‘You are to be trained to run with a cart. You are to be Lord Alex’s pony. It won’t be forever, but it will be pretty tough. Lord Alex is determined to win the cup this year, and that is going to mean a lot of very hard training.’
He used her hair to pull her down until she was kneeling in the straw. Then he left her for a moment, returning with a length of thick-looking leather strapping. ‘Now, there’s something you must understand. His Lordship believes you get the best out of a girl if you treat her strictly, like a pony. I don’t know if there’s anything in this method. The Reverend Dawes don’t hold with it and he’s won two years on the trot, to coin a phrase.’ The big man grinned at his own joke and slapped the strap against his massive thigh. ‘But, anyway, it’s what his lordship wants, and so it’s what his lordship gets, understand?’
‘Y-yes sir, I think… Ooh!’
The strap cracked across her upper arm.
‘Wrong! Ponies don’t talk, you silly mare. You may nod or shake your head in response to a direct question. Otherwise, from now on, a single word from those pretty lips will earn you a leathering.’ He slapped the strap against his leg again and grinned. ‘Ponies don’t try to cover up their titties, neither.’
Hurriedly Polly dropped her arms, although this made her breasts feel horribly vulnerable to the terrifying groom.
‘Good girl,’ he growled and motioned her to turn around. Polly faced the stone back wall and felt his rough hands explore her body. ‘Well, there is a little muscle here.’ He slipped his hand between her legs and squeezed her thigh firmly, appraising the flesh in a brusque professional manner.
‘Will she do, Ben?’ Polly froze as she recognised the languid tones of Lord Alex.
‘Perhaps, your lordship, but there’s a lot of work to do. These long legs will eat up the ground, but she’ll have to put on a lot of muscle if she is to have a chance of staying on the second ascent of Holly Hill.’ He gave the back of Polly’s right thigh a stinging slap, by way of illustration. She bit her lip and made herself stay in position.
‘Get her up for me. We can trot her properly in the morning, but I want to have a look.’
The groom took her by the ponytail and guided her to her feet and out of the stall into the open area of the stable-block. Lord Alex held a lantern up, his bewhiskered face illuminated by it, his sharp eyes gleaming in the lamplight. Polly was not sure if she was more frightened of the lord, or the groom holding her halter and his wicked strip of leather.
‘Yes, yes,’ Lord Alex spoke a little hoarsely. ‘Damn me, Ben, I think the filly might just do it. Now, I want her fed well. We need to put some meat on those thighs.’ He stepped forward, holding the lamp up, and Polly suppressed a whimper as he reached between her legs as the groom had done a moment earlier, but this time from the front.
‘Steady, girl. Easy, now, easy,’ Mr Blackstock whispered in her ear. His hand stole around her back and rested on her hip, gently preventing her from stepping back as Lord Alex felt her thighs. ‘Have you decided what to call her yet, your lordship?’
‘Mm, yes. She’s such a pretty filly, I rather thought I would name her “Blossom”.’
His strong hand started to move up her thigh. Despite herself, she gave a gasp and flinched, but Mr Blackstock’s strong arm held her steady. His hand stroked up and down reassuringly, without relinquishing its hold.
‘Easy now, there’s a good girl,’ he murmured as Lord Feversham’s finger probed and she whimpered nervously. Then, on finding a well-lubricated welcome, it slid inside her sex.
The low insistent voice was almost hypnotic in the soft glow of the lamplight. ‘Easy, Blossom, easy girl. Easy now, Blossom, my beauty.’ The naked girl leant back in the groom’s grip and a lost cry escaped her lips in response to the touch.
The Reverend Dawes placed his hand on Amelia’s stocking-sheathed knee and sighed. ‘You mean to say, she refused the bucket? Really, girl! That is shocking!’
What was shocking, Amelia thought furiously, was that she had to stand in front of this man, nearly naked, as he idly caressed her thigh with one hand and toyed with her leash with the other. The Reverend had finished his cigar but was still sitting comfortably as she trembled, partly from fear and partly from a sense of outraged decency, before him.
