Learning the Ropes (6 page)

When a side door swung open she could only be grateful for the pause in Mark's attentions. The room it revealed was small, but brightly lit and her eyes immediately focused on a rectangular wooden frame. It featured two rollers at either end, a ratchet wheel and a series of levers and pulleys. Jenny had seen one such device before. It was called a rack and it was a medieval torture device, one of which was housed in the Tower Of London. She'd visited on a school trip some years before and had actually listened to the tour guide when he described what it was used for. Victims were chained and stretched, bit by bit, until their joints dislocated and eventually separated. Once the muscle fibres had been stretched to such an excessive degree they lost their ability to contract and were rendered useless. Due to the amount of pain it placed its victim in, it had been recorded as one of the most gruesome torture devices of medieval history. Was this what they did to errant trainees here? The blood in her body flooded downwards, and shaking violently, she fainted.

Seeing Jenny's limp form plastered against the horse, Mark swore. 'Well, there goes your last orgasm for the foreseeable future.' The door which had just opened mysteriously was supposed to be kept locked at all times. The gentleman who owned the Albrecht Stables was a collector in antiquities and the contents of that room were worth a fortune. The origins of the rack dated back to Roman times and it was rather appropriately named
Equuleus
, or
Young Horse
. Needless to say it was never actually used. Some trainees might have been terrorised on occasion, but none had ever actually been strapped to the device. It wouldn't have made any difference if they had; the thing was missing several important chains and was so old that any weight upon it would probably send it crashing to the floor.

'Out!' he bellowed.

A pony girl, dressed from head to toe in a rubberised French maid outfit, slowly shuffled out. Her head was down and the black feather duster gagging her mouth trembled violently.

'Between the posts and make sure your back is to me,' he ordered with a touch of menace in his voice. She complied quickly.

Mark waged a personal war with himself. Admiring the delightful backside of the pony girl in front of him, all glistening black rubber with no exposed flesh bar a cut-out for her ass and pussy, he could quite happily have taught her a lesson or two. His cock needed something tight and wet to sink into, and as her tail wobbled precariously he thought that he might enjoy taking each and every hole her body possessed with rough abandon. Damn, how much did he need a hard fuck right now? Alas, he also had a date with the Riding School Staff, who had been summoned to help with Jenny's punishment outside in the pillory block. Swearing once more he grabbed two aspirins from his pocket and let them dissolve on his tongue. Releasing Jenny from the restraints he hoisted her over his shoulder and winced. At least the stone steps would be a good warm-up for later.

His last parting words to the still trembling pony were, 'Mistress Katrina will be with you soon.' He didn't need to say anything else.

Punished, Displayed and Tormented

Jenny couldn't seem to wake up, even though someone was pleasantly wrapping their hands around her body. It was nothing new. She was often in bed until mid-afternoon and the household staff knew better than to wake her. She tried to peel her eyes open, but for some reason they weren't cooperating. No matter, it was probably just some guy she'd brought home last night chancing his luck. She rolled over to get away from him and found herself firmly stuck in place. The jerk was probably hogging half the bed. Trying to raise a hand to brush him away, she found she couldn't do that either. Her eyes began blinking rapidly and still there was nothing to see, total blackness engulfing her. Panicking now, she began to scream for help, only to find her mouth drier than a Saudi Arabian bar and something wedged between her teeth. Damn it, had someone gone kinky on her while they were sleeping? Opening her mouth to scream blue murder, she began to wrench her body frantically to and fro.

'Breathe.'

His mellifluous voice, saying just that one word, was enough to make her body clench and as she felt the metal ball embedded deep inside her and the hook tormenting her clit as she moved, everything came rushing back.

'Wot ave ou un iv ee?' As Jenny couldn't even understand the garbled mess she'd just uttered, it would be a miracle if Mark did.

'You're blindfolded and being readied for a little village entertainment, so to speak. Now we're dealing with swearing
and
the stolen credit card in one foul swoop. It's going to be a bitch. Start preparing yourself.'

Oh, fabulous. What now? Two feathers? The next thing she knew his fingers were pressing two small cubes towards the back of her mouth, over the rubber bit.

