by Maren Smith
“Look how wet she is,” Alan announced, and soft laughter filtered through the room. He laughed too, even as he purred down at her, “What kind of naughty girl gets wet during her punishment?”
“My favorite kind,” Master Marshall drawled, winning another round of chuckling laughter from everyone. “Open your legs for him, pet, nice and wide. Give him your naughty little pussy and ask Master Alan to spank it for you.”
Groaning, Kaylee buried her face between her arms. She sobbed, but she also spread her feet wide apart and tilted back her hips to grant him complete access. She could feel the movement of the air in the room, brushing cool along the heat of her fully exposed sex a heartbeat before the stroke of fully physical fingers touched her. She jumped. Base instinct wanted her legs to snap back together.
“No, open wide for me.” Alan cupped her and the bulk of his broad hand prevented her from hiding. “Bare your pussy to me.”
Her face would never be anything but the hottest shade of humiliation, and still she spread her legs as far as they would go, her hips rocking back into his caressing fingertips. Someone in the crowd whistled. Kaylee shuddered, rolling her hips, thrusting back as if she could impale herself on Alan’s fingers.
“I’m waiting, pet,” Master Marshall said. “Is there something you want to say to Master Alan, or do I need to put you across my knee first?”
She shivered even harder, but dutifully raised her chin and, horribly embarrassed, whispered, “Please spank m-me—”
“Spank what?”
“Please, sir.” She moaned, hiding her eyes behind her hand as if that could somehow shield her from this wanton debasement. “Please don’t make me say it.”
Though Alan’s hand remained cupped around her aching pussy, two crisp slaps flattened each of her bottom cheeks in turn. Pain flared and she bucked, mashing on Alan’s stroking fingers and grinding against his knee.
Crying softly, she raised her chin and plaintively begged, “Please…oh!” She cringed all over, flinching her bottom from spanks that did not fall. At least not yet.
“Please what, pet?”
“P-please spank m-my pussy.”
Two more sharp spanks, a thousand shades hotter and brighter and more dominating that Alan’s hand could ever be.
“Spank your what? Be specific, pet, and speak up. They’re having trouble hearing you in the back of the room.”
There was no place she could writhe, no magical shadow she could tuck herself into to hide from this. She drummed her feet on the floor, but meekly, and then she raised her chin and said, “Please, M-Master Alan, sp-spank my naughty pussy.”
The hand on her sex pulled back to deliver a gentle pat.
“Louder,” Master Marshall demanded.
“Please, Master Alan, spank my naughty pussy!” she begged, cringing even before he drew back and slapped her harder. Without thinking, she arched her hips back into his hand, spreading her legs until her hips felt the strain.
Two more spanks, hard enough to make her gasp and squirm.
“Again,” Master Marshall commanded.
She didn’t know who he meant, but she cried out, shouting loudly, “Please, please, Master Alan!” She clutched his leg with both hands when she felt his arm tighten fast around her waist. “Please spank my naughty pussy! Please, I’ve been so bad—ah!”
She threw back her head, shrieking, her whole body lurching upon Alan’s knees as he spanked her, giving her exactly what she’d begged for and laughing softly while she humped and writhed to meet each stroke. He made her cry out. He made her beg and wail, and yet even while she was doing it, she honestly couldn’t tell whether or not she was begging him to stop or not to stop.
In the next instant, it was over. Kaylee gave no protest when Alan shoved her off of his knees and onto hers. He grabbed her by the hair, yanking at the fastenings of his pants with eager fingers before pulling her head down into his lap. Kaylee used her mouth, her tongue, her hands—lapping, flicking, stroking and sucking, yelping only once when Master Marshall pulled the anal plug sharply out of her. He gave her no time to relax before he had taken its place, his fingers bruising her hips as he pushed in as deep as he could reach.
“Mind your teeth,” Alan panted, knotting his hands in her hair to better control her bobbing motions. “Suck me. Use your tongue. Fuck yeah, suck it like that.”
And Kaylee did, feverishly obeying every panting command he gave her while Master Marshall made rough use of her from behind. He fucked her so aggressively that the wet, slick sounds of it echoed through the room. That and the applause that followed were all she could hear. The cocks in her mouth and ass were all she could feel. She had never felt so aroused, so used, so alive.
She loved it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kaylee felt wonderful. Relaxed and peaceful. She was dressed, albeit in one of Master Marshall’s shirts, which was just long enough to cover everything that needed covering so long as the wind didn’t blow and she didn’t bend over. They were outside. It had to be at least eight o’clock. The sun had gone down, but it wasn’t yet dark, and a handful of servants were winding their way around the gray-hued grounds, lighting the evening lamps in the gardens. Though they weren’t the only couple strolling the gravel walkways, they might as well have been for all the notice Kaylee took of anyone else.
“So,” Master Marshall recapped. “You’re the personal secretary for a small real estate office. Your parents are unreformed hippies with an affinity for water and you are the meat-eating black sheep of the family. What else?”
