If the wait in the stables seemed to go on for ever, paradoxically, it also appeared to Kitty to be over all too soon.
‘All right boys.’ Mr Blackstock arrived, flanked by the grinning stable-lads. He advanced, drying his hands on a cloth, having evidently just washed them at the pump. ‘One more little job before we finish for today.’
Kitty stepped back as the three men bore down on her, unable to suppress a little wail of terror. She bumped into the rough stone wall behind her and nearly lost her footing as she teetered on her high heels.
‘Careful now, my dear.’ Mr Blackstock caught her elbow and steadied her. ‘Dick, get that buffalo-hide stirrup-leather. The inch and a quarter. Oh, and I want a running martingale and some bridle straps. Get me a couple of girth extenders, too.’ The steadying hand pulled her towards the waiting saddle. ‘Now, young lady. Would you care to step this way?’
Kitty stumbled, her legs seeming to be semi-paralysed, so the groom steered her over to the saddle and beam. ‘Davy, go round and take her wrists. This filly is distinctly skittish and she just might try to bolt.’
A firm push in the small of the back propelled the maid towards the saddle. Kitty’s wrists were caught by Davy on the far side of the beam, and she felt strong hands grip her waist and hoist her up. Mr Blackstock lifted her the few inches required and she sprawled belly-down over the saddle, held in place by the stable-boy’s firm grip on her wrists. An even firmer grip grabbed her right ankle.
‘We’ll have these things off, I think. I have no mind to lose an eye!’
Kitty felt him remove her shoes, and then she gave a little wail of fear as she felt the bridle strap pass under her thighs, against the bare flesh just above her stocking-tops. This was pulled quite tight before another strap secured her ankles together. Kitty gave an alarmed squeak. Mr Blackstock had not strapped her down for her previous visits to the stables, and the procedure provoked a sense of mounting panic in her.
‘Oh, please sir. This really is not nec – Ow!’ There was a resounding smacking sound and Kitty felt pain lance through her left thigh.
‘Keep quiet, or I’ll put a bit on you,’ Mr Blackstock growled. ‘Dick, fetch me a curb chain and a lip-strap. Just in case.’ Then he stepped into Kitty’s field of view, holding a selection of straps. He put most of these down on a nearby work bench, but he retained two. One was a short double strap equipped with two buckles which he secured around her right wrist, threading one of the straps through a loop in the brow-band, a short length of leather with a loop sewn into either end. The groom then took another of the double straps from the bench and buckled it around her left wrist and the other end loop of the brow-band, creating a pair of leather handcuffs.
A hand on Kitty’s bottom told her that Dick had returned, and she flinched as she waited for the inevitable pinch.
‘Now, Dick, pass the ends of that martingale looped over the thigh strap to me, underneath the saddle,’ Mr Blackstock instructed.
Below her, Kitty saw a hand holding both ends of a buckled strap emerge, and felt the pressure pulling her thighs forward. The belt was buckled over the strap joining her wrists, and then Mr Blackstock tightened it up.
Kitty yelped as she found her knees pulled forward and her wrists hauled down and back, forcing her to embrace the saddle. She was quite helpless now and she knew it. Her bare bottom was exposed to the world and she could only move her head. Worst of all, she was deprived of even the illusory feeling of security that having her feet on the ground might have conveyed.
‘Pass me that stirrup-leather.’
Mr Blackstock doubled up the heavy-looking strap in one hand. With the other, he took a fistful of Kitty’s blonde locks and hauled her head up until she met his eyes. He looked enormous, towering over her, the size of his great biceps and shoulder muscles emphasised by the bareness of his arms.
He tapped the strap against her cheek. It felt cold and hard, heavy and unyielding. Kitty felt suddenly faint.
‘Now, girl, I mean to leather you good and proper. I shall give you a belting now which you’ll not forget in a hurry. I shall give you something to take to show your mistress when I’m finished. I don’t mind if you squawk, and you can wriggle all you like. It will make no difference to me!’
Kitty could only listen with bated breath to his heavy-booted tread as he strode across the flags that floored the stable-block. Her arms were hauled down by the strapping, to the point where she could not raise her head and see what was happening behind her. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes tightly, her bottom-cheeks clenching in anticipation.
