Authors: Maren Smith
“You can take a good ass-fucking, can’t you, baby?” Master Marshall said; his smile, the devil that haunted her as he circled the chair.
Kaylee panted, instinct screaming for her to spread her legs as wide as they would go, to throw back her ass and meet his pumping hand thrust for eager thrust, but there were people all around them. They were getting up—oh God!—walking around to get a better look at her from behind—Oh!
God!
She clamped her lips on the ragged cries trying to break out of her, on the shivering spasms that verged on the edge of bursting into the orgasm she’d been forbidden. She buried her face between her arms and struggled so hard to lie still, to be silent and accepting, and to squash down the riotous pleasure until it was over. Please—God! Oh, it hurt but in a way that felt so good!—please, let it soon be over!
“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 walked 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.