She offered a happy shrug. “What else is there? I love camping and fishing, I hate chocolate, I’m a closet cross-stitch fanatic. Oh, and while I have a terrible penchant for fantasizing about spanking, I apparently don’t like to live any of those fantasies out.”
“Oh, I think under the right circumstances you could. What do you feel about that?” Master Marshall paused at the edge between the gardens and the grass and pointed to a couple playing amongst the marble statues. A naked female submissive had been tied to a stone Adonis, with her arms hugging around its neck while she straddled his erect penis. It protruded from out between her thighs, leaving her bare tiptoes straining to touch the base.
Behind her, her master applied his flogger, smooth, graceful motions that stained her body a soft shade of pink from the tops of her shoulders to the backs of her legs. The sounds she made, though, were anything but sounds of pain. She moved sinuously, moaning as she arched into the varying strokes—first soft, then harder, now faster, now slow and sensual—her hips rocked continuously on the marble phallus that supported her.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing you whipped that way,” he mused.
“You mean, with that implement?” she asked. “Or hanging naked in a public garden while hugging an anatomically-correct hunk made of marble?”
Master Marshall swatted her, but he did it while smiling. “You’re right. Why hug when you could be riding that marble cock as if it were the one true love of your life. And just so we’re clear, if you ever make a flippant remark like that again and forget to crown it with ‘sir,’ I won’t bother asking if you want to. I’ll mount you on the first hard cock I find and let you ride to the rhythm of my belt.”
“Yes, sir.” She never lost her smile either, but she kept a much more respectful tongue after that. She also considered his initial question a bit more seriously. “I’m not sure I’d like that kind of whip. It looks…” It was hard to find that balance between not sounding as if she were looking down her nose on someone else’s kink and not sounding as if she were challenging him to change her mind. She picked her words carefully. “I guess the idea of someone hitting my back like that is…very scary to me.”
“Under an experienced hand, you might enjoy it.”
The woman bound to that statue certainly seemed to be, but Kaylee still shied. “I’d rather not.”
“All right, I’ll accept that for now.” Slipping his hand into hers, they w
alked on, passing another strolling couple in the grass. Or rather, she was strolling; he was crawling, led along by a leash that was attached to his firmly-caged cock.
“That was different,” she said, once they were well-past the other couple.
“Difference is the spice of life.”
Further out in the garden, a threesome sat on a blanket, surrounded by brightly-colored ropes. The two men were working together to tie their submissive. Her hair was mussed, her make-up a little smeared, and she was not slender by any means, but she wore those ropes as if she were being dressed in the sexiest lingerie in creation. By sheer attitude alone, she looked that part, too.
“I do believe I see interest sparking in the depths of your eyes,” Master Marshall noticed, watching her as she watched them model their rope work.
“It looks very intricate.”
“Shibari can be. It’s also relaxing, almost like meditation. I don’t get to practice as much as I used to, but a woman is rarely sexier than when she’s wearing silk ropes in a well-executed design.” He thought a moment, his smile turning slightly wolfish. “Except perhaps, in that brief moment after she’s been untied, when the rope marks and design can still be seen on her soft skin. Now that…nothing is sexier than that.”
It was right there on the tip of her tongue to ask if he would tie her up, but she stopped herself. That might not have been an appropriate thing for a collared slave to ask her Master, even while so relaxed and strolling hand-in-hand through the Master’s garden. And then she spied something that made her forget about shibari entirely.
“Oh wow.” Kaylee quickly covered her mouth because that definitely came out sounding as if she were turning her nose up at someone else’s fantasy.
He followed her gaze, but exhibited no surprise at all when he spotted four women pulling a cart and rider down the winding gravel walkway toward them. The women were dressed like horses. Each wore an intricate chest harness, bits and bridles, and a headdress complete with pointed horse ears and ornate feather plumes that stretched over a foot above their heads. Their hair was pulled back into long and flowing pony-tail-like manes and blinkers that restricted each woman’s field of vision, reducing it to only what lay straight ahead.
“Ah yes.” Master Marshall pulled her back off the gravel to let them pass. “The pony girls are going for their evening canter.”
Kaylee watched them go, their hoof-shaped boots stepping high, their hands bound behind them, their hips swaying to make the horse tails hanging off their bottoms swish.
“Curious?” Master Marshall asked.
She snapped around to stare at him now, surprise and laughter warring with the need to be respectful. “Uh…no, thank you?”
“Have you ever tried it?” he countered.
“Some things you don’t need to try. Some things you just know.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” she said, confident. “That’s not appealing, that’s just strange. Why would anyone want to wear horse shoes under their shoes and horsetails on their butts. It’s just bizarre.”
“In,” he corrected, that knowing smile of his growing.
“What?”
“In their butts. They’re wearing horsetail butt plugs. Most girls love having their tails lifted, stimulated even, while they’re being fucked by the stable stallions.” His shoulder bumped hers playfully. “Much as you enjoy have your ass stimulated while I’m fucking you.”
Blushing furiously, Kaylee looked away. In some distant and marveling part of her mind, she recognized nothing could be ruder than a my kink is okay, you’re just sick mentality, and yet, she still could not stop herself from saying, “There’s a difference. I’m not dressed up like a horse while you’re doing it.”
