This is Book Two of Pony Tales, if you’ve not yet read Book One ‘The Riding School’ click here: http://christinamandara.com/2013/05/09/the-riding-school/.
Book Two – Learning the Ropes
The Art of Crawling
Mr Nasty was searching for something. He was at the back of the tack room, rifling through the contents of an ottoman. Nestled amongst the thigh-high pony boots, he looked oddly out of place, not that it seemed to bother him. As he bent himself over the wooden box, Jenny caught her breath. The clinging white riding breeches and a near perfect backside were making her heart beat a marathon-like pulse in exertion. He was going to give her a coronary if he didn’t straighten up soon. On the plus side, he had taken her mind off more pressing concerns.
Mark was almost rubbing his hands in glee, thinking about the little sightseeing trip he had planned. When he finally shut the lid of the large box, there were several metres of white hemp rope in his hand. It would come in useful as her tour would be completed on all fours. It would give her an excellent insight as to what her training would entail. It would give him an excellent view of her wiggling ass as she crawled from room to room.
He was looking forward to visiting the dungeon, as that particular room would open her eyes both to what would be expected of her and what would happen if she decided to play naughty. He had a fondness for disobedient ponies. Alas, under his hand, they never stayed mischievous for long. He had a suspicious feeling that this trainee might prove the exception. The thought of a healthy challenge made his mouth water with excitement.
Hetty and Aggie had offered to stay and help him bind the trainee, but he had dismissed them with his thanks. He knew they had plenty of work ahead of them with the preparation of her tack and he didn’t wish to delay them further. The sooner they had her new apparel, the better. In a few hours’ time, he would find her a crude harness which would help with her adjustment from human to horse. It wouldn’t be a patch on what she’d be made to wear eventually, but it would certainly get her used to the idea of being owned and controlled by another. At the very least it would reinforce her new station in life: a slave sold into bondage. She needed to get her head around that important fact and he suspected it would take some time.
He completed most of the rope work whilst Jenny was still strapped to the horse, looping it around her elbows and knees several times and tying various knots, ignoring her numerous protests. He had no wish to use his crop just yet, preferring to keep the strength of his stroke as a nice surprise for later.
Mark didn’t think that the cossetted little rich girl would have had much experience in dealing with pain and he was looking forward to being the one who would introduce her to it. Trainees usually went one way or the other at their first real taste. They either burst into tears at the mere slap of a hand or they gritted their teeth and gave you the ‘look,’ which basically meant that if they ever managed to retain use of their limbs they were going to use them to kill you. Personally, he liked a bit of spirit. It showed character.
Satisfied that he had coiled enough rope around the naked girl in front of him, Mark searched for one last item. She was going to need a collar. It needed to be white and it needed to be nice and thick. Called a ‘posture collar,’ it would ensure that she kept her shoulders straight and her head forward and erect at all times. As well as teaching good posture, it would also get her accustomed to the way that ponies would be expected to execute proper carriage at all times, even whilst trotting or cantering. It would be uncomfortable initially, but eventually it would become almost as natural as sleeping, not that she’d be doing much of that for a while.
Finding a suitable four inch collar, he released the leather restraint around her neck. Gently bunching her long black hair into a ponytail, to ensure it didn’t get trapped inside, he quickly fastened the two silver buckles at the rear that would hold it in place. Mark decided that was quite enough of the softly-softly approach. He tugged her hair sharply to get her attention and was rewarded with a grimace of pain. Her glorious blue eyes looked at him and widened like saucers as he spoke.
‘I’m about to release you from the horse. You’ll have noticed that you have more rope on your person than an Everest mountaineer and you should also note that fast movements will cause friction. Plenty of friction will, in turn, cause burns. You’ve been warned. If you’d like to glance down and admire my fancy rope work in a minute, you’ll also see that the rope is looped liberally around your elbows and knees, one piece of rope joining your elbows together, another your knees and a third runs down the middle connecting them both. The middle connection is only a few inches in length. This will prevent you from walking on two legs, unless you have amazing balance and the desire to look like an Orang-utan. To be fair, my riding crop will also prevent you from walking on two legs, but feel free to try the monkey-thing out as it will greatly amuse me. Essentially, you’re going to be crawling on all fours.’ Mark paused for a second, ‘Well, more of a shuffle really. You’ll get used to it.’
