Hinterlands Book II: The Stables

by Dehaven, Isha

  “Well done nightshade! They chose well!” she called out as they jogged along. At first Amelia had no idea what this meant, only that she was being commended by Ms. Eleros. She quickly realized that the purple flowers in her hair marked her as nightshade, the symbol of her trio.

  “Th-Thanks!” She called back breathing hard.

  “The name’s Psalm” the girl called out grinning. Psalm’s tanned face beamed brightly like the morning sun with this smile.

  “Amelia!” she called back, finding it hard to talk and run at the same time. Psalm’s stride was athletic and easy, her beautiful skin sparkled with sweat. She seemed to be scarcely breathing hard, whereas Amelia felt like she was dying. Psalm was keeping pace with Amelia out of pity.

  “Careful Nightshade, someone’s watching.” She gestured towards the carriage as they passed by. Who was in there? Amelia craned her neck but couldn’t quite see. While she was observing the carriage Psalm took the opportunity to sprint away effortlessly like a deer. Amelia watched as she crossed in front of the stables and slowed to a fast walk. She had completed the twenty laps far ahead of the others. Amelia came in second place, gasping for breath and placing her hands on her trembling knees.

  “Well, well, well! What a surprise Ms. Kerrick. Your first day in the paces and you come in second place! Isn’t that shocking Mr. Stephen?”

  “Indeed it is! Ms. Eleros will have to watch herself.”

  “Certainly she will!” Ms. Farstone approached Psalm, with a dubious expression. She reached into her skirts and took out the small leather crop that she carried with her. It was an evil little thing full of menace. Psalm stared straight ahead despite this threat, appearing graceful and alluring, just as she always did. Ms. Farstone on the other hand was trying to appear as threatening as possible to little effect.

  She ran the end of the crop lightly over each of Psalms breasts, circling the deeply hued nipples and patting them softly. Amelia watched this fascinated, still trying to catch her breath. Psalm’s nipples stiffened rapidly from the stimulation. Her red lips opened just slightly, and her eyes hardened as she worked to resist Ms. Farstone’s titillations. Her brow glistened with sweat and bits of melted wax. The other girls all gathered around breathing hard and also covered in sweat. The afternoon sun was beating down mercilessly upon them all. Each was curious to watch how Psalm would react to this new assault, she being the strongest out of all of them.

  “Now, now Ms. Farstone, Ms. Eleros won the race fair and square.” Old Mr. Stephen had come to the rescue. He always was a stickler for the rules. “She gets the prize she has earned. It’s the loser we must encourage, you know that!” He was having a grand old time with this. Ms. Farstone looked put out.

  “Some of these girls have never been disciplined at all you know.” She said this to herself wistfully fondling the crop under Psalm’s chin and down her smooth throat. Her face hinted at some inner conflict, and she seemed unable to decide what to do next as she devoured Psalms flesh with her eyes. Finally some force emerged victorious and, she suddenly turned away to face the other girls. “Now then. Who was the loser today?”

  The group parted slowly almost theatrically to reveal Molly Jenkins, who had arrived last. She was still trying to catch her breath and seemed unaware all were staring at her. The daisies in her red braids were drooping slightly, but all in all, she really didn’t seem to have put up as much effort as the others. That must have been why she was so far behind.

  “Ms. Jenkins! Come forward. You’ve been a very naughty girl now haven’t you?”

  “Sorry Ma’am! I….I stepped on a pebble Ma’am” Molly was thinking fast for an excuse, but couldn’t come up with anything. She was wringing her hands nervously.

  “Now now, Ms. Jenkins, you’ve been bad and must be disciplined…rather, encouraged to do better, right Mr. Stephen?”

  “Oh indeed so Ms. Farstone. Encouraged.” Mr. Stephen repeated this word for emphasis. Apparently someone had counseled them to use it. He took another long draw on his pipe. The smell was sweet like molasses.

  “Step up to the platform now girl.” Ms. Farstone ordered. Though Molly looked terrified, she obeyed. The platform was a small stage made of wood that was elevated about six inches off the ground. On this stage a wooden cask, lay on its side. Boards had been removed from its bottom so that it wouldn’t roll and would stay fixed in place, though the cask’s top was worn smooth from some sort of friction.

