My Sweet Degradation

 

MY SWEET DEGRADATION

 

 

by

 

J. Phillips

 

 

 

My Sweet Degradation first
published in 2010 by

Chimera Books Ltd

www.chimerabooks.co.uk

 

Digital Edition converted and published by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

 

New Authors Welcome

 

This novel is fiction – in real life practice safe sex

 

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

 

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

 

Copyright © J. Phillips

 

The right of J. Phillips to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

 

 

 

 

 

‘Spoilt, little bitch,' that's what he'd called me, and you know what, given the way I would behave back then, I don't suppose he was far wrong – behaving like a brat seemed to have come as an unfortunate side-effect to me growing up in a wealthy family. I'm much better now – well, most of the time anyway – and who knows, perhaps that all comes down to that hot summer's evening when I was finally taught a little lesson in respect.

I knew fine well that I was going to be late, but I'm afraid it didn't concern me in the slightest. Gently tugging on the reins so that Charlie turned into the dusty, birch-lined avenue that led back towards the stables, I couldn't help but notice how my shiny new Range Rover – a birthday present from daddy – was now the last, lonely occupant of an otherwise deserted car park. As I went on to guide my horse carefully across the cobbled courtyard, newly hosed down and shining like polished marble in the setting sunlight, I actually began to wonder if they'd forgotten all about us and had shut up shop for the evening. It was a foolish notion, of course, as I should have known fine well that there was at least one man who would not be able to relax until he knew that every single horse was bedded down and left comfortable for the evening.

Rounding the final corner I spotted him. He was standing over by one of the heavy water butts, facing away and oblivious to our presence. Clearly he was in the last stages of changing from work clothes into civvies, as he stood shirtless in jeans and boots only. I watched his semi-naked form with an illicit excitement tingling goose-bumps across my upper arms, as he bent to retrieve a white linen shirt from his bag, casually buttoning it across his lithe, sun-kissed torso before rolling the sleeves to the elbows. All of a sudden he looked over his shoulder to catch me staring, and immediately he set off with a determination in his step that forewarned of his anger.

Patrick was the stable manager, notorious for being something of a loner and for caring more about the animals in his charge than any human being in his life. Rumour had it that when younger he'd spent a life in and out of trouble with the law, and had even done a short stint in prison for some misdemeanour or other. It was supposedly through him being given a community order sentence for brawling that he'd found himself working at the stables in the first place. Quite by accident a mutual rapport with the horses was discovered and he was duly taken on as a live-in stable boy, thus bringing to an end his life of petty crime. Anyway, Patrick was a grown man now and a rather handsome one with it. I would be lying if I said I hadn't paid him quiet attention in the past, but as he was so far removed from the world in which I moved I wouldn't have even begun to view him as anything more than a pleasant fantasy to indulge in while waiting for Charlie to be made ready.

Despite his all-too-evident frustration, Patrick looked just as good as ever. He had what I guess some might call a ‘real man' attractiveness about him – strong, natural good-looks with one or two rough edges that suited him well. But what really did it for me were those milky-blue eyes, which displayed a brooding intensity with the power to both unnerve and excite at the same time. There was definitely something animalistic about him, and together with his short dark hair, and permanent two-day beard growth, he could be a rather unnerving presence to behold. Although – and perhaps it was only a product of my imagination – on those rare occasions when I managed to observe him unnoticed, I wondered if I could detect a sadder, lonelier side to him. Perhaps it was this facet of his personality that the animals could sense, where most people were blind beyond his considerable physical presence. I don't know. In that instant, however, as I watched him clench his fists in a way that caused the veins in his forearms to pop, there was absolutely no sign of a placid side.

‘You're late!' he snapped, looking up at me through furrowed brow as he snatched the reins from my grip and stroked a hand across Charlie's neck to soothe him as though we'd been missing for days on end.

‘Oh, am I really?' I replied with a smirk, it never having been in my nature to apologise. ‘Oops!'