Jenny watched as he released the straps imprisoning her body one by one. Inwardly she fumed. She was naked, gagged, dirty, and the revolting plug in her backside throbbed insistently. Her neck was being stretched uncomfortably high by the collar and to make matters worse, the yards of rope that covered her body itched and teased her flesh with the slightest of movements. She was still suffering the tormented pangs of orgasm denial and it was unpleasant, to say the least. How dare they do this to her! If Mark thought he’d get his kicks watching her crawl, he had another think coming.
As the last strap fell away from her body, she quickly considered her options. There were only two and they featured her playing nicely and giving these people an awful lot of entertainment at her expense or not playing at all, which was the choice she favoured. She was pretty certain that he wouldn’t be allowed to hurt her in any way, so most of his threats would probably be full of hot air. It was time to test the theory.
As the last restraint was removed, Mark watched as Jenny gradually slithered down the horse towards the floor. She couldn’t stop the downward motion as the bench she’d been laying on carried a slight downward angle and had become slick with her sweat and arousal. Her flailing hands tried desperately to slow her descent, but as there was nothing to grasp, she landed roughly on her backside in a disjointed heap. He observed, with some enjoyment, that the trainee was already wearing ‘the look.’ This should be interesting, he thought.
Cursing inwardly, as there was little chance of getting coherent speech past her gag, Jenny’s first reaction upon falling was to try and stand up immediately. The rope wasn’t co-operative. Falling flat on her face in a very inelegant pose, she conceded that she wouldn’t be standing up on two feet just yet, but neither was she crawling. Curling herself up into a tight ball, she remained silent with her eyes facing downwards. Jenny didn’t need to see the laughter in Mark’s eyes to know that it was there.
Mark couldn’t help but marvel at the submissive pose Jenny had just made, even though she was unaware of the fact. If she ever managed to lose the attitude, he had a feeling she’d be a natural. Her initiation to the world of submission would prove to be a tricky one, mostly due to her upbringing, but she’d already proved that the idea aroused her. Before the day was finished, he knew without a doubt that she’d be begging for an orgasm. That was another area that would be new to her, begging for each and every little treat that she might chance to encounter. It would be a sharp learning curve. Unfortunately, the staff here would have a special interest in Miss Redcliff and she was going to have a harder ride that most, he suspected.
There was a moment of silence and then Jenny felt her hair wrapped around Mark’s fist once more. She prepared herself for another round of painful tugging, but unexpected, gentle pressure had her head moving upwards to meet his and their eyes connected. Time stood still for her. It was true, time literally slowed to the consistency of treacle. It was as if she was a rabbit caught in the glare of a pair of headlights and what was worse, was the fact that he didn’t seem to be affected at all. This was one-sided. He finally broke contact with her gaze, which was just as well, because she wouldn’t have been able to do so if her life had depended on it.
The length of her stare had not gone unnoticed. Mark knew the effect he had on women and, thankfully, he was immune to their charms in that department. In all other departments he enjoyed them to the fullest, but love? They could keep that. After today’s session was over with, the look would be replaced with something akin to hatred. It was for the best. He’d hurt her, however things managed to turn out, but a few stripes from a cane versus unrequited love was the more palatable dish on the menu for all concerned.
Grabbing her glossy mane a little tighter, he brought her head up to meet his.
‘Have I got your attention?’
Jenny figured she didn’t need to respond to that question, not that she would have been able to.
‘Good. I know that you’ve already decided that there’s no way in Hades you’re going to crawl for me and I have no problem with that. I’m just letting you know in advance, that if you don’t crawl, I drag. The wood floor in here will probably just be rather uncomfortable, but the concrete one in the corridor will do some damage.’ Having said that, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a thick length of metal chain which he quickly clipped to the D ring on the front of her collar. Then, true to his word, he pulled.
Jenny quickly realised there were rather large holes in her earlier theory. Being dragged along a polished wood floor wasn’t pleasant. Her backside and the underside of her thighs scraped and bumped and burned as he dragged her towards the door. She remembered the concrete corridor and it didn’t take her long to realise that the abrasive flooring would literally scrape the skin off her body in seconds. She was proud but she wasn’t stupid. The man had meant every word he’d said and it was a struggle to right her body on all fours and begin crawling before they reached the rough, grey surface. As it was, her left knee scraped and drew blood before he paused to see whether she had complied with his wishes.
