Exotika 03 - On the Loose

by Tesni Morgan

  Everyone is sorted except me, Carenza thought sadly. David doesn’t really care. I’m just a diversion. And there hasn’t been a sign of Matt. It’s as if he’s dropped off the edge of the world.

  There were strangers wandering about. David was entertaining his friends along with his working colleagues. Adventurous friends, wearing remarkable costumes—monks, sultans, harlequins, pirates, full military uniforms complete with rows of glittering medals, even formal evening suits. All had one thing in common—they were gravid with desire, David’s party promising fulfillment of every fantasy. There were women there and plenty of them. Upper-class tarts from polite society, downgraded whores, actresses, chorus girls, singers, stars of stage and screen. They were drawn by the expectation of a leg up the ladder of success or money or both, though perhaps the very nature of the occasion had lured them with the likelihood of unlimited sex.

  The anticipation rose as the drinks went down and inhibitions were banished. In one reception room a huge screen showed a video film featuring two leading lights in the porn business. Carenza tried to look away, but was fascinated by the muscular, handsome man with his black hair, bronzed body and twelve-inch cock. The actress, a voluptuous brunette with huge breasts that were surely implants, was lying with her legs raised, stilt heels digging into his firm haunches as he worked his thick weapon in and out of her.

  Carenza’s tongue passed over her lips as she saw its length appear and disappear, the camera angle emphasizing its solid shaft and mighty, circumcised dome. The actress whimpered and moaned. He grunted and pistoned his hips. David’s guests lounged on couches, totally blasé at first, though soon heat enveloped the room, along with a feral odor as their excitement mounted. Several couples were aping the action on the screen. Blatant fornication was taking place everywhere, on the floor, on the stairs, wherever it was possible for two or maybe three people to get it together. It was not entirely heterosexual either. Young men were busy with their male lovers, naked rears upraised to provide pleasure and a gaggle of girls lay on a divan, legs entwined, pussy to pussy, breast to breast, gaining their enjoyment through female caresses and kisses.

  The staff, especially hired by David for this unusual party, didn’t bat an eyelid. They were obviously used to these goings-on, in fact, they were dressed accordingly. The waiters, handsome and virile, were attired in white shirts, bow ties and black trousers cut so tight that their flanks and neat rears were emphasized. They made no objection if ladies or gentlemen made a beeline for these assets. The waitresses were dressed in French maids’ outfits, with short taffeta shirts that swirled out, displaying bare asses, hairy or shaven mounds and fishnet-stockinged thighs. Their bodices were tight and low-cut and they accepted being handled in a familiar way.

  The orgy on- and off-screen was getting wilder, and it was then that David stood before the television screen and made an announcement. “Further entertainment is on offer below. My dungeons await!”

  He grabbed Carenza and hauled her with him and the crowd, some already wearied of their participation to date, followed him down the stone stairs that led into the bowels of Tretowyn Manor.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was a different part of the vault. Larger, longer, with an upward slope at the far end that connected with the outside world. Carenza tugged, but David frog-marched her into the large central area where a young woman hung on a crosspiece, her wrists tightly roped, her legs forced open by a wooden strut between her knees and her ankles bound. She was completely nude; her fair skin blotched by marks left by the whip or paddle on thighs, belly and breasts.

  David paused, smiled up into the girl’s face and turned the contraption. Her shoulders, back and buttocks came into view, embroidered with a lattice of livid stripes. The guests who had followed him to this strange theater of pain-pleasure, cried out admiringly. He turned her to face him once more and trailed a whip up her cleft and she whimpered her need. He touched her nipples, squeezed and nibbled them, then slid a finger between her open labia and palpated her clit. She wailed like a cat in heat and he laughed and withdrew the beneficence of his clever fingers, leaving her hanging there, frustrated and tormented. He jerked his head at his followers and they homed in on her like busy honeybees, bringing her relief and satisfying themselves at the same time.

  “How can you be so heartless?” Carenza was furious, recalling her own submission to the whip. “She’s a human being, not a sex object!”

  “You’re so innocent, darling. She’s having a great time and will be back again for more, mark my words.”