‘Clara here pulled a face or two, but she squatted obediently enough in the end,’ Jamie said. The girl in question knelt with her head on her master’s knee as he stroked her hair. ‘Amelia is, I regret to say, refractory, disobedient and very, very stubborn. It will be a long hard road with her, I fear.’
‘No doubt strewn with thorns, eh, girl?’
Amelia winced as he pinched the bare flesh of her right inner thigh, just above the top of her stocking.
‘You know, I am setting up a little disciplinary course for wayward girls later on in the year, at the Rectory.’
Amelia found herself pinioned by those cold grey eyes again. Fear suffused her and she seemed to be experiencing difficulty in breathing once again. The hand moved up her thigh, fondling the bare flesh appreciatively.
‘Yes, you mentioned it. Just six trainees at a time, is that right?’
‘That is correct. More, and I might not be able to give each candidate sufficient personal attention.’
The eyes bored into hers. Amelia felt herself sway. For some reason her knees did not want to support her.
‘Might do her good,’ Jamie said thoughtfully.
‘Might do her a lot of good.’ Reverend Dawes gave Amelia a smile and squeezed her thigh. She could not quite suppress a low whimper of trepidation.
‘Unfortunately—’ the Reverend Dawes drew the word out, ‘—it would be impossible.’
Amelia breathed again. Her sigh of relief was audible and he cocked a questioning eyebrow.
‘I only mentioned the idea to a few friends and I already have a full course and a waiting list.’ His hand reached Amelia’s shaven quim. It was impossible to step back as he held the leash taut. To her surprise, his fingers were gentle, fondling rather than probing. ‘That damned book, you see.’ The Reverend laughed, self-deprecatingly. ‘I get so many requests to demonstrate my methods, I would spend the entire year travelling the country if I acceded to them all. That was the idea of the course, you see. At least for six months I shall get to stay in Hatherby.’ He laughed but his eyes did not, remaining fixed on Amelia’s.
‘So your course is to be six months?’
‘That’s right. Six months…’ his fingers left her quim and stroked up until they rested on her lower belly, just above her nearly bursting bladder, and as he spoke he pressed gently but firmly, one prod with every separate syllable ‘…of most rig-o-rous’ the pressure was almost too much to withstand ‘disc-i-plin-ary train-ing.’
Things that go Bump in the Night
Lady Alicia enjoyed her chambermaid’s ordeal from a comfortable chair. Fifteen minutes earlier, she had opened and closed the bedroom door and then stolen back silently on stockinged feet, at pains not to let an unguarded movement set her leather corset creaking and alert Kitty to the presence of her mistress. The Marchioness of Hatherby observed her maid’s growing distress with bright eyes, idly fingering her fine black dressage whip.
Kitty whimpered. The heat was growing, the warm glow evidently becoming uncomfortably hot, the guttering candle sending pulses of heat towards the maid’s twitching bottom.
‘No… please…’
Lady Alicia smiled. Kitty was forbidden to speak. The girl began to desperately wriggle within the limited scope her bonds allowed, though fidgeting was strictly prohibited.
‘Please… it’s burning… mercy… somebody…’
The observer could see there was, as yet, no danger. The heat was real but Kitty’s imagination no doubt amplified it tenfold. The chains clinked as she strained and wriggled ever more frantically. Lady Alicia luxuriated in the spectacle.
She would never tire, she thought, of tormenting this maid.
Sheer black stockings set off kitty’s long legs, her plump and creamy thighs surging from the tight stocking-tops in a way that seemed to Lady Alicia positively poetic. Though her waist was cinched to nineteen inches by the corset, her breasts and bottom were firm, round and full.
‘Ooh… aah… Mistress, where are you? Mercy. Please, somebody, help me!’
With a convulsive jerk, Kitty yelped in pain and one of the nipple clamps popped off.
Lady Alicia smiled a smile of purest malice and stood up, crop in hand.
‘Mercy, mercy, please, put it out! Put it out! Somebody help me, please…’
Lady Alicia stood close by, watching intently as her maid babbled and begged increasingly incoherently. Finally, as Kitty started shrieking, but before the skin nearest the flame began to redden, she raised the crop and slashed it down. With consummate skill, she hit the candlewick with the tip of the crop, extinguishing the flame with a single stroke.