Mark stopped walking as soon as he’d seen his trainee move on all fours. He pulled the backing off a large, rectangular shaped plaster he had ready in his hand and applied it to her knee. It was somewhat of surprise that he’d only needed to use one, as the daughter had a reputation much like that of the father for extreme stubbornness. Continuing to lead her with the leash, but at a pleasantly sedate pace, he was confident there would be no more bloodshed. He didn’t have a problem with blood, but if there were smears all over the floor, some of the newer trainees tended to go into swoon mode.
Jenny was rip-roaringly mad. Being led around like a pet animal was at the tip of her iceberg of woes. The man appeared to read her like a book and was one step ahead of her at each and every turn. He had a distinct advantage, too. He’d done this before, probably with countless other women. While that was bad enough, she could have just about coped had she not found the man devastatingly attractive. For some reason he made her blood sing and she didn’t like the feeling one little bit. Narrowing her eyes, Jenny reasoned that she’d get her chance to get even with Mr Know-it-all. She’d only need one.
A Tour of the Facility
The Exercise Room
Following Mark out into the corridor, Jenny found the easiest way to move was a quick shuffle, arms first and then legs. Crawling wasn’t an option due to the short nature of the rope connecting her knees and elbows. Her odd, shuffling gait served to enrage her further. At least crawling could be deemed as sexy. What she was doing was demeaning and humiliating. The odd thing was it seemed to arouse her. That would be a fun conversation with her therapist when this charade was all over. The only thing keeping her sane at the moment was the fact that this couldn’t last more than 24 hours. Her Dad would be expecting a call this evening, so she could expect rescue at the very latest first thing tomorrow morning. No-one messed with her father. Already counting the minutes down, she watched as Mark opened the next large door along the concrete passage. This one had the words ‘Exercise Room,’ in the same black and red antique lettering as before. There was little choice but to follow him inside.
Jenny’s gaze swung slowly from one end of the room to the other. It was a little awkward, with the collar hampering movement of her neck, but there was plenty to take in. For starters, there were three treadmills which appeared to have had some minor alterations. The most obvious were that they featured no side rails for the user to grip and there was a long metal chain and karabiner hanging from the ceiling above each one.
In the middle of the room was a long central pole and at the top of the pole there was a motor and long metal arms which extended outward. At the end of the metal arms were large, key-ring type clips. Jenny knew that this was what was called a ‘hot walker.’ They were used to exercise horses in a continuous circle, at a relatively placid speed, by tying them or clipping them to the end of the horizontal metal arms. This particular hot walker was much smaller than one which would be used for horses and had space for four occupants.
The room also had two exercise bikes, with the handles removed, and several buckets of water lined along a low wooden shelf. There was a large control panel at the back of the gym, covered in switches and dials, and a tub of various leather collars and butt plugs which were either entirely made of metal or had a metal strip running through them. A dish of bright green apples on the table beside the door completed the look. Jenny was glad she wouldn’t be here long enough to appreciate these machines. Exercise in any form wasn’t really her thing.
Having given her enough time to fully grasp all the room had to offer, Mark decided to clarify a few points for her. ‘You’ll be exercised every day until there isn’t an ounce of spare flesh on your body. You’ve got a few pounds to lose on both your thighs and your waistline. This will be reflected in your feed and in the time you’ll spend in here initially.’
If Jenny hadn’t been leaning on her hands, she would have used one to slap him. Instead, she made a loud and rather unfeminine grunt in which to display her anger. She was a size 10! She watched what she ate and she looked good. Men always gave her a second glance in clubs and few resisted the chance to chat her up. If she lost any more weight, she’d disappear.
Mark ignored the grunt. ‘You’ll also need to gain muscle tone if your trainer wants you to pull carts and believe me, they’ll want you to pull carts. So you can expect to work hard. This room will work on your weight, your carriage, your speed, your stamina and improve the overall shape of your body. If you’re wondering what the control panel is for, it’s something called ‘electro-stimulation,’ and we’ll talk more on that later.’
Jenny didn’t much like the words ‘electro-stimulation.’ They sounded painful; more painful than exercise itself and that was bad enough.
‘You’ll note the clips above the treadmill and on the arms of the hot walker. Your bridle will be attached to these and you’ll have little choice but to exercise at whatever pace your trainer deems appropriate. The speeds we employ here can be somewhat challenging.’
