Hazel shook her head again, much more firmly, remembering how he had told her that he would pierce her nipples if he was her Master.
Giselle pouted, then giggled, “No? Well, maybe not.” She paused and tilted her head to one side. “He certainly tied you tightly enough. Did he gag you before he...well, you know?”
Two spots of colour rose in Hazel’s cheeks, but she knew Giselle wasn’t trying to embarrass her.
The dark haired slave simply wanted to know so that when her turn came, there wouldn’t be too many nasty surprises in store for her.
When she nodded, Giselle smiled ruefully, not at all surprised and reached her hand towards the gag sealing Hazel’s lips.
Somehow, without either girl knowing quite how it happened, Giselle’s fingers missed their intended target and cradled Hazel’s right breast instead.
Hazel shivered involuntarily, giving a muffled gasp as instantaneous arousal flared in her body and Giselle snatched her hand back, her face scarlet as she realised what she had done.
“Oh. Oh, Hazel. I’m so sorry. I...I never meant to do that.” Giselle was mortified. “It was an accident. I’m not like that, really I’m not.”
Hazel knew that was true. She and Giselle had often spent whole nights together, both naked and neither had ever done more than cuddle the other for mutual warmth and support.
She was certain that Giselle’s touch was nothing more than an accidental expression of sympathy for her...but, accidental or not, the damage was done.
The spot where Giselle’s fingers had touched her burned like a furnace and Hazel could not help but want more.
She shook her head urgently, then bobbed it downwards towards her naked breasts, her eyes speaking volumes as she did her best to tell her slave sister what she wanted.
Giselle frowned uncomprehendingly, then her brow cleared as she finally understood the message.
“Hazel?” she began uncertainly, “Are you trying to tell me that...that you want me to touch you?”
That was exactly what Hazel wanted and she nodded firmly, her belly churning in anticipation.
“Well, Okay, then, if you’re sure. But we’ll have to be quick.”
Hazel nodded again, her desire overwhelming.
Giselle hesitated, then as Hazel gazed pleadingly into her eyes, sent her hands racing to the redhead’s quivering breasts.
Vastly experienced in the subjugation of slaves by virtue of her own numerous and total submissions at the hands of Masters, Giselle knew well how to inflict maximum arousal on a female captive and Hazel squealed in ecstasy, her belly on fire as the brunette’s busy fingers rolled and twirled her sensitive nipples.
In seconds, her passion reached its peak and she was propelled into a gasping, shuddering orgasm as Giselle’s fingers penetrated her body, sinking deep into the slick channel of her sex to trigger explosive contractions and scalding pulses of love juices as she climaxed powerfully.
Sharing Hazel’s obvious pleasure as she enjoyed the climax she had longed for so fervently, Giselle smiled warmly into the redhead’s grateful eyes...but then began to worry, remembering that they had both been ordered to serve dinner to the hotel guests.
The Masters might notice the delay in their arrival and be displeased, and displeased Masters were a thing that wise slave-girls worked hard to avoid.
She hurried to the rear of the “X” frame and unbuckled the straps holding Hazel captive, supporting her as her numbed limbs threatened to collapse beneath her.
“We must hurry, Hazel,” she said urgently, releasing her gag and pulling it from her jaws. Hazel nodded, stretching her limbs and jaws to speed her recovery.
“Yes, Giselle, I know. Just a few more seconds and I’ll be ready.”
Hazel climbed to her feet, wincing, then reached forward and hugged her companion tenderly.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you very much,” Hazel repeated as she kissed the brunette’s soft lips.
Giselle flushed, then returned the kiss willingly, her naked body pressed against Hazel’s. “It was my pleasure,” she whispered, “Perhaps you will do as much for me one day, when I am helpless and in need.”
Hazel nodded, “I will, Giselle. I promise.”
The two girls broke apart unwillingly, each aware that they had shared something important and that their relationship had become significantly deeper.
But they had no time to ponder on its meaning, for the Masters were waiting.