‘Stand still.’ Her voice echoed around the chamber. ‘And for God’s sake stop that awful mewling noise!’
The straw was a little ticklish but otherwise surprisingly comfortable. The naked girl lay under a horse-blanket, for the late spring night was still a little chilly. She was still tethered by the rope halter around her neck although, as her hands were free, it would have been a simple matter to untie
herself. Not that she could have run, for she had been hobbled with iron cuffs connected by three large links of chain. Anyway, the girl, no longer quite sure if she was Polly or Blossom, had no real desire to run away.
It was frightening, certainly, and confusing, this strange new world where, it seemed, she was supposed to try to behave as if she were a pony. Almost like a pony, anyway. She smiled to herself in the dark, doubting if Lord Alex did what he had done to her to his four-legged mounts. The memory of his insistent finger, and of the groom’s powerful hands and irresistible grip, caused the strangest sensations to course through her body anew. She reached down, her thighs clamped upon her hand, and a low moan troubled the night air.
It took Kitty a few moments to realise what was happening, longer to recover some composure, but awareness of her mistress’s presence quickly had effect and she stood, panting and gasping, flooded with relief that was sadly short-lived.
‘What a disgusting spectacle! Squawking and mewling like a scalded cat.’ Lady Alicia grasped the end of the candle in her leather-gloved hand and pulled it out unceremoniously, letting it drop into the bowl.
Kitty was quivering all over, unable to see but aware of both her mistress’s displeasure and her own exposed condition. She tried not to think of what Lady Alicia might be about to do with her crop. The blindfold was yanked off and there was a blaze of light. Suddenly Lady Alicia stood before her, resplendent in a long black leather corset, long gloves and thigh boots, stiletto-heeled and brilliantly polished. The Marchioness flexed her awful switch, her lovely face contorted with fury.
‘Speaking without permission! Fidgeting!’ She struck the loose chain and dangling nipple clamp with the tip of her crop. ‘Look at this! I’ve rarely seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Have you anything to say, you pitiful creature?’
‘I’m sorry, mistress… I was fr-frightened,’ Kitty sobbed.
‘I shall have to take you to the Tower again, if this recalcitrance continues.’
‘Oh please, mistress, I promise I’ll be more obedient.’
‘Hm. Well, we’ll see. You will have to be whipped, so mind you take it well – but first I have need of that tongue of yours.’
Lady Alicia snapped off Kitty’s restraints. Movement sent vicious jolts of pain through the girl’s stiff arms and legs, but she was allowed no leisure to massage them. Her hair was grabbed and she was hauled over to the centre of the room where Lady Alicia forced the maid to her knees, standing with legs wide, exposing her sex. With the end of the crop, she raised Kitty’s chin, until her eyes bored into Kitty’s own pleading orbs. ‘You know what to do, don’t you?’
‘Yes, mistress.’
‘What?’
‘I… I have to lick your… your pussy, mistress.’ For all her time at Hope Hall, Kitty blushed at this.
‘Do you want to?’
Kitty swallowed hard. ‘Yes, mistress,’ she whispered, cheeks aflame.
‘Then ask me nicely!’
‘P-please… may I lick your pussy, mistress?’
‘What a little slut you are Kitty, begging to lick me. You ought to hear yourself, you whore. I ought to make you lick my arse – it’s no more than you deserve – but I find myself in need of some relief.’
Snapping her fingers, she pointed down and Kitty leant forward and kissed between her mistress’s legs, softly, fervently. She inserted her tongue, cat-like, between the labial lips and lapped upward to the place that always made her mistress frenzied.
‘Christ! That’s it, go on, you little slut.’ Lady Alicia bucked wildly, uttering bloodcurdling threats and blaspheming. Kitty’s face was smeared with juices as she sought to keep her tongue in contact with the flesh around the clit. Lady Alicia was pumping her pelvis so violently now, smacking herself into Kitty’s face, that the maid could only stick her tongue out blindly, hoping to hit the right spot.
‘Oh, yes! You little whore, where’s that tongue of yours? Get it in!’
