The carriage seemed to have become heavier, somehow, dragging more noticeably at her waist belt and she stole a sideways glance from the corner of her eye to see how Ellie was doing.
The blonde was running easily, seemingly in no distress at all and Hazel groaned, assuming the worst...that Ellie really was much fitter than her.
Suddenly, shockingly, the whip sought out Ellie’s buttocks, landing with a wicked crack and sending blistering heat raging through her bottom.
From the driver’s seat, James roared, “You’re slacking, Ellie. I can tell you’re not pulling your full weight. Now pull properly and don’t let me catch you idling again.”
A second cruelly hard blow seared her bottom and Ellie screamed in anguish, hurling herself forward against the chains attaching her to the shafts.
The significant and immediate reduction in Hazel’s workload as the blonde took on her fair share of the weight, went some way to rejuvenating her and a further mile went by before she began to blow as she approached the limits of her stamina.
Ellie, too, was struggling against exhaustion and both pony-girls were mightily relieved when James hauled back on the reins and slowed them to a trot and then a walk.
As Hazel’s breathing eased and her racing pulse slowed, she began to take an interest in her surroundings and saw a small, single storey wooden building just ahead, in the middle of a thicket of trees.
James walked them fifty yards or so past the weathered building, then brought them to a halt and jumped down from his seat with both sets of reins in his hands.
He dropped Ellie’s to the grass, but kept hold of Hazel’s as, to her surprise, he reached down and released her from the shafts.
He led her over to a sturdy tree and knotted her reins to its trunk, high enough to be out of reach of her bound arms, then tested the security of her leash and patted her buttocks. “Be a good pony,” he told her. “I have some...business...to discuss with Ellie.”
His eyes glittered with amusement and anticipation as he spoke and Hazel realised that what he had in mind for Ellie had very little to do with business and a great deal to do with pleasure.
His pleasure.
“You’ll be quite safe here,” he went on, “Have a rest. You have my permission to sit, if you wish. I’ll be back for you in an hour or so, as soon as I’ve finished my little...uh...chat with Ellie.”
He grinned and went back to the carriage, released the blonde from the shafts, then led her away and into the wooden shack, her eyes wide with anxiety and helplessness.
The door closed behind her and Hazel was alone.
Alone, hopelessly bound and gagged by her steel bit, her virtually naked body tethered to a tree.
If anyone chanced to use the path and see her there, she wouldn’t even be able to run away or hide and her belly swirled with fear and shameful excitement as she imagined what could happen if a group of male ramblers on a country stroll stumbled across her.
They wouldn’t be able to believe their luck.
To a party of fit young men such as Hazel’s fevered imagination conjured up, the discovery of a naked woman, helplessly tied up and gagged, would be the answer to their wildest dreams and her sex grew wet with slick heat as her body responded to the thought of an unknown number of strong men using her for their pleasure.
Preoccupied with the erotic possibilities of being accidentally found and taken by strangers, she hardly registered the distant buzz of a motorcycle engine.
Until, that is, the noise rapidly got louder and she realised that the machine was coming along the track towards her, nearer every second.
Her sexual fantasies vanished, replaced by stark terror and the reality of her situation.
She tugged at the reins, but the knot held firm, her bit sawing at her tongue as she struggled and her eyes filled with panic as she stared wildly towards the distant bend in the track where the motorcycle would first appear.
It shot around the corner trailing a plume of dust and she screamed shrilly as it braked sharply and skidded to a halt ten yards past her.
In the sudden silence as the engine was switched off, the rider slowly dismounted and stood his bike on its stand, then brushed at his dusty blue and yellow leathers with a gloved hand.
Only after that did he turn towards Hazel and the terrified redhead shuddered as she saw that he wore a full-face helmet, its tinted visor hiding his identity.
“Looks to me like you’ve had a bit of trouble, girl,” his voice was muffled and indistinct and Hazel could only just make out what he said...then immediately wished she couldn’t as he added, “Now you’ve found yourself a whole lot more.”
She screamed desperately as he hurried over to her, but couldn’t prevent him untying her reins and using them to pull her, resisting furiously, deeper into the wood.
Fighting him every inch of the way, Hazel did everything she could to stop him, but the triple handicaps of her bound arms, hobbled knees and gagged jaws made her efforts ineffectual and easily overcome.
When he stopped, she gazed down in despair at a grassy hollow, its floor carpeted in springy green moss.
In different circumstances, an idyllic spot to make love.
With a sharp tug at her reins, he forced Hazel to his side, then tripped her and sent her rolling down the gentle slope into the hollow, her body coming to a halt in the middle of the lush moss, face down.
Before she could roll over, he was upon her, his powerful hands seizing her right ankle, bending it up towards her buttocks and knotting one of the reins to it.
Then he did the same to her left and Hazel found herself hogtied, any attempt to straighten her legs tugging painfully at her bit and the corners of her mouth.
She couldn’t move a muscle, his bondage of her combining with her pony-girl harness to hold her in total helplessness.
He rolled her over and her doubled legs spread wide, her spine arching until only the back of her head, her shoulders and the insteps of her feet were in contact with the ground, the rest of her body curved upwards in a graceful, vastly erotic and hugely uncomfortable bow.