Patrick squinted up at me against the glare of the setting sun, the first tiny creases spreading out from the corners of his eyes to mark a life spent working outdoors. ‘I suppose you think I've nowhere better to be; that I'm here simply to serve you?' he continued, and I couldn't help but grin at his outburst.

I swung a leg across Charlie's back, momentarily popping my riding crop between my teeth and cheekily placing a hand on Patrick's muscular shoulder for support as I dropped to the ground before him. He scowled and guided the horse to a nearby water trough, tying the reins to a post and softly encouraging him to drink before turning to face me once more. I had lost my position of physical domination now and the stable manager towered over me by a good six or seven inches. Over the years I'd learnt other ways to unnerve a man, however, and I slowly ran my gaze over the contours of his chest, smiling with raised eyebrows, but Patrick only ignored me and returned to his tirade.

‘Just because
daddy
pays all that money so his precious little princess can stable her horse here you think you can do just about anything you like, don't you?'

I'd never heard anything like it: he'd spat the word ‘daddy' as though it left a nasty taste in the mouth and, good-looking or not, his attitude actually began to annoy me. Me being me, however, I only countered with an indignant aggression of my own.

‘Well yes, to be quite frank. If it wasn't for my father and his
precious little princess
you would be out of a job and back to stealing cars – or whatever the hell it is people like you get up to – so perhaps you should show me a little more respect in future. I could have you fired for speaking to me in such a way.'

He narrowed his eyes further and stared hard within my own, gritting his teeth and tensing his jaw as he tried and then failed to keep his fury in check. ‘You spoilt little bitch,' he hissed, and without thinking I lashed out, giving in to my short temper as I swung at him. The severity of my action was immediately made clear by the loud crack as the leather tip of my riding crop made cruel contact with the stubbled flesh of his cheek.

But Patrick barely flinched, and simply stood in silence, slowly bringing up his fingertips to carefully test the wound that now marked a vulgar diagonal across his skin. His stare once more gripped me, only this time with an icy anger that caused my stomach to lurch with fear for the reprisal I instinctively knew was to come.

‘Oh God, I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to...' I quickly began, but the time for apologies was clearly long gone. Yelping with fright I felt the crop suddenly ripped from my fingers, yet that was nothing compared to my horror as I watched Patrick suddenly lunge forward, bending at the knees so that his shoulder slammed hard into my tummy and the wind was knocked from my lungs.

Before I could make sense of what was going on I felt myself lifted entirely from the ground. An arm snaked its way around the back of my knees to hold me tight as I was tossed effortlessly over his shoulder.

‘What... what the fuck...?' I cried, when I could draw enough breath to protest, my defensive anger renewed. But Patrick simply spun on his heels and marched forward without reply. ‘What the hell do you think you're doing?' I demanded, as the stable manager's shoulder dug uncomfortably into the muscles of my stomach with every heavy step he took.

‘Put me down!' I cried, balling my fists and hammering them over and over against his back. ‘Put me down this instant!' It was little more than a waste of my energy, however, as Patrick did not react in the slightest. I tried to kick out too, but the way in which he carried me meant I could make no contact whatsoever and my legs flailed uselessly in the air.

Through the thick mist of confusion the blood surged noisily within my ears. I distinctly recall breathing in the warm, sticky-sweet scent of fresh hay a split-second before Patrick came to a halt and I felt myself thrown backwards. I cried out in anticipation of pain to come, yet only found myself falling into a bed of soft straw, flinching as I watched him toss my riding crop down alongside me.

Drawing short, desperate breaths through my nostrils I scrambled to my feet to confront the man before me.

‘How dare you?' I shouted, but it was Patrick's turn to smirk now. ‘What on earth do you think you're doing?'

He had brought me into the hay barn, a beautiful old building far too draughty to house the expensive thoroughbreds the stables catered for these days, yet far too charming to be pulled down. I could see that I would have to push beyond him in order to make my way to the open doors, and I suppose I ought to have been frightened, but between the adrenaline that coursed through my veins and my youthful arrogance, all I felt was rage.

