Harriet

by Peter Marriner

  Harriet was still moaning when Augusta exceeded her precursor in the expression of pain and horror with her own highly vocal expression of defeat. The Conde himself, reckless of his hand, had snatched the branding iron from his slave and flourished it before the other girl’s face. Augusta had seen exactly what the iron had done to Harriet, watched wholly horrified as a visible wisp of smoke curled up from the plump flesh just as it had done from the leather test piece. Then as the sizzling iron withdrew, she had seen what had been impressed, dark red and angry upon Harriet’s bottom cheek, a deep seared image of a coronet. In consequence the young lady wailed all the time the branding iron was raking to restore its bright degree of heat and her shriek carried round the yard as the red hot iron was planted in its destined place upon her own hitherto flawless rump, searing into her flesh a similar smoking proof of their owner’s noble descent.

  The business of modification was not over. At the Conde’s direction the obsequious slave women shifted the two victims into a new position, this time lying across their respective trestles, with the hard timber in the pit of their bellies, tipped upside down head downwards, with their thighs spread so wide as to be parallel to the ridge of the trestle. Fastened in place with tight strapping at the knees this left their two pussies ludicrously presented for ease of access. Both exhibited a profusion of dark wisps but other than this, the pair were more distinguishable now than the other way up, a difference being evident between Augusta’s tightly virginal pink crevice and Harriet’s well-used red-hued gape.

  The blacksmith, having exchanged his brutal iron for a more delicate instrument something like a shoemaker’s awl, heated the sharp point in the flame of a small spirit lamp. Harriet let out a surprised squeal when, moving in behind her, he nipped the fleshy outer lip of her labia between finger and thumb, drawing it out as far as the elastic flesh would allow. She squealed even more loudly when he drove the red-hot spike through the flesh, but the tightness of her fastenings made her helpless to interfere. Paying no heed to her distress, he shifted his grip, piercing her thrice more before he transferred his attention to the twin flap of flesh on the other side, drawing it out and creating the same quadruple piercing. The Conde proffered a small black case, from which the man extracted one by one, eight C-shaped pieces of gold, which he threaded through the holes he had created, closing them with a pair of pliers and uniting the joint with a small soldering iron. A thin gold chain completed the arrangement, running crosswise through the neatly paired rings like fancy lacing through the eyelets on a lady’s boot, finished off with a small lock that effectively barred sexual access to the orifice within.

  Harriet felt the sharp piercing, the heat of the soldering and the slight drag of the chain, but they were hardly comparable with the solid throb still remaining from the branding iron. The presence of the rings only emphasised the fact that she was under her owner’s control. Augusta, from her own position, could not detect what was happening, but the Conde enlightened her, to the extent of pulling her head up by the hair for her to view the ready needle. In her turn, Augusta endured the same infibulations and soon dangled a similar lock between her thighs.

  Late that afternoon, before the effect of the branding and perforations had wholly subsided, another vehicle arrived in the paved yard. Instead of the phaeton and six, this proved to be a smaller carriage, more toy-like than the sturdy vehicle the black girl-ponies drew, spider-like in its lightness with but a single seat and with harnessing arrangements, as Harriet noted, designed for only a pair of ponies., The two girls were harnessed into this carriage and taken out on exercise to put into practice the technique they had been taught with the larger team.

  That evening the Conde was contemplating a line of black men assembled in the coach house at his orders. They were all huge men, stripped quite naked with bulging muscles that showed they were picked from the field hands, the stout iron rings beast-like round their necks designating them as slaves. They were passing a fat bellied black bottle from hand to hand and there was a warm reek of rum and male arousal in the air. Their expressions regarding the two naked and whip-subdued girls who had been paraded before them were those of men in greedy anticipation of an unusual indulgence, licking their lips and swaggering competitively with much handling of their half-erected penises. Clearly restraint was no more expected of them than it would be from stud stallions presented with a pair of mares to be served. Harriet and Augusta were now just that, human draught beasts being paraded for a prospective mating and their owner examined the men attentively, concentrating upon the dangling black or brown skinned sausages between their legs to choose the one that he judged the largest.

