Pent Up Aggression
When they reached the confines of the stable doors, Mark indicated with a sweep of his hand that the ponies should have their lunch. Each pony's groom led their charge to a place at the stocks and helped bend them over the metal waist pole whilst removing their bridle.
Jenny cracked her jaw to ease some of the stiffness that had grown over the morning, and noted that the luncheon arrangements were slightly more informal than the breakfasting procedures. Whilst their heads were still propped in the bottom semi-circles of the stocks, the top was not refastened down upon them. This made eating considerably easier and the fact that Jenny did not have her horsetail thrust back inside her was a blessing. Wasting no time, she sank her jaws into all that was before her. It was pretty much the same nasty fare as yesterday, but with the way her stomach was rumbling any food was better than none. Funnily enough, she hadn't noticed how hungry she was until she had seen the offering in front of her. The slop was bland and boring. She wondered if the ponies had to eat this rubbish every day. The thought made her shudder. How could they live without chocolate or sugar? It was no wonder they were all as lean as lettuce-munching supermodels. There couldn't have been more than ten calories in the whole of Jenny's trough. She was about to raise her voice in protest, when a woman's voice stopped her.
'Mark,' the voice had the lilt of a French woman, and one who was obviously out of breath.
'Isabelle.' Jenny's ears pricked up, although she did not stop eating. Judging by the ribs on display to her left and right, she needed to devour everything they placed in front of her.
'Is Sir Lyle with you?'
'No, he had to leave rather urgently. Is there a problem?' Mark looked at his watch.
'His wife just called. She somehow managed to trace him here and wants to know what on earth he's doing at a "stud farm", as she called it.' Isabelle frowned. 'She did not sound at all pleased.'
'Well, isn't that dreadful?' Mark had the beginnings of a tick in his jaw. He had to wait a moment before continuing. 'Tell Lady Lyle that her husband is now on the way home and reassure the darling woman that he hasn't bought any horses with
her
money.'
Isabelle, rather suspicious after witnessing his expression, said, 'Of course, Sir.' She placed the high heels in her hands slowly back on her feet and elegantly strode away. This would be the second pair of pantyhose she had ruined today. As she got to the entrance of the stable doors she whizzed around to face Mark, who was still looking in her direction, and asked, 'Is nettle soup still on the menu this evening?'
'Only if you're volunteering to pick them, darling Belle. We're short of volunteers as it happens.' The tick in Mark's jaw was getting more pronounced by the second.
Isabelle smiled and left the words, 'I shall notify the chef,' in her wake.
It was a good job plan A had worked, Mark mused. If he'd left everything to plan B and his phone call to Clementine Lyle, who had of course been 'unavailable', he'd have been picking nettles without a stitch of clothing to his name for the last thirty minutes or so. It was not a particularly pleasant thought. Thankfully, everything had turned out rather nicely.
When the ponies had finished eating they would all be expected to attend their afternoon lessons. These would take place in the training room. Miss Redcliff was going to be late for hers. He would see to it that she had a very pleasant start to her afternoon. It was the least he could do for her, considering what she had endured this morning. He was still surprised she had managed to quell her body's reaction to the electro-stim dildos, the wires of which were still trailing out of both her holes. She was turning out to be an impressive novice. If she didn't graduate first in her class, it would be a surprise.
When Mr A came in and announced that classes were soon to begin, Mark took him aside for a quick word. As a Master, it was not necessary to ask for his permission to keep one of the ponies behind, but in Albrecht courtesy could go a long way. As soon as Mr A had witnessed the rest of the ponies being led out of the stable, he nodded at Mark and made swift his exit. Daniel was the last to leave, and as Petal's groom he would be required to wait outside until the pair were finished.
Jenny was thirsty, but there was little she could do to alleviate her problem bar yelling the house down, and she honestly couldn't take any more torment at the moment, so she wisely decided to suffer in silence. A little tremor of panic had begun to take hold of her. What if rescue wasn't coming? What if she had to spend years of her life here? The worst thought that encircled her head was:
what if she began to like it as much as the other ponies seemed to?