'It's sugar. Suck. You're going to get very good at sucking all manner of things shortly, so think of it as practice.'

The man was an arrogant twerp. Little did he know she was already very good at sucking 'things'. She loved watching the expression on her partner's face while she gave oral, loved to see them squirm beneath her, hear their breath catch and watch their eyes as they tried to hold back from orgasm. They were always desperate to impress the little rich girl, be introduced to Daddy and his empire, oh, and a million or so other reasons.

Mark watched her body shake before her mouth dipped in an expression of distaste, but she obediently sucked at the sugar cubes. Hopefully they'd spike her blood sugar enough to get her through the next hour or so, because she was going to need all the help she could get. Fainting wouldn't save her out here, quite the opposite in fact. It would just serve to enrage the villagers, who would employ even more devious punishments in order to keep her awake.

What Jenny had assumed were hands upon her body turned out to be a wide brush. It was painting something up the backs of her thighs, something wet and sticky. Something wet, sticky and tingling. Scrap that. Something wet, sticky and
burning
. She yelled through her bit.

'It's sugar syrup and tea-tree oil, amongst other things. It's going to sting. But you're a tough cookie, going by your performance in the Red Room, so it's nothing you can't handle.'

To distract herself from death by essential oil, Jenny tried to think about a new nickname for Mark. If she was going to have a horsie-horsie name, then he could have a suitable one from her vocabulary.
Spartacus
, perhaps? The Romans were notorious for their ingenious slave tortures. He'd look rather good in a gladiator costume, too.

The sticky concoction was pungent and assailed her nostrils. It worked its way up her legs and stopped short of her backside. It was then applied to her back, neck, arms, stomach and chest.

'Brace yourself,' he warned in a loud voice.

Jenny heard several snickers in the background, which was the first alert she had to the presence of others. How many were there? What was going to happen here? Panic welled within her, tightening and fluttering inside her belly like a thousand moths, all fighting for a source of light that would never materialise. Stop this, she cursed herself, and do as the man says. Breathe. Deeper. Much deeper. She would be rescued shortly. She just needed to get through the next few hours. She concentrated on her bindings and what she could make out of her surroundings, hoping it might help her to calm down. She took another deep breath.

When the syrup was applied to her backside, Jenny had a fight upon her hands to censor a sharp scream. She couldn't help an involuntary wobble of her hips and then another. Her backside was on fire. The astringent paste produced such scorching heat that standing still was nigh on impossible. There were a few more giggles within the crowd. How humiliating. Her backside was now rocking to and fro and there was little she could do about it. Concentrate, Jenny, she berated herself. It was time to try and analyse her surroundings.

A heavy black blindfold covered her eyes. It was tight to her face and not even a chink of light escaped to filter inside its dark folds. That was sight taken care of. Trying to feel for her ankles, she moved them to and fro, finding that movement was restricted to around half an inch. Rotating them around, she felt a thick circle imprisoning each, but they were at least a metre apart, so her legs were spread wide and her sex exposed. Wriggling her hands, fingers and trying to move her neck, she found them all enclosed in a similar fashion. The thick collar had been removed because she could move her neck. Both knees and the backs of her feet were on the floor, pressed into what felt like grass. So, that meant she was probably outside and in a set of stocks, similar to the ones she had seen in the dungeon. Her back was at a ninety degree angle to the ground and for the umpteenth time that day she felt lust, intense and intoxicating, course through her. What was it about being restrained and peeled open that incited such longing within her body? She felt like an overripe peach, about to burst open with the delicious taste of late summer. Trying not to think about the growing state of her arousal, she decided to be grateful that Spartacus had omitted to paint her nether regions.

When Mark had finished his masterpiece, he stood behind her and surveyed his work of art with pride. She was stunningly beautiful. Her deliciously pink ass cheeks quivered as she fought to control the prickle of the oil seeping into her skin. Her sex was prominently on display and glistening like the sun's reflection on a calm, deep blue ocean. Her whole body gleamed like a freshwater pearl.