Together, they scurried from the dungeon and raced through the hotel and into the kitchen, going immediately to their knees and hoping that their lateness would not earn them punishment.
Luckily for them, their Masters were fully occupied in adding the finishing touches to the superb gourmet meal they had prepared for their guests and seemed to have noticed nothing amiss.
“Ah, there you are. Good. Put your aprons on, we’re almost ready.”
Minutes later, a loaded serving dish in one hand and serving utensils in the other, Hazel and Giselle walked gracefully into the dining room.
Nine pairs of eyes turned to watch their progress and the two slaves blushed as one, intensely aware that their breasts were bare and that the miniscule black and white aprons they wore about their waists, were barely adequate to conceal their sexes.
In addition, the aprons were cut away at the back, hiding their buttocks not at all, the rounded globes of their bottom cheeks displayed for all to see...and to fondle or slap as each guest chose.
Conceived in the fertile brains of Miles and Anton, the flimsy costumes hid little, revealed much and invited the attention for which they were clearly designed.
At first, unfamiliarity held the guests in check and it was not until both the first and main courses had been served and consumed and several different wines sampled that the group of diners began to relax.
Inevitably, perhaps, it was deCastillo who broke the tension.
With both hands full of dishes and cutlery, Hazel was just clearing his table when his hand slid over her buttocks.
She jerked in surprise, dishes clattering loudly in the quietness, but knew that if she tried to rebuke him or pull away from his hand, both he and her Masters would be displeased and punish her.
The clatter of dishes had attracted everyone’s attention and she could feel their eyes on her bottom as his fingers slowly kneaded her cheeks.
deCastillo chuckled, “Hello again, my hot little slave. Have you cooled down yet, or do you still want me to give you some more climaxes?”
Hazel’s face burned a bright red, but she had been asked a direct question and knew she must answer. “No, s...Sir,” she whispered, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her.
“No, Sir, what?” he demanded cruelly, “Speak up, slave.”
“No, Sir, I...I don’t need any more cl...climaxes.”
“I don’t believe you, slave,” he grinned and his extended middle finger pressed firmly at the tight ring of her anal passage.
Hazel moaned in anguish, tensing her buttocks, her shame unbearable.
“Relax your muscles, slave,” he commanded casually. “And bend forward a little.”
There was nothing she could do and with a stifled sob, Hazel obeyed, her clenched buttocks loosening.
His finger slipped into her bottom and her eyes filled with hot tears as he shamed her in front of the other watching guests
She tried desperately not to wriggle as his finger moved within her, but she was a trained slave-girl, conditioned to respond and could not prevent her buttocks from pressing back against his hand as he aroused her.
After a minute or so, which felt like a lifetime to Hazel, he removed his finger. “Carry on, slave,” he ordered and sat back in his chair, grinning broadly.
From that moment, the atmosphere in the dining room altered dramatically.
For the worse as far as Hazel and Giselle were concerned.
Giselle, at Miss Davies’ table, received a stinging smack on her bare bo
ttom for dropping a fork as she was clearing up...and her involuntary squeal of shock earned her a second, which she very wisely endured in silence.
When Hazel, her face still burning with humiliation, moved on to clear the table after deCastillo’s, she found herself the subject of conversation of a couple in their late thirties, complete strangers who had arrived after she had been taken away to the dungeon that afternoon.
“Her muscle tone looks pretty good,” the woman was saying as Hazel came to their table.
“Hmm. Not bad,” the man agreed. “Not as good as yours, of course. But, what about her wind? It’s no good if she runs out of stamina, now is it?”
“No, of course not, my love. Miles said she’s been doing a fair bit of running, though, so she should be all right.”
“Well, it’s easy enough to prove. A run around the grounds will show me, one way or the other. Come here, girl. Turn around and spread your legs.”
Hazel’s eyes widened to the arrogant ring of authority in the man’s voice, but ingrained obedience had her in the required position before she had time to even think about arguing.
