'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 cooperate 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. No, 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 initially, 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, crushing and bruising her fragile airway with frightening speed. It wasn't long before she became lightheaded 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?
Black spots danced before her eyes. Still his fingers plied her clit, driving her body to planes unknown. She was going to orgasm and then die, without making a single sound of protest. Absurdly, she wondered if she'd enjoy the experience. What a way to go! Her body was on fire, each neuron shooting her to new sexual heights. It was going to be the most amazing climax. His eyes locked onto hers and held them mesmerised. When Jenny thought her lungs were finally about to burst, the air in her body having become unbearably and painfully compressed, he suddenly released the pressure against her throat and tore the gag from her mouth.
Jenny coughed and spluttered uncontrollably. Rolling over to ease the pressure on her lungs, each breath she desperately sucked in was sheer agony. Curling into a tight little ball, a single tear fought its way down her cheek.
'Breathable air is such an important commodity, wouldn't you agree?'
Utter bastard, she thought, her body shaking terribly as tears began to pour.
There was a moment of silence before Mark spoke. 'Never let them see you cry, Jenny,' he whispered gently, his face still inches from hers. 'No matter what they do, refuse to let them have your tears. That is all you have left here and some days, that might be all that keeps you sane.' In a matter of seconds he had firmly dispelled the lovesick look. She was never going to look at him in quite the same light again. Good. They'd work better together, having got that much out of the way.
He rose from the floor and gave her a few moments to get herself together, ignoring the soft, choked sobs.
Even though he'd had plenty of experience when it came to breath control play, it had been a risk to use that tactic on her. A calculated one, he admitted to himself, but a risk nevertheless. It didn't matter how much experience you had with asphyxiation, cardiac arrest was a very real possibility if something went wrong. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Michael Redcliff would have flayed the skin from his body, every single inch of it, if he'd killed his daughter. He also knew that now Jenny realised who was boss she'd be an obedient little puppy, for a least a few hours or so. She'd always have that episode in the back of head and could be reminded of it, should the occasion arise.
'Asshole,' she whispered, when she could once again speak. He'd yet again managed to stop about a second before she would have tumbled head long into the most wondrous climax. Her body gnawed at itself, from the inside out. Closing her eyes against the bitter taste of defeat and denial, she tried to block out the sound of his laughter.
'That's better,' was all he said, giving her a few minutes to recover. Moving over to the steel table in the centre of the room, he pulled at the drawers underneath it. He'd asked for a few things to be ready for him: a practice harness, which he'd fit before he started to stripe her backside and a flogger. He'd start with the flogger and end with his crop. They were a good combination. When he looked around to order Jenny's compliance, he found her already making her way towards him, on all fours no less. He had to blink to make sure the apparition was real.
The man really was an asshole, Jenny thought, and couldn't help another fit of coughing. Her bruised throat was protesting its earlier treatment. Here she was, playing nicely, and he didn't even register the fact. Approaching the table she rose to her knees and used her forearms to pull herself up onto it. It was cold, really cold. That was good. It soothed her burning joints. When she had placed herself in the middle of the countertop she dropped to all fours and dipped her head to her hands, just as he'd instructed.
A tap on her bottom with the crop made her jump, though it didn't hurt. 'Push your backside out. Offer it to me. Make it beg to be whipped,' a seductive voice whispered in her ear. 'Look at the mirror in front of you. I want you to watch every stroke and see what it does to your body.'
Hate sprang anew in her eyes. It appeared her humiliation was to be complete. Comp
lying with his orders and trying to contain the fear, apprehension and loathing she felt, her eyes snapped open.
'This is your practice harness.' He held up a series of black leather straps which were jointed with silver buckles. It meant little to Jenny; she could only watch as he began to apply them swiftly. The body harness started just below her shoulder blades, in a straight horizontal line and featured straps that went over and under her arms. These connected to diamond shaped squares that encased her breasts. She was beginning to look just like Peaches, the pony girl they had seen in the stable. One strip of leather came down from each of the diamonds and ended in a 'V' shape at her crotch, the end of which sported a large aluminium hook with a rounded ball at the base. What on earth was that for? But her question was quickly answered as Mark curved the metal hook into shape between her pussy lips and fed the ball slowly inside her. Jenny's face infused with heat and her eyes dipped from the mirror.