  The reason for this was immediately clear, when a couple of the female attendants appeared out of nowhere and grasped Molly by her wrists. They gently walked her up onto the stage, bending her over the wooden cask and exposing her backside to the group.

  “Hold this bar here.” One of them said in a whisper. Molly submitted to their requests, willfully grasping a wooden bar before her. The girls had grown to trust their attendants throughout the morning rituals, and Molly was no different, assuming that they now meant her no harm. Despite this confidence, Amelia could see that the gooseflesh had sprung up on the backs Molly’s thighs, and she was breathing rapidly.

  The attendants then unceremoniously pulled her legs apart, presenting her sex and the tender bud of her buttocks to the girls gathered there. Though they were naked, all of them, it was still shocking to see her exposed like this, her sex advertised so openly. They began to whisper and giggle. Amelia herself couldn’t help but be somewhat turned on by the situation. Molly was very slender but she was pretty, her little buttocks rounded and pert. The bright red patch of hair was visible as it trailed into nothing on either side of the small pink vulva, a vulva that held its secrets close, refusing to part it’s petals completely. Amelia observed the girls starring fixedly at the sex. Their reactions ran the entire gamut. Some looked disgusted or disinterested, while others looked quite curious and concerned. Many of the more senior girls actually appeared hungry or aroused. There was an element of danger to the situation, but also one of perversity and immodesty that electrified all who were present. Molly’s legs trembled, and Amelia could swear her little sex was pulsating madly in front of them. She could almost feel Molly’s face turning bright red.

  “So Ms. Jenkins, you are going to have to learn to run faster if you mean to stay ahead of THIS!” Without even a pause she lashed Molly firmly across her right buttocks with the leather riding-crop, causing the girl to yelp loudly and take her hands from the pole. She started to stand upright.

  “Back on the pole Molly Jenkins…or I will tie you to it! How does that sound?” She almost purred this threat and Molly bent herself slowly back over the cask.

  “P..please Ma’am. I’ll run faster next time I swear it!”

  The next strike was soft but solid; hard enough to leave a red line across the cheek. Molly groaned. Ms. Farstone followed this up with a few soft slaps with her hand, caressing the soft flesh salaciously, as if to rub in the strike, and spread it around. It was only another moment and she lashed the crop again much harder this time, causing the girl to yelp and tense up. Again, the old woman rubbed the cheek, this time also rubbing and squeezing the other side of Molly’s buttocks, squeezing and patting the ass almost lovingly. This pattern continued for a few minutes with Ms. Farstone regularly slapping the girl, alternating between hard and soft blows, bringing out a deep blush. Molly whined and flexed her legs in anticipation of each blow, waiting for the contact, only to have Ms. Farstone pause cruelly here and there to ask the other girls taunting questions.

  “Doesn’t she turn a lovely red girls? My stars, my, my, my, look at this!” She continued laying the crop down firmly across the cheeks

  Now between lashings, she began to run her hand into the crevice between the cheeks, slapping and cupping Molly’s sex. Molly responded with a muffled moan, apparently not rejecting this punishment as entirely as she had mere moments ago. Encouraged by this, Ms. Farstone slid her hands along the girl’s thighs, smacking the skin up and down with the crop ever-so-lightly, yet ardently enough to elicit a shiver. With the other
hand she began running her fingers through the thick nest of red hair that grew between the girls thighs, tugging it teasingly until Molly cried out. She then commenced slapping and squeezing the tender pink flesh with her fingers, rubbing her hand in small circles.

  Molly’s cries of embarrassment had quickly become gasps of pleasure and torment, and the transformation had happened slowly before all of their eyes. Ms. Farstone too had noticed this change and was smiling wickedly. She now concentrated her attentions upon the glistening and swelling vulva, pulling her fingers upward and tapping it with the crop. Amelia noticed a change in the old woman’s commentary as well. It had become eager and unconscious, ribald and lewd. “Yes darling, yes! Give it to me!” She was a true deviant, knowing precisely how to stroke a young girl’s flesh in order to make her lose control, and poor Molly had begun to do just that, bending her knees and shuddering at each new contact with her hardening clitoris. She even called out that she was sorry, apologizing for her poor performance in the race, and yet in the midst of saying this, she seemed overcome with pleasure, sighing in mid-sentence and grasping the pole in front of her.

