Authors: Maren Smith
“Wow,” she whispered, hardly daring to breathe.
“Ponies don’t speak,” Master Marshall reminded her. “Not even the most beautiful ones.”
He stood beside her, patiently waiting while she looked her fill. Clicking his tongue against his back teeth, he led her down that long aisle of occupied stalls, past all the other pony boys and girls, some of whom had come to their stall doors to watch her walk by, and out of the stable.
The sun was gone, but the immediate yard was lit by a series of very bright lights. Unlike the Castle, these were electric, motion activated and bright as spot lights. She could see the white-painted fence of the training paddock from the sliding doors, but Master Marshall took her only a few steps onto the hard-packed earth where the light was the brightest. Letting go of her bridle, he uncoiled the lead to its full length. Pulled taut, it would have given them ten or so feet of separation, but he only stepped off a few paces and took up his whip.
Hands growing damp, Kaylee pressed them nervously to her thighs and waited to be told what to do.
“We’re going to start with a few beginning exercises.” His voice remained calm, soothing. Kaylee nodded, but still flinched when he extended the whip. He didn’t strike her. Using the end as a teacher would a blackboard pointer, he lightly tapped her flanks.
“Walk on,” he said, and hesitantly, Kaylee took a forward step. She would have gone to him, but he moved with her, keeping himself parallel to her side and leaving her to follow his body cues. Eying the whip, she walked an anxious circle at the end of the lead, each small step making a pleasing plodding sound.
“Walk on,” he encouraged, tapping her bottom with the end of the training whip when she paused.
So Kaylee walked, and he turned with her, keeping her always before him, separated by the length of the lead and yet so intimately close with the whip never far from her skin. When she completed her first circuit, he brought it from behind her bottom to tap at her abdomen.
“Whoa,” he said, and she stopped where she was. “Square up.”
When she only looked at him, puzzled, he used the end of the whip to gently guide her. A touch under her chin and she lifted it; a tap to her cheek and she suddenly realized he wanted her to stand at attention. She did, adjusting her posture with every soft tap until her feet were together, her shoulders were back and she was standing before him, straight and proud.
“Good girl.”
The words melted softly inside her, and the training whip returned to her bottom. She felt its touch all the way down in her sex.
“Walk on,” he coaxed, and she did. Another circle, another whoa, another square up, another good girl. Oh how his praise made her feel special.
Somewhere in the stable, a woman’s soft moan cut the night. Outside, Master Marshall continued to put her through her paces. He made her walk, trot, whoa, back up and square up. He made her lift her feet and hold her pose. He never used the whip as anything more than a gentle pointer, and he never failed to tell her she was good. By the time the grounds were well and truly dark and he was ready to lead her back to her stall, Kaylee was ready to receive her own visit from a stable stallion. Never had she felt more sexy or sure of herself. Every step made her that much more conscious of the anal plug tail seated inside her. Every small movement sent a pulse of warmth from her sex up into her belly. The pony girl two stalls down from hers was still with her stallion. The wet slick sounds of swift riding and breathy gasps followed her, haunting her senses, exciting her further.
Master Marshall made no comment on her arousal. He simply undressed her, handing each piece of tack over the stall door to the stableman who waited patiently to put it all away. Now and then, his hand brushed the underside of her breast, sending shivers of wanting dancing through her. Her nipples pebbled tighter, her breathing grew more shallow and erratic. She so badly wanted to beg him to touch her again, to take her aching nipples in his mouth or even just between his fingers. But he didn’t touch her that way, and she didn’t ask because ponies didn’t speak and even more than his touch she wanted him to tell her she was good.
He knew it, too. It was in the way his eyes danced into hers as he moved around her, slowly undressing her, teasing with those light touches that heightened her need for more without ever satisfying it.
“Good girl,” he murmured when the harness at last came off and she was left standing in the middle of that straw and sawdust-laden stall, in nothing now but his collar. “Turn around.”
Kaylee turned, promptly, obediently, every inch of her trembling.