Strong male hands ran over her calves and up her thighs and she shivered as the woman asked, “What do you think, then? Is she up to scratch?”
The man grunted, “Possibly. I’ll give her a run out tomorrow. See how she responds to the bit and the whip.”
Hazel whimpered and instinctively edged away, her brain quailing as she realised just what their conversation was really about.
“Stand still,” the command cracked out like a whiplash. Hazel froze, terrified by the icily controlled anger in his voice and her own racing thoughts.
“Disobedient little mare,” the man snapped, confirming Hazel’s fears. “You’d better not try that tomorrow, or I’ll whip the hide off you.”
The woman chuckled softly and reached out to pat Hazel’s naked rump, just as if she was a real horse. “Don’t worry, pony-girl. His bark is much worse than his bite. As long, that is, as you do exactly what the reins tell you. If you don’t, well I’m sure I don’t have to remind you what a coach whip feels like, do I?”
Hazel’s shudder answered the question far more clearly than any words. The woman chuckled again, “No, I thought not. Just obey and work hard and you’ll be fine.”
“She’d better work hard,” the man was still annoyed and gave a hard slap to Hazel’s right buttock. “I wouldn’t mind putting a few stripes on her.”
“You never do,” the woman grinned. “You’ve put quite a few on me, in your time.”
The man laughed. “I’ve had my moments,” he admitted cheerfully, “Not that you didn’t deserve them at the time, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” the woman’s smile robbed her words of any offence. “Far be it from you to redden a pony-girl’s bottom just for the pleasure of it.”
He laughed again and wagged a finger in mock threat. “You’d best be careful, my love or I might decide to harness you and her as a pair and then it might be your bottom that I redden.”
The woman reached across and kissed his finger delicately. “You don’t hear me arguing, do you, darling?” she said as she gave him a dazzling smile.
He looked into her eyes for a long moment. “No,” he said, “I don’t.”
Listening to the by-play between the pair, Hazel wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. It seemed as though the woman had once been a pony-girl herself and was not averse to being one again, even though she was now clearly free and an equal partner with the man.
To Hazel, it seemed a crazy thing for the woman to do.
Once she allowed herself to be put in harness, she would be unable to speak or resist the man’s wishes and would be subject to the whip and the bit, just like any other pony-girl.
It suddenly dawned on Hazel that perhaps that was the attraction.
Perhaps if a woman was free and had a partner she loved and trusted, the excitement might lie in offering herself as a defenceless, harnessed animal, to be used as he saw fit.
Even whipped and punished if she failed to obey or please him.
As a slave and pony-girl, Hazel had no freedom of choice, no say in what happened to her, but a free woman had options and could, if she wished, decide to enhance her own pleasure and that of her partner, by volunteering to become his obedient pony-girl and allowing him to act out what would be their shared fantasy.
Safe in the knowledge that it was only a fantasy and that her subjugation was only temporary, the thrill of submission to his dominance and his whip would be wonderfully exciting for them both and Hazel felt a distinct pang of envy as she imagined the sheer luxury of being able to choose to submit of her own free will, rather than being forced to do so by ruthless Masters.
All these thoughts raced through Hazel’s mind in seconds and she was brought back to reality as the woman asked, “So then, darling, do you want a running mate for her tomorrow, or not?”
“Oh, yes, I think so,” he replied cheerfully. “That way, if she gets tired, I’ll have a spare pony to pull us both all the way back, won’t I?”
“Ha. Fat chance.” she snorted, her eyes sparkling with laughter, but then she blushed prettily as he reminded her. “But you will be in harness, my sweet. And if I decide to make you pull us both, then you will have to, won’t you?”
The woman looked across at him and gave another beaming smile, “Hmm. Well, if you put it that way, I suppose I will.”
His eyes gleamed with pleasure, “Good. Then that’s settled. All right, pony-girl, on your way.” He gave Hazel a brisk slap across her bottom as she collected their used dishes.