Jenny didn’t get time to ponder those words as a tug on her leash had her shuffling back out of the room and into the corridor once more.
‘Now, be a good little filly and trot quickly. That jaw is going to drop when you see what we have in store for you next.’ Well, it would if she had the use of it, though Mark with a slight smirk to himself.
The Training Room
Looking up at the words boldly posted on the next door, her first thought was hadn’t they already covered that in the previous room? Pony girls couldn’t be expected to lift weights, surely?
Mark stopped as soon as they were inside. ‘Well, what do you think?’
She thought that her knees appreciated the cool, smooth parquet wood floor of this room, as the concrete outside had just started to burn, attacking the little gaps between the rope coils. The door was currently obscuring her view of the room but as it slowly receded backwards, her eyes became big and round and goggled at all that this room had to offer. There were no weights in sight, but that didn’t make her feel in the least bit better.
Jenny was rendered speechless. It was a moot point, as she was gagged, but being a regular ‘Miss Talkative,’ it indicated just how shocked she was. This room should have been called ‘The Dildo Room’ because there were hundreds of the things everywhere. Rubber ones, plastic ones, fat ones, thin ones, vibrating ones, pulsing ones, thrusting ones and incredibly huge ones. The longest dildo in the room was not based on a human penis. Jenny would have put money on the fact. It was, incredibly, over 20 inches in length. She had no wish to discover what its girth was.
Mark knew where Jenny’s eyes had stopped. ‘It’s pretty impressive, isn’t it? It’s based on a real horse’s penis. Don’t worry; we won’t start you on that one.’ He watched her body shudder. The equine sheath was there for decoration, but she didn’t need to know that. He prided himself in keeping trainees off balance and he had barely started with this young little brat.
When Jenny finally managed to tear her eyes away from ‘Mr Big’ and surveyed the rest of the room, it was the positioning of the dildos that caught her attention. They littered the floor space; dildos, plugs, double-enders, some with controls, some with wires and some which were raised on platform poles. If that wasn’t enough, there were more attached to the wall at all kinds of heights. It was all too much to take in. She closed her eyes in disbelief. This had to be a joke, she thought, positive that someone was having lots of fun at her expense.
It was Mark’s job to watch his trainee’s reaction and like a beady-eyed hawk, he missed nothing. He’d say shock and astonishment covered it, which was normal. She wouldn’t be allowed to get away with closing her eyes when she spotted something she didn’t like, though. Knowing it was best to nip bad habits in the bud, he pulled the crop from his belt and gave the plug in her backside a firm tap. It had the desired result: she jumped and her eyes flew open. ‘You’re not allowed to close those baby blues unless you have the permission of your trainer. Nod if you understand,’ his voice was curt. He placed the tip of the riding crop on her clitoris and rubbed gently. At the absence of a nod, he gave the nub a little lick with the crop. Jenny gave a choked gasp and nodded.
‘This room will help you to please your trainer in several ways. You will learn how to take a thick plug in your backside to display the most impressive tail possible, not to mention a nice thick cock or two, should the occasion arise; which I can guarantee it will. You will also work on your sexual performance, which I suspect needs a lot of work. We have machines that will monitor all of those sweet grasping muscles you possess, measure how tight you can squeeze them and for how long. They’ll help you improve your technique by teaching you many different types of strokes in order to ensure the maximum pleasure for your trainer and they will work on the strength in your thighs and buttocks. You’ll train both your gluteus maximum and quadriceps, among others, so hard that you won’t be able to sit down properly for a week. That won’t be a problem for the most part, as you won’t be allowed to anyway.’ He looked down to see if she had taken most of that in. Eyeing the way her face was yet again glued to the enormous horse cock, he knew he had just wasted his breath. No matter, she’d just have to take the crash course when faced with the practical. To grab her attention, he clicked his fingers beside her ear.
‘Would you like to try one before we leave?’ Mark asked, with his pony-special, deadpan expression.
Jenny quickly shook her head and the whites of her eyes were rather more vivid than they should have been.
‘You’d like to delay your gratification? My, you learn quickly. We like that here.’ Keeping his straight face, he twisted the plug gently in her backside before pumping it in and out three times. A single, soft, strangled groan was his only reply. Women were so much sweeter when they lost the use of their voice, he thought.
