire, each neuron shooting her to new sexual heights. It was going to be the most amazing climax. His eyes locked onto hers and held them mesmerised. When Jenny thought her lungs were finally about to burst, the air in her body having become unbearably and painfully compressed, he suddenly released the pressure against her throat and tore the gag from her mouth.

Jenny coughed and spluttered uncontrollably. Rolling over to ease the pressure on her lungs, each breath she desperately sucked in was sheer agony. Curling into a tight little ball, a single tear fought its way down her cheek.

'Breathable air is such an important commodity, wouldn't you agree?'

Utter bastard, she thought, her body shaking terribly as tears began to pour.

There was a moment of silence before Mark spoke. 'Never let them see you cry, Jenny,' he whispered gently, his face still inches from hers. 'No matter what they do, refuse to let them have your tears. That is all you have left here and some days, that might be all that keeps you sane.' In a matter of seconds he had firmly dispelled the lovesick look. She was never going to look at him in quite the same light again. Good. They'd work better together, having got that much out of the way.