‘Blub-blub!’ Christina teased mercilessly. ‘That’s the way I like you, I think. Where’s the haughty little cow gone now, heh? Surely she can’t really be this useless big-titted filly with rings in her nose, tits and cunt?’ She laughed uproariously, slapping her thighs with unconstrained glee.
‘But what shall we call our little dobbin?’ she sniggered, eventually regaining some sort of composure. ‘Let’s see, what would be an appropriate name for a horse-faced, big-titted, whore slave?’ She paced up and down for a few moments, apparently considering various choices.
‘Ah, I have it,’ she suddenly cried. ‘Amber! Excellent choice, for so many things are preserved in amber. It’s very fitting that the toity little bitch you once were should be preserved inside Amber the filly. And you shall have a proper name brass.’ Whether Christina had intended the name all along, or whether it was just another display of VESTA at work, a brief visit to the nearest bench produced the brass; five ornate letters about two inches high and cleverly welded into one oval whole, with small hooks at either end that fitted into small rings set into Lianne’s bridle, so the nameplate sat neatly across her forehead strap.
‘And now we must shoe you, Amber,’ Christina said smugly. ‘You’ll be pleased to know that, unfortunately from my point of view, there is no pain associated with the operation. Your hooves, like those of a real horse, have almost no sensitivity.
She released each of Lianne’s ankles in turn and, though the hammering in of the nails produced a mild sensation underfoot, there was indeed no actual pain. However, if walking in the hooves had been a problem before, the weight of the iron footwear would, Lianne immediately realised, make it an even greater effort from now on.
‘And just so you don’t try to repeat your kicking efforts of the last time,’ Christina said, refastening the second ankle, ‘I have a little present for you.’ Again to the bench, this time returning with a short metal bar, at the end of each was fixed a steel cuff, fashioned to encircle the lower thigh just above the level of each knee. Locked in place it served two purposes, Lianne realised. One, she would no longer be able to close her legs completely together and two, it would prevent any forward kicking movement.
And when Christina finally released her from the frame, secured her sleeved arms to the corset girth and pushed her towards the doorway, walking was a matter of a curious shuffling progress, if progress could indeed be used to describe Lianne’s shambling efforts.
‘Time to prepare you for your tail, bitch filly,’ the giant blonde growled, steering Lianne around to the left when they were outside once more. Jerking the lead rein and forcing the flanged bit plate to bite painfully into the roof of Lianne’s mouth, she grinned widely, clearly enjoying her prisoner’s total helplessness.
‘But first,’ she added, ‘we need to warm you up a bit. Ah, I see everything is ready.’
‘Everything’ turned out to be a curious pillory-like stand, though one designed for a victim whose hands were already secured otherwise, for there was a single aperture through which the neck could be locked and the upright which held the device was adjustable for height. Forcing Lianne’s head down and slamming the upper half of the mechanism into place, Christina lost no time in availing herself of this facility, until Lianne was forced to bend with her back parallel to the ground, her naked rump thrust high into the air by a horizontal bar that swung out on a pivoting extension pole.
It was a humiliating position, as if everything else that had been done to her already were not humiliation enough, and as she peered back along her body Lianne was greeted by the sight of her massive breasts swinging pendulously, their heavy rings adding to the already distorting effect of gravity.
To one side of the pillory stood a barrel, from the top of which protruded the handles of several implements whose purpose was only too clear to the hapless Lianne and, as Christina stepped over to select one of the canes, she closed her eyes and gave out a futile little whinny. This pleased the big woman greatly.
‘Get used to it, horse girl,’ she taunted, swishing the long bamboo through the air, close to Lianne’s face. ‘From now on I shall see to it that you get a good thrashing at least once every day.’ She stepped around to one side, extended the rod and tapped Lianne’s buttocks. Lianne jerked at the contact, but she knew far worse was to come.