Jenny felt her mouth go dry at the pressure being applied down there. Her ass clamped around the plug being propelled back and forth and while she was still sore, the feeling was becoming more pleasurable. It was unsettling on many levels. She didn’t want to enjoy this and she wanted the damn plug out. There was a nasty thought at the back of her head that the humiliation of crawling on all fours and being paraded around stark naked was turning her on more than it should. That would be another point of interest with which to entertain her therapist with.
‘You’ll be pleased to know that our next room is something very close to your heart, judging by the state of those sculpted eyebrows and absurdly long fingernails.’ Mark yanked her leash and all thoughts were forgotten. It was time to move on.
The Grooming Room
As she began to move, Jenny tried to dispel the disconcerting images of the training room with a shake of her head. It wasn’t easy. One particular image was going to come back to haunt her again and again. Thankfully, as soon as her knees hit concrete, she had a different problem to focus her mind on: rope burn. Deciding on a new tactic, she shuffled forward quickly, but lightly of limb. Putting very little pressure on her joints, she lessened the burning sensation somewhat. What a mess this rope was going to make of her pale white flesh! There’d be no tennis sessions until the burns had faded. She’d be the talk of the Hillbeir Tennis Club if she turned up in her whites with what appeared to be carpet burns all over her.
Mark studied the new, somewhat elegant shuffle, and decided the kid was going to be a quick learner. That at least, was one point in her corner. He didn’t expect her to pick up many more on her initial training runs. ‘This is the Grooming Room.’
Jenny growled in response. She wasn’t illiterate and the writing on the door was quite big enough to read.
Mark stopped walking abruptly and Jenny, who hadn’t noticed and was still moving, nearly choked as the collar tightened around her neck. She made a gurgling noise.
‘That’s lesson one. Watch your trainer closely.’ She had deserved more than just a few seconds of strangled air for the insolent growl, but he’d let someone else deal with that. He had more than enough to do today.
On entering the room, Jenny’s attention was quickly focused on the ground beneath her. The floor was strewn with hay. It was prickly beneath her legs and arms and made her shuffle even more difficult, if that were possible. Craning her neck upwards, which wasn’t the easiest thing to do in her new, unpleasantly stiff collar, she began to examine the room. It was aptly named. There were five spacious stalls to the rear of the room and a door to the outside world. She assumed this meant that the human ponies were led here directly from outdoors, rather than the interior route she had taken. There were all manner of combs and brushes, such as curry combs, mane combs, dandy brushes and body brushes, not to mention an impressive collection of hoof picks on display. There were plenty of towels, a good supply of hairspray, a few plastic buckets and a large ceramic sink in which to fill the large buckets with water. Before she had a chance to investigate any further, a loud whickering noise filtered through the air.
The sound made Jenny start, as all the rooms they had explored so far had been empty and silent. Mark’s grip was firm on her leash and his casual stance indicated that the sound was not a threat. Then the smell of sweat and mud hit her nostrils, followed by the sight of a naked pony girl in full tack tossing her head to and fro. Jenny was stunned. A woman had made that noise?
‘Good afternoon, Daniel,’ said Mark and turning he gave a cursory nod to the labouring pony. ‘Peaches.’
‘Afternoon, Mark, beautiful day for a ride, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Isn’t every day?’ he replied and added, ‘Where’s her twin?’
‘Cream? I believe she’s a bit tied up.’ Daniel winked.
‘Ah, you’ve gotta love the bondage ponies,’ said Mark wistfully. He had a thing for rope.
‘So, what’s the new pony’s name?’
‘She hasn’t got one yet.’
The voices continued with pleasantries, but Jenny was no longer listening. They wanted to change her name to some stupid horse nickname? Over her dead body! Still, she’d be out of here tomorrow, so they could call her what they liked until then. Unable to stop them, her eyes settled on Peaches whose backside was prominently displayed in all its naked glory, albeit splattered with a good covering of mud. She kept trying to glance away, but the sight was arresting and before she knew it, she was carefully examining every single inch of the now tethered girl.