  “I hope you don’t intend to do that to me.” Her emotions were on a seesaw. She was disgusted, yet part of her longed to be his victim.

  “Perhaps, but not now. There’s another treat in store.”

  At a given signal, double doors swung back at the top of the ramp and two chariots appeared, small, compact, ornate and pulled by women wearing harness and little else. They had helmets that crowned the flowing manes on their heads, and equally fine tails lodged in their assholes. They trotted along, flicked by their drivers’ whips, legs rising smartly in unison, a fine pair of trained steeds.

  The spectators cheered and the chariots raced ‘round the ring twice, in competition to see who would reach David first. When the winner reined in before him, Carenza was astonished to see that the pony girl pulling the chariot was Ruth. That prissy, competent secretary was bowing her head and David was patting it, just as if she was a favorite mare, while she pawed the ground and neighed. Had she known about this feature of his life? Carenza wondered. Or had she been initiated since staying there? Whatever it was, the role suited her admirably—David’s pack animal, his obedient creature. Her driver, a lean, lithe young man wearing form-hugging jodhpurs, jumped down.

  “Well done, Bobby.” David shook hands with him and then turned to Ruth. “And well done, you.” She whinnied with joy. “Now I order you to teach Carenza how an obedient pony behaves.”

  He slipped the bridle and bit from Ruth’s mouth while Bobby unbuckled her harness and flung a blanket around her for she shone with a patina of sweat, just like a real horse. Then, lingeringly, David withdrew the tail from her anus. She sighed and shuddered and leaned into him. He freed himself and she glared at Carenza resentfully and led her through a door under the ramp. It proved to be a stable, complete with every accessory required to equip several chariots and ponies. This is well weird, Carenza thought to herself, though at the back of her mind stirred recollections of reading about the alternative pony clubs that existed worldwide. Trust David to be cashing in and enjoying such a strange phenomena. Women yearning to be horses and men getting their kicks by competing against others in lightweight carts with girls in harness. I don’t want to take part. No one can make me, Carenza fumed, but it seemed she was to be given no option.

  She turned to leave, but Ruth barred her way. “Mr. Farlan has given his orders.” Her voice was brittle with dislike and jealousy.

  Carenza faced her, legs astride, knuckles on her hips. “God has spoken, has He? Get real, Ruth. David’s a literal pain in the ass. One hell of a hemorrhoid.”

  Ruth struck out at her, taking her off guard, but Bobby intervened. “That’s enough. Help me get her into her gear.”

  Carenza was about to give him a mouthful when she saw that he carried a crop and looked ready to use it. She backed down. More “horses” now filed into the ring behind her, women no doubt fulfilling their childhood dreams of actually becoming the ponies they loved so much. The crowd was betting on the outcome of races and excitement ran high, exaggerated by drink and the sexual freedom on offer. It left a bad taste in Carenza’s mouth for what was a comparatively harmless frolic amongst consenting adults was now tainted by gambling.

  Ruth cooled down a little, following Bobby’s instructions and saying to Carenza, “Like you, I didn’t want to take part, but now I love it, particularly if Mr. Farlan is at the reins. Then the chaffing of the harness between my legs makes me come. He handles me
so well. I never thought…never dreamed that he would choose me as his slave.”

  “You’re wacky, Ruth. D’you know that?”

  “But you feel his spell. I know it.” There was a fanatical look in Ruth’s eyes that shone beneath the mock forelock. “But he’s mine, I tell you. He relies on me.”

  “Don’t fret your bowls to fiddle strings. If you’re worried about him fucking me, he already has. And we went dogging earlier this evening. So put that in your pipe and smoke it, bitch!”

  Ruth’s mouth set in a tense line, but Bobby was her handler and she had to do as he said. Carenza wondered if David had actually had sex with her. She was skinny and unattractive, but maybe he had done so to pass an idle half-hour with no thought of the woman’s feelings and her desperate love for him. This would be typical of his attitude and Carenza decided to have nothing more to do with such a callous brute. Almost, but not quite. She needed answers concerning him to put her mind at rest. How far would he go? And did he have feelings for her? Also she was trying to squash memories of Matt.