Hazel still couldn’t move, the reins hog-tying her too tight to permit her even to close her gaping thighs. Her eyes bulged in horror as he stood over her, gazing down at her extreme vulnerability.
He lowered himself to his knees between her rigidly tensioned thighs and Hazel squealed in anguish as she lost sight of him, knowing that he was about to take her and that she was unable to make the slightest resistance.
He unclipped her hobble chain and used her with absolute ruthlessness, making no effort to arouse or prepare her first, his massive erection bludgeoning its way into her sex, penetrating and filling her with its masculine power and driving on deeper to thrust and lunge in the heated cauldron of her belly
Even if Hazel had not been a trained submissive, she could never have withstood such a devastating assault on her body...
But Hazel was trained and was submissive and her belly exploded in coruscating spasms as the anonymous rider plundered her shuddering femininity, impervious to her screams and gasps and the frantic pleading of her eyes as she was forced to surrender unconditionally to his merciless dominance.
Her love juices flowed in rivers as she came, then came again and she wept in abject misery and shame, knowing that she submitted as a true and fiercely hot slave, her uncontrollable passions delivering her helplessly into the power of any man strong enough to impose his iron will upon her.
Even one who, like the helmeted rider pillaging her pulsing, seething belly, was a total stranger and only her captor through the cruel twists of fate which had brought them together at the worst possible moment for her...and the best for him.
He gathered himself and Hazel squealed in despairing ecstasy as his throbbing shaft plunged to the core of her body and released his seed in hot, powerful jets to spray all around her belly and send her reeling into a final orgasm of stunning power and intensity.
Pinned by her bonds, she
was unable to move as wave after wave of love juices swamped her belly, her whole body vibrating madly and her mouth stretched wide in a silent scream of unbearable rapture and incandescent lust.
The leather clad motorcyclist gave a deep groan of ultimate pleasure as she pulsed around his embedded maleness, her bubbling heat enfolding him and her belly spasming deliciously as his erection twitched and throbbed in release.
Until, at last, his climax waned and he slid from her drenched sex.
Without a word, he rolled her over onto her belly, untied the reins from her ankles and forced her to her feet, then led her aching, trembling body back to the tree where he had found her and tethered her once more.
He strode to his motorcycle and took a small, shiny object from his saddle-bag, then returned to Hazel.
He raised his hand so that she could see what he held and her eyes bulged in shocked recognition as she saw a gleaming steel padlock dangling from his finger.
Not just any padlock...but the very one she had purchased herself and used to lock her labia rings together when, months earlier, she had offered herself as a ringed, locked slave to Miles.
The lock to which only he had the keys.
His muffled chuckle brought a scarlet flush to her cheeks. “It is not only guests that a slave must serve, Hazel.” He bent to slip the padlock through her labia rings, snapping it closed with a decisive click.
Hazel’s mind raced, a whirling, spinning vortex of relief, humiliation and despair as she realised that the anonymous motorcyclist who had used her so cruelly and to whom she had submitted utterly, was none other than her own Master.
He had tricked her into believing that she was at the mercy of a total stranger...and seen that she had still surrendered deeply and fully, as a true slave.
As he must have known she would.
Frightened by the revelation that he had known and understood her submissive nature and used her most secret and shameful fantasies against her, Hazel sank to her knees, intensely aware of the weight of the padlock at her ringed labia.
He stepped back and removed his helmet and gazed steadily down into her uptilted face, enjoying the crimson flush that coloured her cheeks.
“You certainly seemed to enjoy being taken by your...uh...mysterious biker, slave,” he chuckled callously. “Perhaps I should arrange for a real one to find you.”
Hazel’s eyes filled with horror and she fought against her bearing-rein to shake her head, praying that he was only joking, but knowing that he might not be.
“Of course,” he went on, “If I did arrange it, I would have to lend him my keys, wouldn’t I? Otherwise, slave, you would have to be pleasing in other ways.”
Hazel shivered, her blush deepening.
Her sex might be padlocked and inaccessible, but her lips and mouth were not and she had been trained to please Masters in any way they might desire.
He nodded firmly. “Report to my suite when your duties as a pony-girl are completed,” he ordered, then strode to his motorcycle, started the engine and roared away in the direction of the hotel, leaving Hazel on her knees beside the track.
The engine noise faded into silence and Hazel rose slowly to her feet, giving a soft gasp as the padlock between her legs swung gently and aroused her.
It was a delightfully sensual feeling...but then she remembered that she was a pony-girl and a long way from her stable.
The prospect of being made to pull the carriage all the way back, with every step stimulating and arousing her, was not one she relished, but as she was forced to accept that she would be given no choice, Hazel shivered to the slave heat smouldering in her belly.
Some time later, the door of the shack opened and James emerged, a dirt streaked, dishevelled and still helplessly bound Ellie following at the end of her reins.
The broad smirk on his face and her rumpled appearance told Hazel that she was not the only one who had been forced to please and submit to a Master.