The long cane hissed like an angry snake, cracking against the unprotected flesh with a report like a gunshot. Lianne tried to scream, but all that came out was a high-pitched neighing sound. Dimly, she heard Christina let out a short exclamation of satisfaction, but then the cane was whistling down again and the second line of fire exploded a mere quarter of an inch from the first.
Lianne bucked and twisted, but her bondage held her firm and all she could do was to stand there, bent over, a perfect target for the sadistic amazon who, unhurriedly now, began to beat her steadily and methodically. She had lost none of her skill, Lianne realised through the pain and tears. Every cut landed on previously unblemished flesh, each stripe, though Lianne could not see for herself, separate from the rest, until her buttocks and upper thighs became one complete red mass.
‘And now you’re about ready for your tail, bitch,’ Christina growled, dropping the cane back into the barrel. ‘Brown and white, I think.’
From somewhere - Lianne could not see where - she produced the article, a truly splendid confection of long horsehair, pale and dark brown strands blending with brilliant white, the whole bound together where they came to meet the method by which they were to be attached; a slender rod which swelled out into a bulbous tip, the purpose needing no explanation to the sobbing Lianne.
‘In we go, horsy,’ Christina smirked, presenting the tip of the rod to Lianne’s rear orifice. Lianne tried to clench her buttocks, even though she knew resistance was ultimately a waste of effort. But a sharp smack from Christina’s gloved hand across already throbbing flesh was all that was required to make her muscles relax. And before she could recover the thick rubber was inside, sliding home until her sphincter closed about the narrow band at the base of the tail, impossible for her to eject without aid, or at the very least, a great deal of effort and further pain.
‘Excellent, my little Amber,’ Christina said, walking around Lianne in a leisurely fashion, nodding as she examined the finished effect. ‘And now, before the boy returns, I think I shall enjoy this thing between my legs.’ She reached beneath her skirt and Lianne realised she was grasping the male shaft that hid there in this world.
‘Of course, the boy will only see me as Gregor,’ Christina laughed. ‘Not that it’d matter anyway as he’s only a hologram, or whatever, and he won’t come back till I’m ready for him,’ she added, her left hand fumbling at the belt buckle. ‘That’s the beauty of this painworld, don’t you agree? Those of us in control are truly in control.
‘Now, what do you think of this for a pizzle, horsy cunt?’ The skirt fell away, revealing a huge erect phallus, a member larger than Lianne would ever have believed possible to exist. ‘The stuff of dreams, eh? How many men would give there all for even half of this?’ Christina threw back her head and laughed outrageously.
‘Well, my little slut whore pony girl, you’re going to get all of it. Every last fucking inch, you bitch!’ She moved around to stand behind Lianne, slapping her tenderised buttocks as she did so and drawing another series of pained snorts.
‘Feel this, cunt!’ she hissed, presenting the bulbous tip to its target. Lianne’s stomach jerked convulsively as she felt the hot pressure against her gaping sex lips, felt the throbbing flesh pushing aside, the spreader bar preventing any semblance of resistance, other than that provided by the reluctance of the musculature to yield to such an invasion.
‘Of course,’ Christina breathed, steadying herself by grasping Lianne’s hips, ‘in the real world one good fucking from a cock this size and you’d be useless for ever more. And just for good measure I’ve ad
ded another little touch.
‘From now on every time anyone fucks you you’ll be a virgin at the beginning. Think of that, pony-whore, you get to lose your maidenhead a thousand times a year, at least!’ She sniggered and Lianne gasped as the first inch of her gained entry, for what she said was true and already Lianne’s hymen was beginning to stretch and tear.
‘Now buck, you bitch!’ Christina screamed, slapping hard at both thighs and thrusting her own hips forward. Lianne let out a high pitched squeal and dutifully bucked, for as the hot shaft pressed and tore its way home, the waves of abandoned lust were already washing over the rocks of her natural resistance.
The fight did not last very long at all and indeed, Ellen thought wryly as she was turned forcibly onto her stomach, hardly justified the description of a fight at all. For whoever - or whatever - was inside that male catsuit was fit, strong, quick and cunning, even if that combination was only as a result of VESTA’s intervention.