  The man who had been picked was so muscle bound that he lumbered clumsily as he moved to don the huge horse mask resting on the trestle that supported the horizontal shafts of the curricle. Standing with her belly pressed up against the nearest shaft, Harriet heard a deep booming, identifiably human despite its weirdly hollow sound. Eyes slanted sideways towards the sound, she saw an extraordinary figure, naked black human male below, startlingly rampant, and from the shoulders up, a great black horse’s head with red nostrils, flaring eyes and wild mane. For a moment she could hardly connect the two. Fastened by her belt rings to the curricle shaft before her, she could not escape. At her side, she felt the other girl come suddenly alert likewise, shying back and tossing her head with a jingle of chains and buckles, shooting horrified sideways glances past Harriet at the rampant black stallion figure. Instinctively Harriet pressed her thighs very tight and cowered as much as her fastenings would allow, sharing her companion’s alarm. She was as naked and helpless in this harness as Augusta and very conscious of the fineness of the chain that preserved her pubic cleft from invasion.

  The half-beast nodded its wild head towards the pair, then with his great erection swinging menacingly before him, strutted out of sight behind them. Feeling the glare of wild stallion-eyes surveying their naked behinds, the two tethered females shrank forward involuntarily up against the stout shaft, but the two pairs of plump half moons were thrust back haplessly by their posture, ample of curve, deeply cleft, plunging to furry depths, one half moon of each deeply embossed with the Count’s armorial crest. From the rear the Conde’s voice sounded loudly, producing a wail of horror from Augusta that fired Harriet’s fears too. The nobleman had moved in behind his unwanted relative and, with a flourish, fumbled with the lock between her legs. He unshipped the chain and gestured to the stud male

  The man-beast seized Augusta where she cowered against the rail. He held her in position across the rail, hooking his fingers in the ever-useful belt rings and rubbed his enormous cock up and down her vulnerable bottom cleft. Harriet heard Augusta making frantic little whinnying sounds, her upper halves arched and jutted outwards like a ship’s bare-bosomed figurehead well beyond the rail with her reins hanging down slackened into a curve below. As the man-stallion parted the girl’s thighs and thrust vigorously into the gap between the glinting rings, Harriet saw that her companion had lost her footing, her legs kicking with extended toes searching vainly for the floor. She was deprived of all leverage except what the hands and cock of her assailant exacted.

  Stallion-like whinnying boomed in a style eerily transformed within the bowing and tossing horse mask. The hooked fingers held Augusta steady, the stud shifting his feet as he lined himself up. A shriller gasping squeal conveyed her immediate registration of the accuracy of the stallion’s aim. Harriet reared back, eyes wide, unable to look away. Where the masculine belly formed an open triangle with the girl’s parted thighs, the fat mauve knob had almost disappeared from sight, buried just within the lips of her sex, its solid black shaft was still standing fully clear, but poised to thrust with the muscular human haunches visibly bunching to hammer it home. Playing to his master’s tastes, the man-beast rammed in with a stallion-like burst of sound, slamming the unfortunate girl-pony against the creaking coach shaft and producing a sound
half-shriek, half-whinny from her bitted jaws.