He mused that the life of a submissive would not suit her, but there was no question that it set her on fire. If she was left here for too long, it was quite possible that one of the trainers would break her. He'd seen it happen. Losing the ability to talk and your free will proved exceptionally hard for some, and he had a feeling she'd be one of them. She'd been spoilt and coddled to such a degree that this little interlude would mess with her head. If he was honest, he felt a tiny bit sorry for her. Yes, she was a little horror and could do with being put in her place, but there were other ways to go about it. He made a mental note to try and keep her sane while she was here. Usually he only made it up to the stables a couple of days a week, but a few minutes with her on those days would be enough, he hoped. Seeing such spirit broken would be a travesty of justice. Redcliff was an utter devil for sending his daughter here. What was the old guy thinking? Finally, containing his thoughts for the moment, he decided to stand back and allow the games to begin, whispering, 'Courage,' in her ear before he silently slipped into the crowd.

It was all the encouragement they needed. A torrent of raining hands poured down upon her from every angle.

Jenny was immediately swamped with sensation. Some of the hands applying themselves to her tacky skin were gentle and offered smooth strokes with the tips of their fingers. Others, by contrast, were unbearably indelicate, tweaking her tender nipples and kneading her breasts with unnecessary force. Emboldened fingers forced their way past her lips and slipped inside her mouth, fingernails traced patterns all over her inscribed flesh and there were plenty of pinches, nips and squeezes upon the reddened globes of her ass. The fingers weren't in the least bit shy. They delved and dived
everywhere
. They reached under the leather straps of her harness and bridle, rubbing and caressing her oiled skin. Sometimes one, but more often two, plunged inside her pussy, and when they pulled out there was a queue of others waiting to take their place. Sliding down the fold of her buttocks, others skated along the slick surface and twirled themselves around the plug embedded in her ass, pumping it up and down rhythmically to some age-old priapic beat. In the space of a few seconds her body was as hungry as the proverbial wolf, dressed in his woolly sheep outfit.

That wasn't the worst of it. The acidic oil was now being worked into every nook and cranny that the fingers could find entrance to. Mark hadn't needed to apply it to her sex; he had known these people would do his work for him in half the time. It was being worked into her lips, mouth, pasted along her tongue, trailed down her pussy lips and being diligently thrust inside her core at every opportunity. The effect was a slow and all-encompassing agony as the caustic liquid performed its magic. Jenny had started to wriggle and writhe like a woman possessed. She couldn't keep her hips still. Unable to stop herself making lewd, gyrating gestures with her backside, which was swishing to and fro with erratic abandon, she could only pray to be doused in a large bath of ice water. That was how bad the burning sensation had become. Her mouth was filled with scalding heat, her sex was on fire, the tender skin around the butt plug burned and her ass screamed for relief.

'Eeese op,' she screamed through the bit.

The fingers abruptly stopped what they were doing and she was rewarded with a sharp slap to her behind. The pain took her breath away.

'Ponies do not talk,' said a crackling, raspy voice which must have belonged to an old lady.

'Ever,' said a virile-sounding male, and she was given an even heavier slap. Jenny choked around the bit.

'Look at that fancy locket she's wearing,' a young female giggled.

'Where is her tail?' another asked.

There were a few titters and Jenny felt the chain wrenched from her neck. A moment later she felt it being tied and hung over the back of her plug, the locket dangling between her thighs. As she continued to buck her hips to and fro it swung wildly from side to side.

'Prettiest tail I've ever seen,' said an older man.

'Pretty filly for that matter,' said the elderly lady. 'She's going to be in demand. Just look at that hip action!'

'Is it time to let the pony-boys loose?' asked an amused male voice.

'Go on, Dusty,' said the elderly lady. 'Do your thing.'

Jenny didn't think she wanted to know what Dusty's 'thing' was. She heard the sound of tiny, tinkling bells before something pressed itself into her wriggling backside. What on earth? Then there was a long stroke up the inside of her thigh, but not with fingers. It was something soft, something wet. Oh, no! A face was pressed into her behind and it was a tongue licking at her. He administered tiny licks, flicks and swirls as he made his way up her left thigh, stopping tantalisingly shy of her pussy lips. He then began to repeat the process on the other side, again stopping just before he reached the promised zone. Jenny's hip-swaying was increasing in intensity. There were more laughs from the crowd.