Two, three, four times she leapt forward, her deadly talons raking at her opponent, only for the wicked claws to scythe through empty air as a nerve-numbing blow thumped into her unprotected kidneys or back, sending her sprawling in an undignified and helpless heap from which the male cat could easily have extracted her and brought proceedings to an even quicker end.
He, however, seemed content to play with her, as a real cat might have played with a mouse, circling her prone form each time in a predatory crouch, his movements so feline it was even more unnerving than the power of his strikes and the speed of his reactions. Finally, seeing the futility of continuing the charade, Ellen conceded to the inevitable.
As her breath returned slowly yet again she rolled onto her back, spread her legs wide and issued a plaintive mewling through the gag mask that was an unmistakable invitation to her conqueror. The victorious male, however, was unwilling, if indeed he were even able, to slip out of his cat role.
Stalking over to where she lay, he bent, inserted one clawed hand beneath the small of her back and flipped her easily onto her side, reaching down for one ankle to pull it out and wide, while the other hand forced her shoulder further over until she was laying face down in the grass. Still not satisfied, he jammed a foot under her crotch and lifted, until his message was unmistakably clear.
Grunting through her gag, Ellen steadied herself on all fours, then lowered her upper body onto her horizontal forearms, forcing her rump high into the air and spreading her legs again as she did so. Her opponent needed no further encouragement, dropping onto her with a cry somewhere between a squeal and a snarl, his rampant organ finding her defenceless sex with unerring precision.
For a brief instant Ellen tensed against the assault, but it was only an instinctive reaction and she quickly forced herself to relax again, so that the distended knob of his huge shaft met no resistance as it began to probe inside her hot, moist tunnel.
‘Aaaahheoowww!’ she squawked, as he continued to penetrate her, thrusting forward until she was impaled on the longest, hardest penis she could ever remember. She felt him rise up behind her, his fists grasping her hips so that his claws penetrated her catsuit and dug painfully into the flesh beneath, but by this time Ellen was oblivious to pain. Pain now was just another facet of pleasure and, as her conqueror began to pump in and out of her, she found herself reacting in rhythm and pleasure.
Degrading as it was, William’s pony cart at least offered Lianne a respite from Christina’s frenzied attentions. Seeming to change in appearance from her own blonde amazonian form to that of Gregor, the muscular smith, the Dane was plainly hell bent on exacting every ounce of revenge for what had happened between the two women on their last encounter, when Lianne’s steel shod foot had broken her shinbone so sickeningly.
If there were any traces of that injury in the real outside world, here in this cybernetic painworld there were none. And if anything the woman was even more powerful than Lianne remembered from before, though dimly she understood that VESTA was capable of producing things that were as far from reality as most of her scenarios were so horribly realistic in their initial basis.
Finally, however, Christina appeared sated, though her virtual self showed no signs of the strenuous mauling she had inflicted upon her helpless prisoner. The steady rise and fall of her breasts could well have been no more than a reflection of her mental state as she stepped back from Lianne’s limp form and turned away towards the back of the smithy.
When she returned she carried a coiled whip of heavily braided leather, tiny metal points glinting at intervals along its length. Lianne’s heart sank yet again, for she could easily imagine the suffering such an evil implement could inflict, especially in the practised hands of a sadist such as Christina.
However, to Lianne’s relief, William the stable lad chose precisely this moment to reappear, apparently quite unconcerned by Christina’s now indisputably female appearance and seeing only Gregor before him. Christina held the whip at arm’s length, proffering it to the youth.
‘I want this hung on the wall of her stall,’ she instructed. ‘I want it where she can see it day or night, and I want you to give her one stroke with it every night before she sleeps. The marks will be gone again by next morning.’