Mark brought the flogger down sharply on her backside. He watched her head shoot up and admired the elegant line of her neck, held in the right position and beautifully in line, even without the help of her collar. While he was aware that the thud of the flogger had hurt her, she gave only the smallest of grimaces. The girl was prepared to fight, it seemed. Good. He looked at his watch and wagered she wouldn't last ten minutes, but he wanted to play with her first.
He held the leather thongs up to her face and let them caress her cheek. 'Did you like your first taste of the flogger, pony girl? Are you going to enjoy your daily spankings? Are you going to wiggle that ass at your trainer every morning and beg for it to be reddened?' When she shook her head in denial he couldn't resist running his fingers down her cheek, tracing a path across her lips. 'But you've just begged me to spank that ass and very prettily, too. I think you're going to enjoy them. I think that pert backside of yours is going to crave them. Eyes forward, little filly.' His fingers raised her neck up high so she could watch his every move. He would need to replace her collar and fit her bridle and bit shortly, but for the first few initial strokes he wanted to hear every little sound she made and watch how she handled herself. He didn't expect to be impressed.
Jenny could still smell the leather of the flogger's thongs and her cheek burned where Mark's fingers had been only moments ago. The harness bit coldly into her body, which made her clench around the hook teasing her clit and the ball embedded deep inside her. She could barely look at the leather straps surrounding her body. They made her feel even more naked, as if they accentuated the fact, and that made her soaking wet. The adrenaline overload in her system had her heart beating double time and her skin sensitised to the lightest of touches.
It wasn't long before the flogger flowed in Mark's hand. He looped it around in a figure of eight shape that managed to impart two strikes to her backside with each swing. The first few strokes hadn't been too bad and Jenny was sure she'd be able to withstand the punishment without too much trouble. As her ass began to heat up with the continued slaps, each one burning a little more than the last, doubts began to surface. Horrible as it was, she watched every stroke he dispensed, all with clinical precision, in the mirror in front of her. Her face flushed with mortification. Whichever way she looked, all she could see was a pair of brightly flaming, red buttocks. Gritting her teeth tightly as the smarting sensation increased, she tried to focus on something that would lessen the pain of the blows. French didn't seem to cut it this time so she tried Latin. 'Audaces fortuna iuvat. Constantia et virtute. De fumo in flammam.' She took some pleasure in the fact that the uncultured bastard behind her wouldn't have a clue as to what she was on about.
Mark wasn't usually caught off-guard but he had to admit to being pleasantly surprised. It wasn't often that a submissive managed to please him, but if this was her first dance with pain, she had an abnormally high tolerance for it. Her backside was steaming under the flogger. It was blisteringly red and burning brightly, yet her pussy was overflowing with obvious enjoyment. It was gleaming and dripping wet. He suspected she wasn't even aware of the fact, chanting her Latin, some of which was absurdly appropriate. 'Out of the smoke and into the flame,' nearly made him crack a smile, but he was more intent on cracking a certain little filly before him. He let his hand fly, watching the reddened area blossom from a single angry mark into a scarlet flower in full bloom. Finally he observed the first wiggle, the first squirm as she tried to dodge the insistent slap of the flogger. It was time to move on.
Jenny refused to cry out. She would not give the tosser the satisfaction. Even though her Latin had fled long ago, she was holding on. The pain was manageable. She had to reach inside herself, but by staring at her blue eyes, mirrored a thousand times around the room, it was almost possible to forget where she was and what was happening. Concentrating intensely on the blue rings of her irises, she tried to lose herself in the halfway land between arousal and pain. That was before Mark unleashed his crop.
The first stripe against her left buttock had her eyes watering and trying to jump out of their sockets. Jenny was unable to suppress a tremor, which overtook her whole body and turned her insides liquid with fear. Was she fearful of the arousal the pain caused or her helplessness to prevent it? She wasn't at all sure.