  Bobby reached for items that hung over a stall and said to Carenza, “Strip!”

  “You’re joking. Aren’t you?!”

  He shrugged. “It’s down to you. Either you take your clothes off yourself or I’ll do it for you. Your shout.”

  “Sod you!” She flung off the fur coat and started to unhook the basque.

  It fell to her waist and she unclipped the stockings that now wrinkled down. She removed her shoes and then dragged off the hose. She knew that she had nothing to be ashamed of, her body honed by the exercise and slog of camp life, but even so it was embarrassing to feel so vulnerable. Civilized humans were accustomed to being covered and it took practice to feel at ease nude. Carenza still had a long way to go.

  The cool air gave her goose pimples, her nipples hardening. Bobby fastened a leather girth around her. It was wide and uncomfortably tight, drawing in her waist from ribs to pubis and lacing at the back like a corset. She squirmed as he placed a crupper between her thighs, clipping it in place. It dug into her cleft, its central strap darkening with the juice seeping from her for she was aroused, despite everything. This was so new, so novel a situation. Bobby smiled knowingly, as if he could smell her excitement.

  He took up a spiked collar and buckled it firmly around her neck. Her breasts were lifted by straps passing over and under them. Ruth, with evident relish, advanced toward her and, while Bobby restrained Carenza, pinched her nipples and snapped on a pair of nipple clamps, hung with little silver bells. The pain was excruciating and Ruth added to it by slapping her breasts hard so that the bells jingled.

  Next Carenza was forced to sit on a bench while Bobby fastened on high boots with thick soles, lacing them firmly around her calves. Cuffs were clamped on her wrists and a jeweled cap placed on her head from which a mane flowed, augmenting her own tousled locks. He dragged her to her feet, and she stumbled on the awkward wedges as, with a hand in the small of her back, he made her bend over. She could hardly believe what he did next. She braced herself as he selected a penis-shaped object with a horsetail fixed to the end from among several hanging from a rack. He smeared it with gel, kicked her legs apart and inserted it into her ass. Her rectum tried to reject it, but he pushed harder and the dildo penetrated deeply. She felt the tail tickling the backs of her thighs and knew that she was now transformed into the pony girl that David wanted.

  Bobby paced ‘round her, delighted with the effect. “That’s just what the master ordered.” And he stroked her tail and nodded to a couple of sturdy stable lads wearing nothing but leather aprons, their taut buttocks inviting attention.

  They went to a side bay and wheeled out a robust though elegant two-wheeled chariot, varnished bottle green picked out in gilt. Bobby backed Carenza between the curved shafts and chained them to her wrist cuffs, her hands grasping the polished beech.

  “Open wide.” Ruth shoved an icy cold metal bit between her teeth, connected to bridle and reins.

  The bit was hard and unrelenting, forcing her lips apart, her tongue tangling with it, making her want to gag. The probe in her bottom hurt, stretching her passage, but the crupper around her sex stimulated her clit, making it throb. The little cart was light, and she stepped high in the thick-soled boots, tossing her head, nipple bells jangling, suddenly getting into the role of a proud, pedigree filly.

  “Right. Try it out, and then we’ll go into the ring and strut our stuff.” Bobby was pleased with her cooperation.

  Hesitatingly, she tested the balance of the chariot and Bobby sprang onto it and took the seat, his weight making it heavier, the bit dragging at Carenza’s mouth. He jerked the reins, guiding her, and his whip stung as it flicked at her flanks. She had no alternative but to trot, pain a quick teacher. When he considered her ready, he clicked his tongue and the doors were opened. Carenza trotted out into the ring amidst a burst of applause, the pull on the reins guiding her.

  She realized how a horse might feel at an equestrian event, its flight instinct tempered by its driver’s mastery. She held her head high, stuck out her breasts and, though her back was aching from the pull of the harness and her feet felt clumsy in the heavy shoes, she nonetheless acted the part. She tightened her sphincter and her tail swished, and the applause turned to an electrifying roar of praise. It was exciting and her whole body tingled. Bobby made her trot around the ring and at last reined in by David.