I stepped to the side and forward, yet he just grinned and moved with me to block my escape. I clawed my hands towards him and cursed, but he only laughed and quickly ducked aside, smoothly taking my wrists in his strong, calloused hands to hold me at bay. Finally, as I tried in vain to free myself from his vicelike grip, the gravity of my predicament began to dawn and I released a tiny whimper of frustration. ‘Why... why are you doing this?' I questioned pathetically, but before I had a chance to say more Patrick suddenly forced his bodyweight forward so that I had no option but to stagger back until my shoulder slammed hard into a gnarled oak pillar that rose vertically from the ground.

Quickly he adjusted his grip to hold both of my wrists in one hand only, and once more I tried to wrench myself free. Even then I was no match for his strength and all I could do was watch as he reached up to take a coil of rope that hung from a rusted nail above my head. Struggle as I might it was useless and my panic rose with a prickly heat. Slowly and deliberately Patrick began to wind one end of the rope around and around my wrists.

‘Please...' I pleaded weakly, desperately trying to pull away, but he only continued with his work, eventually tying the rope off in a knot. He then took a step or two back and smirked at me, unfurling the rope as he went. Suddenly he gave a sharp tug so that my arms were yanked forward and I had no choice but to stumble towards him. My enforced compliance obviously amused him no end, as he threw back his head and laughed in response.

‘T-tell me, please, what are you doing?' I begged once more, my throat dry, my eyes welling with tears of frustration.

‘Well it's very simple really,' he offered, all too casually. ‘I'm going to teach you a little lesson. If you're so fond of attacking people then it's only fair you get a taste of your own medicine, now isn't it?'

Never before had anyone dared to treat me in such a manner and my mind reeled with a confused mix of fear and anger. With another tug Patrick forced me to stagger even further forward until I stood pretty much in the centre of the barn. Through stinging eyes I watched as he effortlessly tossed his end of the rope up and over an exposed beam that spanned the entire length of the old barn, before leaning down to retrieve it once more.

Again he wound the rope in, only this time I was horrified to feel my arms being pulled vertically up above my head.

Perhaps his delight in my anguish had caught him off guard as, noticing he'd inadvertently stepped a little closer to me, and seeing it as a last chance to get away, I seized the moment and kicked out with all my might, the toe of my riding boot making sharp contact with his shin.

‘Jesus!' he cursed. ‘You little bitch!' and leaning down to soothe his wound he released his hold on the rope, whereupon I quickly made a dash for the open barn doors.

But my attempt at escape was all too short-lived as, with a grunted, ‘Oh no you fucking don't,' Patrick quickly dived and grabbed at the loose end of rope as it snaked its way up towards the beam, throwing his entire bodyweight against it so that I was suddenly brought up short and the dry fibres bit painfully into my wrists.

‘So, it's going to be like that, is it?' he spat as he limped towards me, winding the rope round and round his palm with slow menace, forcing me to stagger, step by step, into the centre of the barn where my arms were yet again stretched up above my head. ‘I guess if you're gonna kick like a stubborn donkey then we'd better tether you like one, hadn't we?'

‘No!' I gasped. ‘Really, I'm sorry, please.'

I stared in terror, my heart pounding as Patrick scanned the barn, presumably looking for more rope to bind my legs with, but then, all of a sudden, his eyes fixed upon me once more and his grimace slowly stretched into a cruel smile that caused a shiver to run the length of my spine.

‘Well, it looks as though we're all out of rope,' he whispered, stepping a little closer. ‘But not to worry; there
is
another way of keeping those lovely legs of yours in place.' I couldn't imagine what on earth he was talking about, and I nibbled anxiously at my lower lip as I awaited his next move.

Patrick once more came within striking distance, and for an instant I actually considered kicking out again, but at the last moment he yanked hard upon his end of the rope so that I had no option but to squeal and stretch up on tiptoe to ease the biting squeeze on my wrists.

Quickly he stepped into me, his chest pressing against my breasts and his hand unceremoniously gripping my jaw. He twisted my head to the side and I was forced to take anxious breaths through my nostrils as he repeated into my ear, ‘There
is
another way.'