A couple of months entrapped in this hell and a bit of brainwashing and she might not want to escape. The sex was intense and she hadn't even had any
real
sex yet, although her body hungered for it with the passion of a newly-wed bride.
Hearing a sudden metal stampede and witnessing everyone leaving the stables but her, her anxiety began to creep up a level. There could be only one reason behind it and she wanted no part of him. Having licked her trough clean, she could do little but wait for someone to help her off the cold steel waist bar and back to a standing position. With her backside currently thrust into the air thus, she felt horribly exposed and wondered what was going to happen to her. She had not forgiven Mark for his heavy-handedness yesterday, and didn't trust him anywhere near her body; especially after what he had just said to her in the paddock. She would not let him do that to her. She would be nobody's slave, no one's plaything and she certainly would not dance to any tune he might choose to play for her.
'Have you missed me?'
Jenny remained silent. This time it suited her that ponies were to remain mute at all times.
There was a long pause. He sighed. 'You may speak.'
She did not want to speak. So her lips stayed motionless and her vocal chords remained closed. It did not matter that she had been desperate to use her voice all day, because now that he'd commanded it, she wished to defy him.
There was another long pause before the sound of footsteps could be heard. She felt a warm body press into hers. Two smooth hands reached underneath her corset, caressing her waist before they moved upwards to twist the nipple clamps that dangled from her breasts. The bells tinkled their delight, even though their victim squawked in horror, for the pincer grips of the two little clamps had been quickly released and blood began to flow back into her tortured buds. His hands stilled and left her in intense discomfort for a couple of seconds, before reattaching the clamps once more.
'Did that get your attention?' The murmur in her ear produced delightful shivers down her body and even though they were unwelcome, they continued to bubble through her bloodstream.
'So, have you missed me?' The warm body removed itself from hers and a gentle thwack from his hand teased her left ass cheek. Even though it was a soft smack, she felt its power reverberate through her. Why had she never found chemistry like this with any of the men she'd dated? Life sucked. It truly did. There was another smack on her right ass cheek. She suppressed the urge to rotate her hips. The smacks continued in measured doses, and even though she required no warming up in his presence, Saharan heat began to envelope itself around her body. There were more smacks.
'Are you thirsty?'
She did not grace the question with a reply.
'The grey tube hanging over your food trough in front of you is water. All you need do is suck. I remember telling you something about sucking. Ah, yes. It was that you are shortly to get very good at it.'
'I already am.' Jenny berated herself for the instant reply. To prevent further malfunctions of her mouth she searched for the tube he had mentioned, almost camouflaged by the stone of her trough. Finding it, she gripped it between her teeth and began to pull at it with her lips. The water was cool and refreshing. Not having realised how thirsty she was, she drank her fill. It might not have been wine but right now it was nectar of the sweetest kind. She reflected that it was funny how your attitude towards life and its small comforts could be readjusted in the space of little more than twenty-four hours.
'You're not bad. For an amateur, that is. You'll need lots of work before that mouth nears a decent professional ability, as your antics in the paddock proved. Failed miserably with your pony boy, I hear.' His hands had stopped smacking and had now begun to wander down the curve of her inner thigh.
Jenny nearly snorted her water. Amateur? He must be joking, because she'd certainly sucked upon more than her fair share. He'd hit a nerve, though, because she felt the power of the comment smart unpleasantly, not unlike her still throbbing nettle rash.
'Do you have any questions for me?'
She stopped drinking and smiled. Although she couldn't turn to face him, her neck squirmed in its steel confines before she said sweetly, 'Yes, when are you leaving?'
It was Mark's turn to snort. His fingers slid down the slippery slope of her labia to her clitoris. He began to pulsate it. 'Now, you don't really mean that.'
With vivid flashbacks dancing in her brain, recalling just what had happened the last time she had been left alone with him, Jenny had no problem with replying, 'Oh, but I do.'