‘The pony-girl was wearing a striking emerald-green collar, much thinner than Jenny’s. Her blonde hair was elaborately plaited with green threads and the ends had been tucked neatly away. Her face sported a studded black leather bridle, one band of which circled her forehead and another two coming down from the forehead band, which, combined with her rubber bit, made an ‘A’ shape across her face. More studded leather straps reached down from her collar to encircle her breasts in a diamond shape and then ran down her navel to split in two and these straps were fed through each side of her labia. A big, bushy, blonde tail protruded from her ass and Jenny was afraid she knew exactly how it was anchored. The leather straps ran around the tail and then straight up to wrap around her two cuffed hands which were folded neatly, one on top of the other. Her feet had been placed in ankle length, rubberised pony hooves. Jenny trembled. Was this what they meant to do to her? She couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be bound in such an exposed, yet intricate manner and under the complete control of another. Unbelievably, the thought made her wet. She had to start reciting French vocabulary again, in order to tamp down her body’s response.
‘The sight arouses you, doesn’t it?’ asked Mark, whose eyes had carefully watched every single nuance on Jenny’s face as she took in the shiny leather tack of the pony girl.
Jenny shook her head briskly in response.
The nerve of the man, she thought, and gave another irritated shake of her head.
‘You want me to prove it to you?’ Mark’s eyes lit up as he bent down and let his fingers trace a delicate path up Jenny’s left inner thigh, which was already slightly sticky. Without warning, he thrust two fingers easily into the core of her body and rocked them up and down. Pulling them out slowly, he displayed them in front of her face, so his trainee could see and smell her own arousal on them. ‘You’re dripping wet. Case closed.’ He wiped his sticky fingers clean by painting the word ‘Liar,’ on her back with them. He recited the letters one by one, knowing it would rile her.
Jenny trembled again, but this time due to ire. The man was insufferable. He was also mind-bogglingly handsome, clever, and had the most amazing finger prowess. It was he who was making her body perform strange sexual cartwheels, not this farcical pony set-up. It had to be. Liar, an inner voice wheedled, agreeing with Mark. Even her inner voice was on his side it seemed.
‘Calm down, Peaches,’ said Daniel in a firm voice from the back of the room and it was evident that the pony was getting a firm hand and a stiff brush.
Daniel had begun to use the curry comb, giving Peaches circular sweeps of the brush to loosen the mud and dirt that had become engrained on her skin. He paid particular attention to her buttocks, which had picked up more than their fair share of muck and his free hand occasionally tweaked the leather straps between her legs. His pony threw back her head in evident enjoyment. He worked with an efficient, practised hand and it wasn’t long before the stiff-bristled dandy brush was in his grasp. Working with firm flicks of his wrist, Peaches’ body began to glow a light pink all over. Shaking her mane and neighing excitedly, it was clear she was revelling in his attention.
When the body brush came out, with its softer bristles and gentler motion, Peaches was a different pony and you could almost hear purring sounds. Her mane and tail were slowly combed to perfection and coated with a liberal misting of hairspray. It made her hair gleam. Daniel finished by using a small sponge to wipe her face clean and another for her groin area, dipping it frequently in a bucket of tepid water.
The whole process had taken about 20 minutes. Daniel appeared to be wearing the same uniform as Mark and, amazingly, hadn’t managed to get a speck of dirt upon his white riding breeches or over his boots. A seasoned professional, it seemed. Jenny also noted, rather sourly, that here was yet another attractive male, this time with cropped red hair and cerulean blue eyes. He had a muscular, athletic build and an easy smile. It was alright for him, he had plenty to smile about, thought Jenny. Smiling was nigh on impossible for her, and a grimace would have been more appropriate in any case.
Thinking of facial expressions made her realise how much her jaw was beginning to ache, uncomfortably full with the rubber ball gag. It didn’t taste particularly pleasant, either, but the worst thing was being unable to swallow. It meant that she dribbled like a baby. As another line of dribble formed down her chin, she shook her head madly to get rid of it, but the stubborn drool refused to budge. She eyed Mark’s trousers thoughtfully.
‘You even think of wiping that mess on me and I promise that you won’t be able to sit on your ass for at least a week,’ he said threateningly and with menace. Mark knew exactly what the girl had been thinking. She got the message and quickly looked away. This trainee was easier to read than Goldilocks. Little did she know that she’d be unable to sit down for a good deal more than a week, partly due to a good deal of enthusiastic spanking or cropping, and partly due to the fact that she was a horse and horses didn’t sit.
‘Dungeon next on your list by any chance?’ said Daniel, trying for an innocent smile and failing miserably.
‘After a visit to the Red Room, I think it might be appropriate,’ he replied, his eyes flashing with devilish intent.