There was a low whistle, followed by a sharp crack. The strap caught her right in her most tender groove and a ferocious blaze of pain coursed through her rear. Though she had been given permission to cry out, Kitty was determined not to give her tormentors that satisfaction, and she clenched her teeth together to prevent an agonised yelp escaping.
‘Good shot, Mr Blackstock!’ Dick’s coarse voice called out excitedly.
Leather strapping creaked in protest as Kitty writhed and wriggled. The fire across her bottom-cheeks subsided slowly, but Mr Blackstock seemed quite content to wait.
‘Oh no, that was just to get my length, lad. Nothing but a practice stroke, that. Still, I reckon she might feel this.’
At last there came another low whistle, and another pistol-shot retort, followed instantaneously by a scalding eruption of pain. This stroke seared the tops of Kitty’s thighs, and it was agonising. Kitty grimaced and shook her blonde locks violently. She almost ground her teeth together, but a hiss escaped her lips all the same.
‘You see, Davy, some like to work the same area, but I like to spread them. Unless the count is low, and then I do my best to deliver them where they’ll do the most good.’
‘What is the count, Mr Blackstock?’
Despite the distraction of her throbbing backside, Kitty perceived that the stable-boy’s voice sounded strained. So she tried to stop writhing and listen for the answer. Unfortunately, before replying, Mr Blackstock unleashed a third blistering stroke.
‘Aaaooooohh…!’ This time she could not stop the cry of pain escaping. If she had not been secured to the saddle, she surely would have jumped up like a jack-in-the-box. As it was, all she could do was writhe helplessly in her bonds. Kitty shook her head and kicked her legs back and forth, to the creaking sound of protesting leather, as if by doing so she could somehow disperse the pain.
‘No count,’ Mr Blackstock replied at last, to her horror. ‘I shall give the wicked little chit just as many as I feel like. A dozen, maybe two – or even more. After all, there is no hurry. We’ll give her a stiff dozen or so to start, and then see if she would prefer to play a different game.’
The thrashing continued quite relentlessly. The strap cracked across her bottom and thighs, time and time again. Kitty shrieked at the top of her lungs, quite helpless to prevent herself now, all resolve forgotten. She squirmed and wriggled, and fought the straps that held her so invitingly in position for the lash, all to no avail. The heavy stirrup-leather whistled through the still air of the stable-block, impacting mercilessly on Kitty’s tender bottom, and she howled in pain.
Mr Blackstock was methodical and thorough, belting Kitty’s hindquarters from the top of her bottom, right down to her stocking-tops. As he had promised, he was content to let her shriek her distress, and did not seem to mind how much she wriggled and writhed. Only when she got her heels up hard against her bottom, and kept them there, as if by doing so she could ward off blows on her thighs, did he intervene.
‘All right, Dick, haul down on that ankle strap. Davy, your eyes look like they’ll pop out of your head. It is a pretty arse, there is no denying. Go on, lad – if you like, step up and have a feel.’
Kitty whimpered as she felt the stable-boy’s hand stroke her bottom.
‘Nice, eh? I don’t know how that arse
stays so soft, considering how often the wicked chit needs whipping!’ Mr Blackstock barked with laughter. Tears ran down Kitty’s cheeks and she watched forlornly as they splashed on the flagstone below. She tried to ignore the pain that the boy’s hand provoked as he pinched and probed.
‘Bloody hell, Mr Blackstock. You could fry eggs on this bum; it’s positively scorching!’ There was a tone of wonder in Davy’s voice. Kitty winced as his hands passed over the welts on her thighs. He stroked and patted her, before fingering the sheer material of her hose. ‘I never seen stockings like these.’
‘Course not – they’re silk, you yokel.’ Dick chuckled.
Kitty felt the boy tug at her suspender drops, as she watched another tear fall and splash on the flagstone below.
‘What are these things, then?’ There was a tone of rapt, almost awe-stricken, amazement in his voice. A young acolyte, initiated for the first time into a sacred mystery, could not have sounded more reverential.
‘Suspenders.’ Dick’s voice from below was scornful. ‘They’re attached to the trollop’s corset. Haven’t you ever seen ‘em before?’