“Are you telling me you wouldn’t enjoy it if I made you dress the part and put you through your paces?”“I didn’t say that,” she hedged, but apparently he heard challenge in her tone because he took firm hold of her hand and began walking again. Blue eyes narrowed, that smile of his fixed firmly in place, he led her across the grounds. They passed several other players: a Daddy delivering gentle spanks over his "daughter’s" diaper-clad bottom; two women in full costume gowns standing quietly by as a third was thoroughly gang banged by a group of masked men. It was hard to tell if the women were spectators or eagerly waiting their turn.
The stable was situated at the far end of the garden, and this was where Master Marshall took her. He said nothing, simply pulling her toward the massive double doors despite her soft laughter and the nervous attempt she made to try and explain. “I’m not trying to make fun of them, I just don’t understand the appeal.”
“So you said.” He pushed the doors open and pulled her inside.
It looked and smelled like a stable, complete with two real horses, an upper loft stacked with hay and lined down both sides with stall after horse stall. Almost half of them were occupied with pony boys and girls in various stages of being put to bed for the night. Each pony had a Trainer, either a man or woman in fancy white and beige riding dress, removing harnesses, rubbing lotion into chaff marks, wielding curry brushes and soft bath sponges, and in the case of the right center stall, at least one wielded a crop.
The stall was large enough to occupy a real horse. Fresh clean sawdust covered the floor. A bed of straw crowned with a neatly folded blanket filled one corner. In the center of the stall, however, a female handler held her pony bent across her hip while she applied a short crop. Dressed in only her boots and tail, her hands concealed in restrictive mitten-style gloves, the woman gasped and squeaked with each snapping impact, tears just beginning to spill down her cheeks, and yet the only fight she offered was the internal fight to hold still and accept.
As they passed by, Master Marshall pulled a chart down off the wall and quietly read it.
“What did she do?” Kaylee whispered, not wanting to interrupt. Her bottom tensed, tingling that familiar sense of dread and anticipation with every fresh crack of the crop.
“Nothing,” he replied. “This is a nightly ritual by her request: ten strokes if she’s been obedient, thirty if she hasn’t. It looks like she’s been a very good girl today. She’s due a visit from one of the stallions.”
Kaylee glanced across the aisle at one of the real horses and then stared at him.
“No.” Master Marshall laughed and put the pony girl’s chart back on the wall. Beckoning for her to follow, he walked further down the row of stables and stopped again. “This is Race the Night, her assigned stallion.”
He stood in the center of the stall, tall and proud, completely still while his handler moved around him, grooming both his mane and his tail with a soft curry brush. He was tall, his head held high in spite of being dressed in nothing but a cock sleeve and his head gear. Though not aroused, he still looked impressive. His was the kind of body any submissive would have loved to see on her Dom. For some reason, it was a little harder to reconcile it on a submissive, although she knew body type had nothing at all to do with sexual orientation.
Removing his cock sleeve, his handler began to rub him, stroking his cock and balls, bringing him to a full and standing erection. In a low and sultry tone, she spoke to him, her words too soft for Kaylee to make out.
Race the Night stared straight ahead, looking boldly back at Kaylee. He stamped once but otherwise did not move, not even when his handler pulled a condom from her pocket, opened the package and slipped it on him. Affixing a lead to his bridle, the handler led him out of the stable and back to the pony girl’s. The sounds of the snapping crop had fallen silent.
Kaylee noticed Marshall watching her. “To each his own,” she offered, trying to be as open-minded as she knew how.
He beckoned for her to follow him again. To say that she had misgivings was putting it very mildly, especially when she realized that he was leading her not out of the stable but deeper into it. He found an empty stall at the very end, opened the door and gestured for her to precede him.
&nbs
p; “I—” she hesitated. “I’m not sure…”
“You don’t have to be.” He reached for her, hooking his finger in her collar ring and pulling her to him. “You belong to me tonight, remember? Trust me and submit, that’s all you have to do.”
He pulled her inside and Kaylee went, her nerves tangling and her heart quickening. She liked it when he used that tone, and she really, really liked it when he dragged her by her collar. It made her feel so…owned.
Master Marshall positioned her in the center of the stall, just like Race the Night had been, and began to unfasten the buttons down the front of the shirt she wore. His shirt. Someone paused at the entrance, quietly closing the stall door, though that did not give them privacy.
“Is there anything that you need?” he quietly asked, hooking his arm over the top of the door.
Peeling the white cloth from her shoulders, Master Marshall glanced around at the equipment hanging neatly on the walls. “A training whip. And an audience, please.”
Before the panic could fully sink into her over that, he caught her chin between his fingers and turned her to meet his eyes. “What size shoe are you?”
“Seven,” she whispered, wringing at her fingers.
“Size seven hooves,” he relayed to the stableman. “And at least three of the nicest blue feathers we have. You,” he said, releasing her chin, “are going to look absolutely stunning in blue feathers.”
It was her favorite color. He’d remembered.