'I hate to say it, but you have pleased me, little filly. You may now beg me to stop any time you wish,' he said.
The words echoed in her brain. She'd rather die. She was a Redcliff and Redcliffs didn't beg. Her head faltered from its upright position and her nails tried to dig a hole in the steel table in front of her.
'You will learn to beg,' Mark drawled lazily in her ear. 'You have my personal guarantee on the matter.' He laid the crop down on the table and retrieved the thick, white collar from the floor. When his fingers circled her bruised neck in order to put it on he didn't miss the look of anxiety. Her eyes were then immediately drawn to the slim, black crop, almost as if she didn't want to let the implement out of her sight. Giving her backside a sharp pinch he nodded approvingly as she gasped. Using his fingers on her chin, he made sure her eyes faced forward again. The crop flexed once more in his hands. It flew.
When the second blow struck her skin Jenny made a half-choked, half-gurgling sound of protest and had to bite her tongue to stop it. A crimson red line bloomed along her right buttock, joining its fellow counterpart. The marks throbbed insistently and her backside quivered as her knees began to shake. Please let that be the end of them, she thought frantically.
'Beg. A simple "please" will do.' He gave her another of his dark looks. They usually had the desired effect. He watched her battle for control and decided it was time to pull out the big guns. Mark drew back his arm, as if to really let fly and just before he pretended to release the stroke, he heard a whisper.
'Please.' It was barely audible.
'Louder.' The crop remained pulled back in his hand.
'Please,' she whimpered, as loud as her quivering body would allow.
He nodded and placed the tip of the riding crop on her pussy lips. They were getting somewhere at last. 'I think you deserve a reward,' he said, wearing a thoughtful expression and proceeded to slide the soft leather tip of the crop along her lips. He slowly slid it backwards and forwards along the slippery, moist surface and watched his prey intently as she began to rock herself towards the blunt end. Mark didn't allow the tip of the crop to touch her clit, but bounced it along the entrance to her pussy, watching as his filly began to enjoy her role. She was, at last, the picture of wanton submission. A soft flush to her face, a few droplets of sweat, her mouth open in a pretty little 'O' shape as she began to thrust herself along his crop. The crop dipped and swirled, plunging shallowly inside her a few times but always just shy of where it needed to be. He knew the metal hook would be rubbing against her clit and driving her wild. It wasn't long before she was furiously grinding back and forth, and panting heavily. Her eyes had become big and round as the pupils dilated with desire. Mark decided to try something he wouldn't normally have used on a new tr
ainee, but he had a hunch that not only would she enjoy it, the very act would send her over the edge. It was time for the third stroke of the crop.
It hit the line of metal covering her clit with a measured precision and she lit up the room like forked lightning. The scream was ear-piercing as her body froze in shock. He was willing to bet she'd never had an orgasm like it.
Jenny was reeling in a delirious state of bliss. The force with which her climax had taken her had been staggering, the pain having just managed to roll her body off the end of a very large and very long precipice. The fall was exquisite delirium. Her whole body was glowing as the aftershocks slowly reverberated through it, her body clenching at the ball inside her pussy and the plug buried in her ass. How had he managed it? What had she been doing wrong all this time? But as usual, there was little time for thought.
Mark had brought another series of jointed leather straps with him and there was no mistaking the black rubber bit in the middle of them. She didn't want this. It would look horrible. Her face would be dissected by a mass of leather and it would make her feel like an animal. It would make her look like an animal. They were trying to strip her humanity away, little by little, and it was working.
When Mark finally finished adjusting the bridle tight around her face, Jenny stared at her reflection in disbelief. She looked awful. It made her feel like a naughty little puppy who couldn't go out in public without a muzzle, in case it decided to bite someone. She only had a few hours left to be paraded around in this horrendous get-up, she consoled herself. Then she would have her revenge.
The leash pulled at her throat but this time she was ready for it. She shuffled quickly behind him, her backside smarting painfully, already dreading the contents of her next stop.
Learning the Ropes: Discovering life as a pony girl... (Pony Tales Book 2) Page 3