‘Take no notice of him, Davy,’ Mr Blackstock said. ‘I suppose you often got to fumble silk stockings and suspenders straps before you came up to the hall, eh Dick?’
‘Well, I…’
‘He never saw such things neither, till he came here, Davy. It’s a new fashion, lad, instead of garters. That Mademoiselle Isobel in Hatherby makes ‘em up. Anyway, let’s get on with the job, shall we?’
Once more the sickening whistle echoed through the stable-block. Kitty howled with pain again.
‘There’s some beer in the jug – complements of Lady Alicia. Pour it out, Dick. There’re three glasses there. Davy, you can unstrap the baggage’s legs for her, now.’
Kitty slumped limply over the saddle, gasping brokenly and trying her best to stem the flow of tears coursing down her cheeks. Her bottom and thighs throbbed abominably. She had lost count of the belt-strokes she had received, but was sure it was close to two dozen in total. The agony was seeping away to a dull ache but every time her sore bottom was touched, even gently, waves of pain would lance through it again.
Mr Blackstock waited for his glass of beer, occasionally patting her proffered rear and provoking a new gasp from the maid. She felt the straps unbuckled from her legs and the loosening of the belt that kept her hands pulled back.
Mr Blackstock walked around the beam to her head. Kitty’s attention was riveted to the stirrup-leather that still dangled from his hand. In the other he held his beer, and he placed this on the bench before turning back to the quietly sobbing girl. A callused hand lifted Kitty’s chin until she found herself looking up into the big groom’s eyes. His expression was one of amusement, but quite devoid of pity. Once again, the thick leather was tapped against her face.
‘Now, sweetheart,’ he said gruffly, ‘have you had enough leathering? You could go another dozen easy, but I thought you might prefer to do something else.’
‘Anything.’ Kitty blinked up at him desperately. ‘I – I’ll do anything you like, sir. Please…’
The groom released her chin, allowing her to drop her chin again, and draped the stirrup-strap around her neck. Kitty shivered at the contact with the cool leather, closing her eyes and praying he would accept her offer.
‘Funny,’ the big man said thoughtfully, ‘that’s what they always seem to say!’
‘All right, little missy, time to strip.’
Kitty eyed the three men nervously. She had had cold pump water splashed on her face and been given some to drink, and this indulgence had revived her somewhat. Even so, she swayed a little, her legs still unsteady, and was glad she was no longer in her heels. What did it matter if the stone flags were cold beneath her stockinged feet?
It was getting dark and the grooms had hung oil lamps on a beam above her, before settling on some bales of hay stacked in the corner. Here they watched, eyes bright with excitement as they drank their beer. It filled Kitty’s heart with a sense of impotent indignation. It was so typical of her mistress: to send down cold beers to the men whom she had instructed to abuse her maid. It was like a message from the Marchioness, ensuring that Kitty remained aware of why, and on whose behalf, her ordeal had been ordained.
Anyway, she realised, dwelling on Lady Alicia’s cruelty would not get her anywhere. She pulled off her uniform coyly. Kitty knew the men wanted a show, so she took care not to strip too quickly. She was all too aware of the leather strap, now doubled up again in Mr Blackstock’s hand. She dropped the satin garment to a chorus of whoops and whistles and placed a hand uncertainly on her hip.
‘The corset too, sir?’ she asked hesitantly. She was wearing a heavily-boned back-laced corset of black satin. Kitty knew it would be a sore trial to unhook it on her own.
‘Get over here,’ the head groom grunted gruffly. Kitty swallowed hard and trotted over to him, horribly aware of three pairs of eyes devouring her curvaceous shape. Mr Blackstock took hold of the front of the corset and, with a brief grunt, unhooked the front. The corset fell away behind her. The suspender straps were still attached, so she felt her stockings tugged down behind by the weight of her stays. This was not her most pressing concern, however.
‘All right, boys. You’re going to see a proper B and B.’
‘B and B?’ Davy puzzled.
Mr Blackstock chuckled. ‘Belting and buggering, lad.’