Hazel’s mind whirled as she walked back to the kitchen.
In the morning, she would be harnessed and put through her paces by a man who was clearly familiar with pony-girls and her belly quivered with nervous excitement and arousal.
She thought she was fit, but what if she wasn’t fit enough?
Engrossed in her concerns, she met Giselle.
“Hey. Guess what?” Giselle said. “The couple on table four are newly-weds. He’s brought her here on honeymoon. He says that it’s just a bit of fun he wanted her to see, but I don’t believe it. I think he wants his new wife to be his slave-girl and is using the hotel and us to soften her up. He even made me display for them, right there at the table. And he wanted her to touch me.”
Hazel was shocked out of her own worries by Giselle’s story. “Did she do it?” she gasped.
“No, thank goodness,” Giselle replied, “I think she wishes she wasn’t here at all, but she can’t very well run off, can she? It’s her honeymoon and they’re booked in for a fortnight. I’ve got to serve them breakfast in bed tomorrow and I’m sure he’s going to try to persuade her again. I suppose he thinks that if she gets used to seeing slave-girls obeying, she’ll be more likely to agree to become one. I don’t know, maybe he’s right. Anyway, what about you?”
“I’ve got two pony-girl fans,” Hazel said glumly. “They’re taking me out tomorrow.”
“Oh-oh,” Giselle commiserated, “And I thought I had problems.”
“We both have,” Hazel agreed. “And there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Unfortunately for the two worried slaves, Hazel was absolutely correct...as they soon learned.
Chapter Eight
Hazel and Giselle had spent the night locked in Giselle’s room, discussing the possibilities for the coming day for hours, eventually agreeing on the inevitable conclusion that they would just have to wait and see what happened.
As a result, neither had slept very well and had awoken early.
Hearing their Master moving around, they exchanged somewhat unconvincing assurances that the other had nothing to worry about, then knelt in silence to await his orders...worrying.
They were then sent their separate ways, Hazel to the stables and Giselle to collect the breakfast she was to deliver to the honeymooners in their suite, Anton jovially reminding her to be sure to knock before
going into the room.
Walking down to the ground floor side by side, tethering chains clinking, they reached the point where their paths separated.
“Good luck, Hazel,” Giselle whispered and kissed her quickly on the lips.
“Thanks,” Hazel replied, equally quietly. “I hope it goes well for you, too.” She took a deep breath and walked off in the direction of the stable.
Giselle watched her until she disappeared through a doorway, then turned and made her way to the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, balancing a steaming tray in one hand, Giselle tapped gently on the door of the newly-weds’ suite.
The door swung open to reveal the man, unshaven, his hair tousled, in a pair of pyjama bottoms, his broad chest and muscular shoulders showing that he kept himself in good physical shape.
“Good morning, Sir,” Giselle greeted him. “I have brought you breakfast as you ordered.”
His brown eyes swept over her nudity and he gave a slow smile. “Morning, slave-girl. Come in and take the tray into the bedroom. It smells delicious and I’m starving.”
Giselle moved forward and as he closed the door behind her, he called out, “Breakfast is here, Moira.”
His wife’s reply was indistinguishable, lost in the hiss of shower jets as she bathed.
“Put the tray down there and then kneel at the end of the bed. I’ll go and hurry Moira up a bit.”
He waited until Giselle obeyed his instruction and his eyes glittered as she arched her spine and crossed her wrists at the small of her back in the display position of a slave.
“That’s very nice,” he said softly, drinking in the taut curves of her breasts and the shadowy valley between her parted thighs. “Very nice indeed. Hold that position, I’ll be back in a minute.”
He walked off into the bathroom and Giselle grinned wryly as she heard a shrill squeak and a half-hearted protest, immediately followed by a woman’s partially stifled laughter.
Moira and her new husband must be together in the shower, playing newly-wed games and as Giselle visualised his hands roaming over Moira’s wet, soapy body, she felt an immediate arousal warm her belly.
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