Mark's eyes flared. 'My, oh my, that backside is asking for a date with the biggest paddle I can find.' Another smack, but this time its delivery was a little more enthusiastic.
'Do your worst.' If Jenny could have laced her words with cyanide, she would have. She was not going to play this game. She'd rather deal with the pain. It was becoming increasingly apparent that she would have to cope with it on a daily basis, so she might as well get used to it. Rescue did not appear to be arriving any time soon. It wasn't a problem. She would grind her teeth together, if and when she was able to, and wait it out.
He leaned once again into her prone body, so close that she could feel his breath whisper against her neck, and said, 'You say the sweetest things.' He let his cupped hand linger on her pubis and although her whole body throbbed anew to be used, she didn't deign to reply. Chuckling, he pulled away from her and his footsteps faded into the distance.
Waiting was something Jenny had never been good at. Impulsive by nature, she was quick to temper and not much slower with retaliation should the need arise, although it was now rather difficult in her current situation. She had few options left to her, but if she could find a way to make Mark's life difficult she would take any chance that presented itself. He would not be so quick to covet her if he knew what she was made of. The trouble was, it would be dreadfully hard to prove that to him, when she had more restraints on her person than a death row criminal. Hopefully an opportunity to prove her mettle would present itself, and sooner rather than later.
When Mark returned he bore a smooth wooden implement around a foot long and four inches wide. Made of Bamboo, the paddle was extremely hard but also very light, which meant he could wield it for hours, should it be necessary. It rarely was. As far as an 'attitude adjuster' went, this paddle usually delivered. He could swing it hard and fast due to eight pre-cut holes within the paddle's frame, which decreased its air resistance. No expense was spared with any instrument of torture at Albrecht.
When he re-entered the room, it was to find Jenny squirming all over her steel bar. It appeared that remaining still and waiting was something that would require lots of practice on her part. She was a smart girl by all accounts, so he suspected she'd learn quickly.
Softening his footfalls so she wouldn't hear him coming, the first action he took was to give her enticing ass a decent thwack with his paddle. There was a shocked pause before a gasp left her mouth. 'Stings, doesn't it?' He did not expect a reply, nor did he get one. He let the fingers of his left hand wander up her back as he once again pressed his body into hers. Walking them up her spine until they reached her neck he fluffed her short ebony hair.
He sighed. As her trainer he would only manage to get up to Albrecht three days out of seven, at the most. That would be hard enough, but at least he knew it wouldn't be a chore. She posed a challenge that he'd not had the pleasure of seeing for years. Could she be tamed? Or would she be broken? It was always a fine line with the spirited ones. This one had so much fire, such determination, and the passion running through her veins was strong and powerful. In his hands she'd be a mewling pussycat in no time at all, but in another's? She might well spend the whole of her time at Albrecht in the bowels of the earth. Without doubt his filly would be experiencing plenty of dungeon time. Her very nature would demand it. Could she cope? Perhaps.
He gave her another whack with his paddle, softer this time, to gain her attention. 'Are you not going to beg me to help you escape?' It was unusual for novices in her position not to be screaming the place down as soon as their bit and bridle were removed. If they weren't screaming, they were normally sobbing. Jennifer Redcliff did neither. The silence continued.
'I'm sure you've been told that you won't get many opportunities to air your voice around here. I'd make full use of each opportunity that presents itself.' He waited. Then he waited a while longer. Finally she cracked.
'I don't see the point in begging you for help. If you were going to help me you'd have done so by now. I see you as the enemy, so what's the point in talking? Do what you want to do and have done with me.'
Mark let her words wash over him, and they injected pleasure all over his body. It was a shame he couldn't see her face in the position she was in, but nevertheless he suspected her aquamarine eyes would look magnificent.
'I'm not an ogre, and talking to your enemy can sometimes get results where silence can't.'
Jenny studied the pattern of red brick weave in front of her. Then she admired the concrete floor below. Looking up she studied the dark, old, oak beams that made up the ramparts of the barn's roof. 'Fine. My arms hurt. Please can you untie them?' It was worth a shot.