She grasped Kitty’s hair in both hands, letting the crop dangle from her wrist. Lady Alicia shrieked and bucked as if possessed by demons, grinding Kitty’s face into her crotch until the girl could neither see nor breathe, then let out a final scream and her whole body shuddered as Kitty wormed her tongue deep at the finish.
A low moan was followed by a filthy oath. Lady Alicia took a moment to recover from her climax, retaining but relaxing her grip on Kitty’s tresses. Kitty kept her mouth glued to Lady Alicia’s nether lips well after the orgasm had subsided, knowing better than to move away unbidden. Finally, Lady Alicia shook herself.
‘Well, you little slut, are you going to kneel there licking my slit all night? Get up. We’ve a whipping to attend to.’
The rhythmic bumping from next door appeared to be reaching a crescendo. There was a high clear cry like that of some exotic bird, then a girl’s voice, shouting, ‘Oh yes, yes, sir. Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes, master!’
Amelia put her hands over her ears but it was no good; she could still hear it. All she could do was lay and fume as she perspired between the pungent sheets of latex. Infuriating as the sounds of Clara and Jamie’s coupling were, at least they afforded some measure of distraction from her own rapidly increasing discomfort. The rubber sheets felt strange and clammy against the bare skin of her breasts and back and legs.
Once again she shifted, provoking odd sounding, rubbery creaks from the sheets. The tacky-feeling latex rasped her erect nipples almost painfully as she moved. There was no doubt about it, it was getting hotter and hotter in her little latex prison.
A last scream of pleasure came from the room next door. Amelia scowled and tried not to think about the clammy feeling of rubber on her skin. It felt strange, yet smelt even stranger. A perverse cocktail of latex and sweat assailed Amelia’s nostrils until her head was spinning. She tried in vain to recoil from the viscid embrace of the rubber sheets, and her latex cocoon was getting stickier by the minute. It felt as if she were being enveloped; sucked into the obscene maw of some great clammy nightmare creature.
Lying still was the best plan, controlling her breathing and trying not to perspire. Amelia tried to ignore the grunts and gasps that came from her cousin’s room, but she had to think of something, apart from how sticky she felt, and most of all, about the smoking room. She would just refuse to think about it ever again!
‘So pleased to make your acquaintance, madam.’ Reverend Dawes had bowed low in a mocking politeness – after her humiliation. ‘I do ho
pe we shall meet again very soon.’
Lying in her sticky little bed, the memory of his devouring eyes impaled her. How she hated that man! Then she groaned, and pressed her hands harder against her sex. It was as if her hand had taken on a will of its own. She did not want to do what her fingers seemed compelled to do, for she knew it was risky.
Amelia moaned as the tips of her fingers found their target. Her body writhed in response to her own touch, and her squirming was making the rubber slick with perspiration. The clamminess of the sheets eased by degrees into a much more slippery embrace, as her perspiration provided ever more copious lubrication. The image of the Reverend Dawes’s fingers fondling her sex vied in her mind’s eye with the vision of his transfixing gaze. Oh, how she hated him! Amelia bucked and moaned as her fingers worked harder and faster. The man was a devil, a brute! She devoutly wished for nothing more to do with him.
Amelia gave a strangulated groan as her legs thrashed back and forth in their enfolding envelope. The point of no return was suddenly upon her. Amelia bit her lip as her climax started.
‘You filthy swine!’ she cried, the hateful figure of the Revered Dawes, a cane gripped in his hand, somehow the only thing she could think of as the first shock-waves of her climax started to engulf her. Her cries became completely incoherent as she thrashed wildly in the sheet’s moist latex embrace.
Emma could not sleep, though she was very tired. It was well that she was not claustrophobic, for her bed was in a sort of cupboard in the corridor off the kitchen. Just long enough to lie flat in, with a couple of feet of height and slightly more width, it was much like being locked into a chest. She comforted herself that there were air-holes in the wooden door which let fingers of yellow gaslight into her little prison. At least she was comfortable. The sheets and cotton nightdress felt luxurious after the coarse reformatory bedding, and the mattress, though thin, was a real improvement on bare bridewell boards. It was neither discomfort nor confinement that was keeping her awake.
Hall of Infamy Page 8