  It was apparent to all present that Ms. Farstone was intent on toying with the girl. She tickled the quivering sex, playing at the moist opening that glistened between the petals. Ms. Farstone then did the unthinkable. She slowly slid two fingers directly into Molly, bringing forth the loudest moan yet, and causing the girl to stand on tip-toes. Ms. Farstone brought her back down flat-footed however, using her other hand to deliver a powerful slap to the girl’s rump. This had the effect of driving Molly wild. She pressed back again into Ms. Farstone’s fingers, only to receive another stinging slap from the other hand.

  “God!” Molly’s breath fluttered from between her lips in a much huskier tone than Amelia had ever heard before. It was airy and full of pleasure. The young women all glanced at one another and then back to the girl so exposed before them. Her motions had become undeniably sexual now, meeting each slap with a force of her own, seeming to relish the sensation of the hand against her buttocks, moving with raw abandon. It was more enthusiasm than Ms. Farstone expected, and her face appeared flushed and excited at this irrepressible young creature before her. Molly continued rhythmically moving against the fingers, letting them slid in and out with a wet, clicking sound. Mad and rapid, Ms. Farstone slapped the buttocks in a regular cadence. This only lasted a few moments more before Molly’s hips twitched violently. She grasped the pole in front of her with both hands and cried out loudly as waves of pleasure shivered through her body. She then seemed to slump defeated over the cask.

  Amelia glanced around at the other girls, many of whom knew Molly well. Each of them was wide eyed with excitement and pleasure. Even her best friend, the oriental girl Lin, looked provoked and passionate and her brown nipples appeared hard and erect after this display. Curiously, no one present seemed to feel sorrow for the girl. On the contrary, they all seemed as though justice had been done, pleased even in the face of their own uncertainty.

  Amelia felt ashamed at her enflamed passions, disturbed that she should be so enlivened by another girl once again. She felt feverish and out of sorts, unable to look at Molly as her attendants led her down from the platform. She saw Psalm looking at her through the crowd with her soothing brown eyes. The lily in her hair looked almost fresh again, stark white and radiant in the sunshine. She looked to the ground briefly, before meeting Psalm’s gaze.

  “Well, well, well girls.” Ms. Farstone had regained her composure and was back to old self again. “Now you see what can happen when you fail to perform for me. Though I think Ms. Jenkins gave us a little performance of her own...didn’t you dearie?” Molly hid her face in her hands as Ms. Farstone cackled.

  “Now. All of you! Back to the stables for midday rest. And If I hear so much as a peep from you, I’ll have my paddle for the lot of you!”

  The girls began to file away somberly, the afternoon sun finally dipping from its zenith.

  Just before Amelia passed through the threshold of the stables, she turned to see her attendants standing there in the grass beckoning to her. She approached them quickly, wary of drawing the attention of the others.

  “Hello there!” She smiled at the two old women, realizing they probably wouldn’t respond. They grinned at her silently, nodding their heads. They were apparently pleased with her performance in the race. The young man stood behind them staring placidly at the ground, refusing to look at her, though he too was smiling to himself.

  “I almost won the race there, did you see?” Amelia said excitedly, feeling like at least she was amongst friends. Ignoring her question, the old women began to examine her body, rubbing their hands over her arms and legs, massaging her flesh, like she were a price racing horse. “Of course I’d never done that before, run a footrace and such. I didn’t plan to do so well, I just felt so free and wild.” Despite their friendliness she felt unnerved by their silence, she continued on like this, talking of this or that thing as they primped and prodded her, making sure her hair was fixed into its unique braids, and replacing the drooping nightshade with all new purple blossoms. Then the young man removed a small bottle of oil from his bag and poured some into his hands. It was the oil from before, the wild smell from the moors. “Oh that’s not necessary,” she said politely, as he kneeled down before her, taking each of her small feet gently into his hands. As he began to work the scented oil into the pads of her feet, she almost groaned out loud the sensation was so pleasurable. After finishing with her feet he worked his way up her calves and thighs, causing her to blush.