William eyed the viciously toothed braid with not a little amount of scepticism. ‘S’cuse my sayin’, master Gregor,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘but I don’t reckon any marks this bugger inflicts will be gone in a twenty-four hour.’
By way of reply Christina let out a bellowing guffaw and suddenly even Lianne was seeing her once more as the blacksmith. ‘Take my word for it, lad,’ Gregor rumbled, ‘the marks will be gone by morning, for this is no whip like you’ve ever seen before.’
William’s eyes widened. ‘Ah, ‘tis a magic whip?’ he almost whispered, awe in his voice.
Again the smith let out a roar of laughter. ‘Let’s just say it ain’t of my normal world,’ came the cryptic reply.
Finally and, apparently satisfied, William stepped forward, unlocked Lianne’s neck from the pillory post, clipped on a new lead rein and led her, unresistingly, away.
Back at the stable block Lianne was introduced to the cart she was expected to draw, a lightweight single-seater buggy with huge wheels on a single axle, a long central shaft projecting forward so that its weight, combined with that of the pony would more than stabilise the weight of even the heaviest driver.
It was this shaft, however, that Lianne realised was to be the source of her greatest discomfort and humiliation, for whichever mind had been responsible for its design and conception had plumbed the very depths of degradation.
At its front end a short spar rose vertically, supporting a lockable steel collar. And just ahead of this a horizontal bar carried two similar wrist cuffs, ensuring that the unfortunate pony would be forced to walk or run with her spine kept all but parallel with the ground. However, not content with this simple torture, other refinements had been added.
Not far behind this assembly a broader band, plainly intended to encircle the waist, rode on a metal collar that permitted front and rear movement along the shaft, whilst ensuring that the wearer’s stomach was kept close to the heavy pole. But even this was not the worst feature, for just to the rear of this device sat another, also mounted on a movable collar, but refusing any latitude that would permit the victim to dismount the thick phallus once it had been inserted into her sex.
Realising its purpose Lianne could not stifle a neigh of terror. But William, as ever, appeared completely unmoved. Sensing her reluctance, he used the coiled whip to slap her resoundingly across her buttocks, laughing as he did so.
‘Sooner you gets to learn, sooner it gets easier,’ he chuckled, ‘for all of us, as happens. Now, walk on, gel, and lets get you hitched up proper. Hup now, Amber, easy on.’
A second blow from the coiled whip, much harder than the first, convinced Lianne that resistance was futile, for even t
hough the blow was still considerably lighter than it would have been from the whip used in its intended fashion, it was still more than enough to allow the tiny barbs to jag into her flesh with painful results. She whinnied, bucked, but walked forward as instructed, making no attempt to resist as William positioned her astride the shaft on the ground.
‘Stand still and I’ll make this easier for you,’ William said, turning back to take something from under the buggy’s seat. As he opened it Lianne saw it was a crude jar and that it appeared to contain a jelly-like substance; a substance William scooped out using two fingers and proceeded to apply liberally to the phallus that reared up just a few feet below Lianne’s quivering sex lips.
‘No point in being over cruel, I reckons,’ the stable lad said, and Lianne wondered if he was being ironic, before realising that was decidedly unlikely, given that he was, supposedly, nothing more than a computer generated entity. On the other hand, given that the vindictive Christina now appeared to be running things anything was possible, she reflected, as William lifted the shaft and presented the massive dildo to her gaping opening.
Thanks to the grease he’d applied and also to the fact that her pulsating tunnel was still wet from its encounter at the smithy, the phallus slid easily into Lianne, although its sheer length made her gasp as it was pressed fully home. Then, before she had time to react, William bent her forward and locked the waist band about her, following this by locking her neck and then her wrists, so she stood bent forward, the shaft held up between her thighs, her breasts dangling heavily to either side of it.
Still not satisfied, William attached a short strap to the top of Lianne’s head harness, slipped it through a ring in the top of the neck collar and tightened it without ceremony, forcing her head up and back and depriving her of all but the slightest movement of it.
Vesta - Painworld Page 14