James’s “business discussions” with his blonde companion had obviously been a great success, at least from his point of view, and Hazel grinned behind her steel bit, hoping that Ellie had been made to surrender as completely to James as she herself had to Miles.
With the blonde safely between the shafts of the carriage and her reins tied to a tree to stop her running off, James walked over to Hazel.
He was clearly well pleased with himself, his whole demeanour that of a man who had thoroughly enjoyed the defenceless charms of his tightly bound partner and Hazel’s spirits rose to the knowledge that he had made Ellie serve him...and serve him well.
He looked down, to where the padlock gleamed at Hazel’s belly, “I see that Miles found you then, pony-girl.”
She blushed furiously, realising that James had been a party to her Master’s deceit and his grin widened.
“Enjoyed yourself, did you?” he asked, then went on, “Of course you did. You’re a slave-girl and you just love being tied up and helpless, don’t you? It shows in everything you do, you know.”
He bent quickly and jiggled the padlock and Hazel shuddered, arousal surging through her belly, “See? You can’t help yourself, can you? It’s what you are. And now Miles has padlocked you so you won’t be able to tempt anybody with that hot little body of yours. Shame, really. If I hadn’t been quite so...ah...energetic with Ellie, I might have sampled you myself. But there we are. Miles wants to keep you for himself for a while, I suppose.”
Hazel shivered as he spoke, her face bright red.
It was true, she was a hot slave and couldn’t control her body’s needs and responses.
Miles knew it and that was why he had barred the entry to her sex.
Others might look at her, others might desire her, others might order her to her knees, or bind her and toy with her body, even order her to pleasure them with her lips...but only he could unlock her belly and use her fully.
He had enslaved her and now he owned her and controlled every aspect of her life.
She belonged to him and for as long as he chose to retain the keys to her body, he…never she…would decide when...and who...would be permitted to use and enjoy her.
James untied her reins and harnessed her alongside Ellie, then climbed into his seat.
“Forward,” he cried and as the pony-girls set out on the long road home, the padlock linking Hazel’s ringed labia began its insidious, irresistible work.
Reinforcing her submission and arousing her in preparation for her ordered meeting with Miles.
The Master to whom she could only ever be a slave…
Chapter Ten
Moira Lawrence had been married to her childhood sweetheart, David, for less than a week and still found it almost impossible to believe that she could have known him and been his lover for so long without picking up the slightest hint of his true nature.
Blinded by her love for him, a love that he returned equally strongly, she had allowed him to persuade her that a honeymoon at the Bondage Hotel would be a completely different way to begin their life together.
Much less boring that the usual two weeks on a beach that most couples settled for, he had said and Moira couldn’t help but be intrigued by the discreet advertising for the hotel, suggesting as it did, that guests would enjoy a unique experience, their every possible need catered to by fully trained staff whose willingness to serve and eagerness to please would be ensured by constant, hands-on supervision of the hotel management.
Guests were assured of the highest standards of luxury, cuisine and service, the advertising claimed and would have unrestricted use of the top quality facilities, including Moira noted, an indoor pool, fully equipped “Games Room” and even carriage driving in the spacious and totally private grounds.
The fact that the advertising appeared in one of the erotic magazines that David liked to read to her, alongside a column headed “Bondage and Discipline” had given her pause for thought, but he had been so keen on the idea that Moira didn’t like to voice her misg
ivings.
In the excitement of the wedding preparations, she gave hardly any thought to the honeymoon, leaving it all to David to organise and it was only after the ceremony, when she and her new husband drove off, that a tiny, niggling concern momentarily blighted her euphoric happiness...only to be pushed, unheeded, to the furthest corner of her brain.
That, Moira now knew, had been the first, crucial error on her part...but it had seemed unimportant at the time.
From the outside, the Bondage Hotel was an impressive sight, giving no clue to the secrets it held and she could still remember her shock on first entering the main hall and seeing Giselle kneeling in submission, her naked body tethered by chain to the overhead track.
Even David had been surprised, but that had soon turned to delight and later, in their suite, as he had kissed and cuddled and made love to Moira, he had explained to her that Giselle was a submissive and her enslavement was nowhere near as terrible, or as unwanted, as Moira imagined.
She hadn’t been convinced, hadn’t wanted to be convinced, but he had persisted and she had eventually agreed, albeit unwillingly, to stay on at the hotel.
That had been her second mistake...the one that had led directly to her downfall and the situation in which she now found herself…
Moira sat bolt upright on the thinly upholstered seat of a high backed wooden chair, her wrists and elbows lashed securely to the unpadded arms by leather straps, more straps binding her ankles and knees to the outsides of the chair legs, still more above and below her breasts pinning her in place.
She couldn’t move and had long since given up her futile efforts to break free of her bonds, accepting that they were far stronger than she was.
Her eyes looked down, taking in the naked swells of her breasts protruding between the tight black straps, then further down, to where her slim thighs spread wide under the compulsion of the straps clamping her knees.
A shiver set her softly rounded belly trembling, as it had the innumerable other times she had looked at her helpless body and, as on the other occasions, she looked across the room at the king-sized bed where a humped mound indicated the position of her husband, David.
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