  After another moment or two, they took her by her hands and began to lead her down the grassy path and away from the others. She looked back nervously to see both Ms. Farstone and Mr. Stephen watching her intently. She was relieved to see that they made no motion to stop her of any sort and actually seemed to look upon her leaving with some level of approval.

  The trio led Amelia around a bend in the path and she could see that they were heading toward the carriage that she had run past over and over during the race. There it sat, just as before, the curtains drawn across the windows, the driver nowhere to be seen. They stopped a few yards away, refusing to go any further. The two horses nickered as if to say hello.

  “Do you mean me to go and knock?” she asked her trio curiously. The old women gestured for her to go ahead. She felt a sudden apprehension about knocking on the carriage that she couldn’t quite identify, but riding the success of finishing second in the race, she pressed onward, courageously stepping up to the carriage door. She rapped lightly on the glass. “Hello. Is there anybody here?”

  “Come in darling.” A familiar muffled voice called out from inside. Amelia pulled on the handle and the door popped open. She was met with a burst of perfume, fresh and verdant. Feeling nervous and excited, she peered in to the darkened inner space of the carriage to see the Duchessa de Montaigne herself sitting quietly upon the plush red velvet seat. She was wearing a brilliant green ruffled dress, the skirts splayed out around her like giant leaves. Her bare arms were smooth, white, and folded neatly in her lap. Her dark hair was pinned up high above her head and covered in the flowers of the trumpet vine.

  “Duchessa!” Amelia exclaimed not knowing what to do since she had no dress with which to curtsey.

  “Hello Little Bird. Come in, sit down and shut the door.” Little Bird. The Duchessa remembered her. This was a shocking revelation to Amelia. She did as she was told, climbing onto the seat opposite the Duchessa and pulling the carriage door closed with a click. It was dim inside. The pink lace curtains filtered the light into a speckled pattern upon her naked skin. The Duchessa sat unmoving, her face frozen in a statuesque half-smile. Amelia felt her eyes upon her, running over her flesh, examining her body.

  “So Nightshade, is that what they are calling you now?”

  “Yes Mistress…my trio.” Amelia fiddled with the blossoms in her hair absently. She felt that the Duchessa’s eyes were a
ctually caressing her now, running upon her skin the way warm water might run, leaving no space untouched, finding every deep and hidden recess. She had never been looked at like this.

  “Yes…a good trio. The best, actually. I made sure of it Little Bird. Little Nightshade.” The Duchessa moved for the first time now, reaching into a chamber to her right and drawing out a decanter filled with wine. She began to pour the ruby-colored liquid into a metal goblet. “Can I interest you in some wine?” She handed the goblet to Amelia without waiting for an answer. The Duchessa was someone that was not accustomed to having her suggestions turned aside, politely or no.

  “Thank you Mistress.” Amelia took the goblet into her hands, careful to not drink it right away. In a moment the Duchessa had poured herself an identical goblet of wine, and held it up with her small white hands.

  “To little birds learning to fly.” The Duchessa merely watched Amelia as she put her lips to the goblet and drank greedily. Amelia realized that it was the first time she had tasted wine since drinking it from the Duchessa’s lips in her bedchamber, and she trembled lightly thinking about the experience once again. After Amelia had downed her wine, the Duchessa drank from her goblet slowly and deliberately, keeping Amelia in her sight the entire time.

  “I was watching you during the race. You’re a quick one. More spirit than the others.” Amelia thought carefully before replying to this. She didn’t want to upset the girl. She had done so before and it wasn’t enjoyable.

  “Only more than some Mistress.”

  “Ahhhh. Hah hah hah!” The Duchessa became a child again each time she laughed, her teeth showing pearly white against her deep red lips. “You mean Psalm? Yes, Psalm is another story.” Amelia was surprised that the Duchessa knew so much about the girls individually. It was frightening actually, to think that she knew them each of them by name. Thus far she had never spoken Amelia’s name however, and that was a good thing. Perhaps she didn’t know it.