  Harriet clenched her thighs at the sound, involuntarily imagining how it would feel, tugging her wrists against their fastenings, jerking her bit against the tethered leading rein until her jaws hurt. There was no question of allowing the unfortunate girl-pony time to assimilate the thing, the brutality of its entry was evidently deliberate; Augusta’s humiliation was intended. With a sidelong gaze Harriet saw the stud bury himself in to the hilt. The slim female body arched in a curve out over the rail, her ripe bottom thrust back, squirming against the male belly as if in tribute to his length and girth. Her high-pitched whinny descended to a quavering groan and then to a succession of gasps, grunts and squeals as her user began to thump in and out, gripping her by the belt-rings and lifting her off her toes at every thump. To render Harriet’s horror complete, she heard the Conde urging his creature on. The girl-pony’s squeals increased in pitch and rhythm as the stud began to stroke faster and faster, making Augusta’s soft bottom-cheeks bounce and jiggle. The Conde shouted again, and the black giant made a visible superhuman effort to slow his runaway pace. He withdrew almost fully from his victim, cock-shaft wet and glistening as it slid into view. Just as slowly he drove back in again. The novice girl-pony groaned, gasped, and whimpered helplessly as what now seemed an inhumanly sustained shaft drove in and out in slow, pulsating rhythm. Several times the man-stallion stopped, displaying his full length of his cock with his pseudo-mare left poised wide-splayed held at the very tip. Harriet saw that the girl was wild-eyed in gasping anticipation. For long-stretched minutes on end, he exerted this ruthless control, giving Augusta an all-engrossing, pitilessly extended fucking.

  The Conde alternately clapped and shouted encouragement or warnings. His lust-driven slave drove, bellowed, heaved, grunted and thrust hard. Suddenly his restraint was gone, as if his master’s savagery had become mere noises off, or else the spasms of reaction that convulsed his victim’s flesh around his intrusion had proved an ungovernable sensation. Trembling at the ferocity of his roar, Harriet huddled in her place at the rail, seeking to shrink away. The stallion head reared upward. The male human body beneath had arched like a bow with every sinew and muscle tautened, as if driving a missile hard into the squealing victim.

  The Conde hissed fiercely. The stud made a swift end and lumbered away, shrunken and discharged, but a second man was summoned up swiftly to replace him. Goaded into action by their master, a succession of vigorously rutting men spent themselves into the groaning, whimpering Augusta until the whole line had been employed and dismissed to celebrate their performances. Left alone, their ranting master now had a damp patch where his white breeches bulged at the front and his face was darkly flushed. The last of the men had left a thread of white dribbling from Augusta’s red and swollen orifice. The Conde examined this, hesitating to her rear for long minutes, and then moved on behind Harriet. She felt the brief rill of unlocked chain running out from her own sex rings and knew she had been unlocked and opened for the randy nobleman to access her, a dishonour she supposed she owed either to fear of incest or perhaps reluctance to follow a black stud.

  They saw nothing of the plantation owner next day until the evening. Then they were taken back to the shed and bent over the trestles once more. Already in a state of high alarm, Harriet saw with a tremor a small black boy who came trotting up was carrying a great sweeping horse-tail almost as dark and glossy, though much longer than that tress of her own that already dangled over her shoulder. The boy was holding the false tail out to his master, gripping it by its root, where it was fixed firmly into one end of a black rubber bung, longer than his hand was wide, and with a thick bulbous flange near the tip.

  The Conde inspected the bung approvingly. It shone greasily at the flanged end and the tail sprang out of the other at a noticeable angle. Leaning over Augusta’s helplessly shrinking flank, he personally parted her whip-reddened bottom cheeks with a finger and thumb. The already apprehensive captive wailed in fear, for having also noted the boy’s arrival, she realised what was intended and where the bung was to go. The female stable hands giggled, but held her tightly down while the Conde’s strong male wrist worked the black bung slowly into Augusta’s resisting anus. She dared a kick once or twice before one of the black women gave her a couple of strokes of the cane across her thighs that put a stop to such attempts. The sound of the crisp smacks were succeeded by a bit-impeded shriek, as the thick flange rammed right home, stoppering Augusta solidly, the glossy tail arching from between her rounded bottom cheeks. With an exclamation of satisfaction the count stood back to admire the effect. Big eyed, Harriet watched Augusta being released from the frame and coaxed to take a few awkward steps. The bung, affected by each tilting movement of her hips, twitched this way and that so that the great tail plume swept in a most natural fashion across the backs of her thighs. The similar but smaller pony tail of Augusta’s own hair arched in similar fashion and swished its length with a silky likeness between her shoulder blades.