‘Nice. I hope she likes all the colours that room has to offer,’ Daniel replied, his smile reaching from ear to ear.
Jenny hadn’t a clue what they were going on about. Red Room? Was the furniture red, or perhaps the walls? Nothing would surprise her at the moment. This place seemed to get stranger and stranger the longer she was here, which wouldn’t be too much longer with any luck. Time couldn’t go quickly enough in her opinion. Tomorrow morning would dawn soon enough, she supposed. For the time being she could toe the line or the rope as it were.
The Red Room
Jenny found herself grumbling again. Her hair was dusting the floor. The ebony ends were picking up all manner of dirt and becoming a rather unpleasant shade of chalky-white. She spent a lot of time in the salon to keep her hair in tip-top condition and here she was crawling on it and rubbing it into the filthy concrete. While she was on the subject of woes, she had another one to add to the list. She had broken a nail. Her perfectly manicured, French-polished nails were now nine in number. It was unacceptable. She needed a shower, some food, a drink and, oh, some clothes would be nice! When did they stop playing ponies around here? What time was horsie-knock-off-go-and-get-some-rest time? Somewhere there was a hotel bed with her name on it and she dearly wanted the use of it.
When they neared the Red Room and Mark ushered her inside, Jenny found herself immediately disappointed. It didn’t have a red door. It didn’t have red walls and it didn’t have red furniture. There wasn’t even a red floor or a red pair of curtains in sight. The floor was, thankfully, made of wood once more and her burning knees said a prayer of thanks as they sank into the cold, varnished surface gratefully. She could feel tiny pebbles of concrete beginning to embed themselves in her skin and wondered when she’d be allowed back on two feet.
Looking around, she had to wonder why it had been called ‘The Red Room.’ The paint was a boring shade of magnolia and the furniture, if it could be called that, was utilitarian steel. There were steel posts, steel frames complete with metal cuffs, steel blocks in varying sizes and a long steel table. They were obviously going for the ‘wipe-clean’ look, thought Jenny wryly. There were only two things of real interest in the room. One was that it was covered in mirrors. Some reached from floor to ceiling, some were framed and gilded exquisitely, others were plain or even mosaic in style. The overall effect was that the room fairly sparkled with light and colour. The second thing was a black, Murano glass chandelier, hanging in the middle of the room in massive splendour, dripping large, diamond-shaped crystals.
Mark watched as Jenny’s face stared at the ceiling and appeared awe-struck. The Red Room had that effect on people. It was spectacular at night, as well as in day-light, when the mirrors caught the facets of the hundred or so gems that quivered in the slightest breeze. He knew she had no idea what the steel furniture was for and he also knew that in about twenty minutes his trainee would wish she’d never been born. He didn’t feel sorry for her. Life was all about the journey and she was going to get a mind-blowing ride for the next few weeks.
Pulling a penknife out of his pocket, he flicked the blade and had to bite his tongue as she drew in a breath of fear, watching its reflection shimmer across the multitude of mirrored surfaces.
‘There’s no point in me saying I’m not going to hurt you, because in a few minutes, believe me I am. If there’s one thing in pony-land you can count on, it’s the fact that I never lie.’ He watched her carefully. He wanted to see her reaction. She didn’t move, she didn’t lower her eyes and, interestingly, she didn’t make a sound. Was she planning to fight him? That would be a first. ‘Relax, you can breathe easy for now. The knife will be used to cut your ropes, nothing more.’
Jenny’s breath was coming in shallow gasps and her fear was palpable, but when faced with the fight-or-flight response, she would have fought. Tied and crippled as she was, she would have gone down all guns blazing. It was an insane thought. He was bigger, had a knife and, most importantly, had proper use of all of his limbs. Before she had a chance to examine her thoughts further, the knife began to cut a rapid path through the mountain of rope that covered her. Strand by strand and thread by thread, the thick rope was severed. It scattered over the wooden floor below her in a sea of worm-like ribbons. When it finally unravelled to reveal the skin of her knees and elbows, Jenny found herself gasping. The rope had scorched her delicate skin. What was once silky-smooth and milky-white was now fiery red, grazed and inflamed. With her skin wrecked in such a fashion, she wouldn’t be able to go out clubbing for weeks. Long-sleeved tops and trousers would be her new wardrobe for the foreseeable future. She managed to push the lid back on her temper, but it was simmering and bubbling dangerously. Horsie-land was becoming all a little bit too much for her.