With a yelp, Kitty found herself propelled onto a nearby hay bale. She gasped as the prickly straw scratched her naked breasts and belly. She could feel the still-attached corset dragging along behind, her stockings now pulled down to just above her knees. Then she felt another tug and realised that the groom had knelt down on the corset. She hoped he would not damage it. If he did, there was no question about who Lady Alicia would blame. Kitty dared not even think about the state of her silk stockings.
‘Hand me that saddle-soap, Dick.’ There was the sound of rubbing and then she felt his finger on her anus.
‘There’s an art to ringing rose-holes, Davy.’ Mr Blackstock spoke exactly, as if he was giving instructions on how to mount a skittish mare. Kitty gave a surprised gurgle as his finger gently circled her sphincter, massaging the tender tissue until the muscle relaxed.
‘Ooh!’ she moaned as the finger fondled the so-sensitive tissue.
‘It’s no good forcing it. You have to tease it gently till it’s ready to let you in. Uff!’
She felt his big cock-head press against the ring of muscle. There was tightness and resistance for a moment and then she felt it slide in, surprisingly easily. Kitty remembered Mr Blackstock’s cock as not particularly long, but thick as a girl’s wrist. He must have lubricated her rose-hole well, she thought. That, or else Lady Alicia’s training dildos must be having an effect on her at last. All the same, it was tight enough to make her gasp as she felt him ease in further. Worse, the force of the big man pressing down pushed her naked breasts and belly harder into the scratchy hay.
‘You’re reaming the little bitch proper, Mr Blackstock!’ Dick called out excitedly.
And it was true. The groom’s weight crushed Kitty’s bare body into the hay as his fat cock inched into her, deeper and deeper. Lost now, moaning deliriously, Kitty could feel his belly rasping against the sore flesh of her bottom. Surely that was as far as it would go? she thought wildly. Then his hands closed on her hips and she gave a startled gasp as she felt him use his tremendous strength to pull himself even further in. She clutched the bale, burying her face in the coarse straw as Mr Blackstock buggered her magisterially.
‘Oh, ah, oh, oh!’ Kitty moaned and whimpered as her bottom-hole was mercilessly reamed. Her hands scrabbled desperately at the bale as she felt herself swept away into a sort of delirium. There seemed to be nothing in the world but the groom’s great cock impaling her, nothing but the throbbing of her bot
tom and the piston-like motion of his thrusts.
‘Oh, yes… yes, sir…!’ she heard someone babble in the distance.
Finally the big groom grunted. There was a short series of even harder thrusts as he growled obscenities, and Kitty felt him shudder as he climaxed, and at last the reaming ceased. Kitty was engulfed by conflicting emotions. An odd sense of disappointment mingled with the desperation of her own unfilled need, and fought against an ebb tide of relief. Not that she was given long to think about it. Mr Blackstock withdrew without ceremony, leaving Kitty gasping on the bale.
‘All right boys, you can play with her for while, but mind, she has to be sent back in time to serve them dinner in the hall!’ the groom growled, picking up his glass of beer and wandering off towards the pump.
A strong hand took hold of a hank of Kitty’s hair and hauled her up onto her knees. Blinking dazedly, she saw Dick sit on the bale in front of her. The boy was grinning and unbuttoning his breeches. Davy, who she realised must be kneeling behind her, relinquished his grip on her hair and reached around to take a double handful of her breasts.
‘God, Dick, I ain’t ever felt anything so fine as these.’
Kitty moaned as his rough hands clumsily squeezed her breasts.
‘Aye, there are certain perks to this job, Davy-boy!’ Dick patted the maid’s hot cheek and she found herself looking into his laughing eyes.
‘All right, easy, girl. You know how to suck this – I seen you do it.’
He slapped his engorged cock against her face, smearing the tears that had run down her cheeks, before sliding it down with obvious intent. Kitty opened her lips tentatively and let him push his ruby cock-head into her warm mouth. As she did so, she felt the boy behind her press his hardness against her throbbing bottom. Her own desire was getting truly desperate now, but she dare not ask for what she needed. She took more of Dick’s stiff cock in her mouth and opened her legs invitingly, hoping against hope that the lout behind her would have the brains to take the hint.
Hall of Infamy Page 5