  He had changed into a red hunting jacket, white breeches and shiny black boots, a froth of lace at his throat, a low-crowned black topper on his head and a crop in his right hand. Bobby swung down and David stood by her head.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Carenza managed to say between the obstructions in her mouth. “All I wanted was to be a TV presenter.”

  “Ah, my dear, there’re more ways than one of skinning a cat.” He climbed into the cart.

  “I’ll bloody skin you, bastard, starting with your cock!” She raged furiously, was helpless to do other than follow where the reins led.

  There were cameramen about, and she was horrified to think that she might appear on film—not regular television but for a movie that could be sold to the porn industry. It was unreal. A nightmare painting by Hieronymus Bosch. The drunken, licentious crowd, the pony girls, the charioteers, the flickering lamps and the fan-vaulted ring.

  Around and around they went, and now the cart felt heavier and heavier. She was panting and sweat trickled down between her breasts, her spine and inner thighs and her hair was soaking. The whip landed painfully every time she slowed her pace, just the tip but enough to keep her moving. Back to where they had first started and David pulled her to a stop. She stood there trembling with fatigue, saliva dribbling from her mouth.

  “Go to it, David!” His cronies gathered around. “Give her one!”

  There was no one to help her. She looked for Vicky and Joanna, but they were engrossed with their own lovers and hadn’t yet joined the crowd in the arena.

  The cart jerked as David climbed down and the relief made her lightheaded. Surely he had had enough and her ordeal was now over? He smiled as he came around and lifted the bit from her sore mouth. “You make a great filly. I shall use you again, and now it’s reward time.”

  She had hoped this meant the unchaining of her hands and release from the shafts, but this didn’t happen. Instead he stood in the space between her and the front of the vehicle, and she moaned as the false tail was taken out of her ass to be replaced by his erect cock. He was already rubbered up and smeared with lube and she opened easily for him.

  His supporters were as close as they could get, watching him in awed admiration, as he moved faster within her. He reached around and pushed aside the straps, finding her engorged clitoris. She didn’t know whether to be furious or aroused, but the latter sensation was uppermost. For nearly an hour the chafing of leather on her parts had stimulated her. Now the sensation of David plunging into her most private recess and his touch on her clit was brin
ging her to climax. Even the nipple clamps on her tits were both painful and exhilarating. As David reached his zenith, so her orgasm swept her and she screamed aloud in wild abandon.

  It was then, amidst the tumult of her own climax and David’s final spasms that she heard a voice shouting, “What’s going on here?” And Matt appeared in her field of vision.

  * * * * *

  Matt didn’t know what had prompted him to change his mind, order a vehicle and turn up at Tretowyn Manor unannounced. Or rather, he didn’t want to believe he had to go there because of Carenza. He was done with her, wasn’t he? The two-timing, scheming little slag! But if he was honest with himself, and it was a rare thing for him to practice self-deceit, he cared what happened to her, worried about how David might be treating her and was furious to think of her being used sexually.

  On arrival, he hobbled to the front door, his knock answered by a tall, androgynous-looking creature dressed entirely in black—black pants, black bodice, long black gloves. As if his arrival was no surprise and with the air of one who was never ruffled, the person conducted Matt solemnly to the basement. They met no one on the way. Every person who had been invited to the party seemed to be gathered below. He recognized Vicky and Johanna among them, wondering briefly why they had allowed Carenza to be used and concluding that she was enjoying it and didn’t want to be interrupted. But the noise, cheers and catcalls rising up made Matt all the more anxious.

  He hadn’t relished the last week spent incapacitated. A man of action was a very bad patient. Books, TV, magazines, even playing poker with some of the other men didn’t entertain him for long. It was only his leg that was damaged, not the rest of him, the strong muscles, the keen brain and the sex drive were all intact. The latter gave him restless nights during which he sometimes wanked and thought about Carenza. He wanted her to phone, but guessed at her stubborn pride. Maybe he should have rung her first, but couldn’t bring himself to do so through his friend’s mobile.