“Bend forward and put your hands on the wall.”
Though Master Marshall had put the training whip up first thing upon their return, he selected a shorter, slender crop now and pulled it down off the wall. He came to stand beside her, his hand smoothing down the slope of her back until he caressed her bottom.
“Hips back.”
She arched them, offering however much of her that he wanted to take.
“Legs apart.”
She immediately adjusted her stance and won another fond caress in reward.
“I’m going to whip you now,” he told her softly, the heat of his hand circling each nether cheek in turn, coming close, but never quite dipping in between where she so badly ached to feel him. “I’m going to whip you not because of anything you’ve done, but because you’re mine and I want to see the marks of my ownership on your body while I fuck you tonight. I want to feel them with my hands. I want to taste them with my mouth. And when I grind into them, pinching and squeezing until you’re begging me to stop. I want to watch you cum with tears falling down your beautiful face.”
He took his hand from her bottom and Kaylee almost wept the loss.
“What do you have to say, pet?” he prompted as he stepped away, taking up a position of discipline behind and to the side of her.
“Thank you, sir,” she whispered.
It was only ten strokes, but by the end of it Kaylee could have sworn he’d taken her through hell. The last cut felt like exactly that. It slashed across the backs of her thighs—a line of pure and punishing fire that flared into agony when he at last threw down the crop and caught her close.
“Who owns this pussy?” he demanded as he took her, pounding into her so hard that there was no part of her that did not feel the glorious pain, the beautiful punishment.
“You do, sir!” she cried and she didn’t care if the entire stable heard her.
“Who owns this ass?”
“You! You!”
He yanked her off the wall and dropped her down into the sawdust and the straw. He slapped her ass, catching as many of the growing, throbbing welts as he could reach. “Who owns this ass?” he growled and slammed up into her until she was shouting.
“You, Master! It’s you!”
“Say it again.”
“It’s you, Master!”
“Again!”
“Master!”
They came together, Kaylee shaking and screaming as he drove in deep and held himself there, furiously straining to embed himself into every last inch of her, until the rolling spasms dwindled and died, and the need eased into languid satiation. She didn’t realize until then that in those throes he had bit her shoulder. His panting breaths felt so hot against the back of her neck, and when he kissed the marks he’d made, Kaylee lost her heart.
It had taken less than three days, but nothing felt more real to her than this, right here and right now, and she loved him for that. She loved him for everything.
She loved him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was morning, just a little after nine am. The breakfast dishes were still lying on the table. A Little Maid had been summoned to clear them away and only just arrived a few minutes ago. Kaylee recognized her from the Rainbow Room, though the pretty blonde barely looked at her. In fact, she barely looked at anything beyond Master Marshall, sitting on the couch in nothing but a pair of worn jeans. The undisputed eye candy in the room, he wore them every bit as well as he did black leather.
And on the opposite end of the spectrum, there sat Kaylee—naked and self-conscious, worrying her fingers as she perched on the edge of the coffee table exactly where Master Marshall had placed her. He had taken his collar off her, but had replaced it with a strip of soft black cloth.
“Because I’m not yet ready to release you from my bondage,” he’d explained with that faintly amused smile of his that somehow managed to be both boyish and wolfish at the same time.
And now here they sat, practically knee to knee—with her naked and him nearly so, and the silence between them broken only by the sporadic rattling of the breakfast dishes and the hum and crackle as the violet wand in Master Marshall’s hands gradually warmed up.
He was going to shock her. Kaylee wrung her fingers. He was going to shock her because it scared her and because, as he’d told her, it was time he did something about that.
“Slow your breathing,” he told her. “Slow and deep. In…out…good girl.”
She shook a little and wrung her fingers harder.
“Almost ready,” he said as he adjusted a setting on the wand. It hummed, casting blue lines of electricity that zapped out to dance on the tips of her fingers as he stroked just off the surface of the orb. “Deep breaths,” he soothed again, so aware of her and yet not looking at her, not even once. “Deep and calm, baby. Deep and calm.”