Mark worked efficiently but carefully and the pen knife did not once touch her skin. In a matter of seconds she was free. He also released the collar from her neck, giving her a chance to flex her muscles for a few minutes, knowing she would be stiff and sore. They were on an even playing field now and at this stage in the game, they needed that, if only for a few seconds. Judging by the earlier look, she was after payback, and it was time for her to find out who was boss.
‘I suspect you’re wondering why it’s called the Red Room?’ he said, running his hand through the short, immaculate spikes of his hair. ‘It’s to do with the colour your backside will be when I’ve finished with you in here. Each and every pony in this facility has their backside whipped, smacked or cropped at least once a day. That way, your trainer need only apply the lightest of touches to your rump and you will rush to do their bidding. If they decide to give you a tap with the crop, it will send a lightning jolt of sensation throughout your body because your flesh will be incredibly tender. It will also help to keep you aroused throughout the day, which is an important part of being a world-class pony girl, and that’s what we do here at Albrecht. So, let’s get started. Hop up on the table.’
Jenny stared at him. Had he just asked her to prepare herself for a spanking?
‘I suggest you start on all fours and dip your head forward onto your hands and push that beautiful backside up and outwards for me. Show me how much you’d like that delicate little tush to be spanked.’
Mark didn’t bother to acknowledge the seething look of hatred on Jenny’s face. He concentrated his focus on the table, slowly relaxed every part of his body and silently counted to ten. He only made it to number three before she flew at him.
Jenny was on two legs in a matter of seconds. They didn’t co-operate as they should, her calves cramping instantly, but it didn’t matter. Adrenaline succeeded where bodily functions failed. Her hands made claw shapes, nails flew at his face and a knee aimed for his groin. She didn’t play nice. The only thing missing was her teeth, which would have sunk into his flesh. Fighting harder than she’d ever fought in her life, she kicked, punched, pummelled and scratched. The urge to have him suffer under her hands was strong and the anger that devoured her was fresh and sharp.
Later, she would question the emotion she felt in that room, over and over again. Unbelievably, she would admit to herself that even had the chance to kill him presented itself, she wouldn’t have been able to do it. It wasn’t because she wasn’t capable of the deed; with the circumstances she found herself in, she would have felt vindicated had she extinguished his life. There was something about Mark that wouldn’t have let her seriously hurt him and she adamantly refused to examine that.
As it was, no such opportunity presented itself. She found herself flat on her back nearly as soon as her attack began and by the look in his eyes, which were black and murderous, he had no such compunctions about killing her. Having been sharply winded as she hit the floor, she now found a large hand circling the contours of her neck.
At first he pressed softly, restricting her airflow little by little. Jenny hardly noticed at first, unable to breathe as a result of her harsh fall. As the pressure continued, her eyes began to bulge in their sockets, but movement was impossible. He had pinioned her with his large body and she didn’t have enough energy left to dislodge him. To distract her further, his free hand found the wet, sticky folds of her labia and began to stroke them. Soft, gentle, fluttery strokes that made her body want to reach up and greet them.
Jenny couldn’t fight him, she could barely inhale. The attack by his fingers was merciless. They flowed from pussy to clit and dipped and dived with wicked precision, one moment gently caressing, the next pumping and drilling vigorously. His other hand kept tightening its hold around her neck, pressing more firmly, degree by degree. Jenny wouldn’t have been able to breathe even if he relaxed his hold, as arousal had begun to overwhelm her with a sudden intensity that was terrifying. The man was slowly beginning to squeeze the life out of her and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Upon discovering he was serious in his intent, the onset of panic was swift. This man was going to hurt her. His dark look said he had every intention of doing so and those expert fingers had apparently practised this type of thing before. What sort of sexual deviants did they employ here? The staff were completely insane! Fingers clamped over her windpipe and began to press hard, crushing and bruising her fragile airway with frightening speed. It wasn’t long before she became light-headed with lack of oxygen and all she could do was watch while those dark brown eyes bored into hers. Was he going to kill her?
I hope you enjoyed the preview for Book Two, Learning the Ropes. It’s approximately 18,000 words in total and I should have a release date within around 10 days! Will keep you posted.
Many thanks to everyone who’s taken the time to read this far 🙂
All comments are greatly appreciated.