  Harriet’s turn came next. The brute screwed hard and Harriet hissed around her bit as the tight muscular ring gave way only slowly before the hard rubber. Pressure eased suddenly as the bung penetrated the barrier and Harriet, thinking that all had been taken in, let her muscles relax with a groan, whereupon it was rammed down hard.

  Adorned in this inhuman fashion they were trotted and walked in the warm, scented, starlit tropical night, learning to adjust to the blockage in their behinds and with Augusta by now thoroughly submissive, doing her full part and pulling well. One of the stable women rode in the little vehicle while the other paced or trotted alongside. Responsive to the reins as well-broken ponies, the captive pair passed and repassed up and down among the orange trees on the far side of the lawns, seeing the front of the plantation house across the grassy expanse with coloured lanterns lit and strung up across the façade. Music drifted to their ears from the brightly lit windows where a mass of horse drawn carriages were slowly cleared away from in front of the sweep of marble steps before the entrance, to be marshalled elsewhere with their drivers to await their owners’ readiness to return.

  Approaching quickly from the house across the grass the Conde, now clad in gold-embroidered silk coat, white breeches and stockings, hailed the waiting two-girl carriage. With an unaccustomed word of approval to the stablewomen, he replaced the driver and took over reins. Followed by the two trotting black women, he set the equipage moving in the direction from which he came. The two human ponies instantly alert to the rein and in terror of his impatient whip, dutifully trotted across the lawn and mounted the wide stone-paved terrace before the house, faltering only a little as they approached the tall windows. The central section had been thrown open, the candlelight spilling out to reveal a short wooden ramp up to its low sill. Attention solely upon the guidance of whip and reins, they trotted up the noisy ramp and, finding another like it descending immediately before them, came pattering rapidly down into a lofty hall lit by innumerable candelabra to be greeted by an introductory fanfare struck up from an orchestra of black musicians at one end.

  Forty or fifty well-dressed people had evidently just broken off from dancing and retreated from the open floor, talking and laughing, the women vigorously flirting fans, to where black slaves were circulating with trays of drinks. There was a visible sensation to which the two naked girl-ponies responded confusedly, disordered by consternation and shame, before being recalled to the necessity of obedience by the admonitory whip and controlling reins. Helpless to rebel, Harriet and her panting companion drew their conveyance in a half circle before the concentrated eyes of the engrossed assembly coming finally to a halt in the space left vacant. All around them, women hid their faces with little shrieks, giggling and peeping over their fans. Gentlemen stared more boldly, drinking from glasses held in gloved hands and commenting loudly upon the physical beauties so displayed. A lean long-jawed sandy-haired man was the first to come forward to
examine the pair more closely, scanning them from head to foot with a lascivious grin, poking the coronet brand upon Harriet’s rump and exchanging comments with the Conde. The orchestra resumed playing and the voices rose gradually again to a general buzz of discussion. Women grew bolder in their stares and some of the younger ones ventured to come forward and pat the naked girls with gloved hands as if they were domestic animals, pointing out Harriet’s companion to one another and approaching her with a particular degree of excitement.

  At the host’s invitation his novel pair of human equines were taken back out into the night air and the semi-darkness, to be driven among the orange trees of the park by a succession of giggling young ladies, assisted by the black stable women trotting alongside. At last, when the music came to an end indoors and soon after the real carriages and real horses began to make their reappearance to pick up the departing guests, Harriet and Augusta were relieved of their shameful duty and removed by their attendants back round to the rear of the house. Hitched to the veranda rail, they were left there for a long time, disregarded by the servants like forgotten playthings. The house fell silent and the Conde eventually reappeared, half-leaning upon the shoulder of the sandy-haired man, both showing signs of heavy drinking. They ordered the pony girls unharnessed by a yawning stablewoman but left unbridled and Augusta was led away indoors on her rein by the Conde, Harriet by his boon companion.