Kaylee mewed, an involuntary sound that escaped her no matter how tightly she clamped lips to prevent it. All he wanted, he’d said, was to introduce her to her fear. To show her that it couldn’t really hurt her. To prove she was stronger than the lifeless thing that had sent her fleeing from the Rainbow Room in a panic. He wasn’t going to gag her, he’d said. But he was going to tie her down. He’d been very honest, very matter of fact. He’d even given her several chances to safeword out, but here she still sat. Scared half out of her mind, but trusting him because she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Not when it mattered.
Her fingers were starting to hurt.
She stopped wringing them and huddled with her elbows on her knees instead, plucking nervously at her bottom lip as she watched him adjust the setting over and over, changing the pitch of the humming and the bite of the static blue lines he coaxed from the glass tip of the wand.
“Master Marshall?”
Kaylee jumped a little. Absorbed as she was by what he was doing, she hadn’t noticed that the Little Maid had ventured out into the living room with them. She now stood just beyond Kaylee. Was it her imagination, or was that envy in the Little Maid’s eyes? Were her breasts really thrusting that much further out over the top of her corset than Kaylee’s own had yesterday? Was her skirt really that much shorter? Kaylee dropped her eyes to her lap and clutched her hands again, before she did something really stupid. Like, jump up and slap the Little Maid until her head spun around.
Master Marshall barely glanced up. “Yes, Vanessa?”
“Can I touch it? I’ve never touched one of those before. You can play with me if she’s too scared.”
“Are the dishes washed and put away?” he asked.
“Almost.” The silken seductiveness of that word made Kaylee want to jump up right then and shove the Little Maid out of his apartment. She folded her hands and held them tight, fuming in silence while Master Marshall stood up.
She thought he was going to take the wand so the Little Maid could feel its crackling touch—Kaylee hoped it shocked the hell out of her—but he didn’t. Instead, he circled around her and went to his desk in the corner. Pulling out a form, he filled in both the upper and lower portions, split it neatly into two forms and returned with one half to the sofa. Folding the slip in half twice, he handed it to her and sat back down again.
“Finish the dishes,” he said, still without looking at her. “Then report to Master Sam. He has the largest collection of violet wands and attachments of anyone I’ve ever met. If you ask nicely and if he isn’t already occupied with a certain, dusky-haired Little Maid he can’t seem to keep his hands off, I’m sure he’d be delighted to give you an experience you won’t soon forget. Regardless of his answer, you are then to give him this note. It is to be signed by him and returned to my office before the end of today. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Her disappointment at being passed off to another Dom faltered into something a little more wary. She looked at the folded form in her hand. “What is it?”
“My personal request for him to punish you once your curiosity has been satisfied. And the next time you try to insinuate yourself into one of my scenes, Molly, I’ll have you put in stocks and flogged. Now, are we clear about that as well?”
Molly pouted and even stomped her foot a little, but when he only looked at her, she headed back to the kitchen with that dreaded half-slip in her hand. For a few seconds, Kaylee actually felt better. Vindicated, even. But then Master Marshall turned the wand back on and began to play with it, and after that, all thoughts of the Little Maid were replaced by what it was going to feel like when he started to caress her skin with that instead of his own hand.
“I think we’re good to go.” He looked up at her and smiled. It was almost reassuring. “Before yesterday, had you ever witnessed this sort of play before?”
She shook her head, cringing back a little when he turned to face her fully.
“It can be scary when you don’t know what to expect. Here, put out your hand.”
The sudden urge to hide her hands behind her back nearly overwhelmed her. Every time one of those thin blue lines snapped up to lick at his fingers, her stomach clenched in tighter and tighter. She was starting to feel a little sick. “I…I think I want to say my safeword.”
For some reason, that made her feel even sicker.
The admission didn’t seem to upset him, though. “I know. It’s just one little word, but using it has the power to make me put this away right here and right now, and I won’t bring it out again for the rest of your stay. There will be no consequences if you do say it. No further punishment. I know the temptation must be every bit as strong as your fear.”