'Spank my ass, Sir.' Her voice came out throaty and breathless, though the effect was not intentional. The plea was met with an eerie silence, broken only by the torrent of rain that continued to pour down against the glass. Marianna bit her lip and wondered if she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life. Finally, a terse 'fuck' broke the monotony of rain splatters. The thing was, she had no idea if that was a good or bad word where her boss was concerned. Her heartbeat stuttered in her chest. There was no room for failure. Please let it be a good word, she crossed her fingers and released her wish to any deity that would listen.
Mark was stunned. He had been bent over his chair, wrestling with several pairs of handcuffs with the key held precariously between two fingers when she propelled his belt above her head and pushed her ass upwards on the desk. He'd had to blink several times when she almost commanded him to spank her ass. So shocked was he that the key fluttered through his fingers to land under his immoveable desk. He ventured down on his hands and knees, and the irony of this did not escape him, before he realised the endeavour was fruitless. It would take several men to move that great hulk of furniture, but lucky for her, had a heavy-duty magnetic 'pick-up' pen for just such emergencies. If it didn't work there was a spare key lodged with reception, but the thought of calling the fire brigade in when he'd finished with her amused him somewhat. Cheeky little slut. She deserved to suffer a little after that stunt so he'd probably play with her for a while, but he couldn't deny that her actions had changed the heat rating within his bloodstream from a slow simmer to a frothy and explosive boil, instantly.
The first of the larger cuffs snicked around her ankle and its pair was locked to the bottom rung of his desk drawer.
'Submissives in my employ do not wave their arms around and command; they beg sweetly. Are we clear?' His tone was clipped as he repeated the same action on her opposite leg, attaching it to the opposing drawer.
'I'm sorry, Sir. Yes Sir.' Her tone was meek and repentant. She had just managed to make yet another stupid mistake. How many more she would make this evening was anybody's guess.
He barely noticed, too absorbed in watching the way her skirt was stretching, as her splayed legs were placing severe stress on the seams.
'Splay those legs wider, Marianna,' he barked. 'I want those cuffs at their absolute limit.' The clang of metal was the first announcement that his wish had been complied with, and the sound of fabric rending, the second. Her skirt could not take the strain. He wondered if she would be able to. Admiring the curve of her naked thigh beneath the broken seam, he tore the rest of it between his two hands until the ragged split was around her waist. Tendrils of black cotton floated through the air and sank to the floor unnoticed. His attention was on her two perfect buttocks, both of which awaited the sting of his belt. Creamy and pristine, he was going to enjoy leaving his mark upon them, marring them for his pleasure. Pulling the belt roughly from her fingers he looped it in two and dragged it, with infinite slowness, along the concave curve of her slender back. Giving her left buttock no more than a gentle tap, he was nearly reduced to dribbling when the delectable half-spheres squirmed.
Moving around the desk, so he could examine her expression, he opened his lips to whisper in her ear, 'Do you want me, Marianna?'
'Yes, Sir,' came the reply.
'You'll need to do better than that, slut, if there's to be any chance of my cock gracing one of your three holes this evening.' He raised both eyebrows in challenge. He'd thrown down the gauntlet. The question was: could she fight?
Her eyes had taken on a frightened expression at first and he wondered if the missive he'd just announced would be insurmountable. It shouldn't be. She should have been trained to arouse, please and excite under even the most stressful of circumstances. The first time with 'The Boss' was usually a make or break as far as future career progress was concerned. If she displeased him he could sell her, release her from her contract - making her virtually unsalable elsewhere - or, if he wanted to be really mean, let her complete a further three years of 'The Agreement', in a boring solitude of celibate confinement.
She stammered. It did not look good.
Marianna was not usually at a loss for words. Normally she was articulate, witty and entertaining. It was the Gemini in her. The thing was, with nothing more than a yukka palm for company during the last two years she was finding the art of two-sided conversation quite challenging, and when coupled with more than an ample dose of nerves and adrenaline, almost impossible. The blondes in Matthews' office had never bothered to engage her in idle chatter, knowing she would be of little use to their career progression. Her family rarely visited her this far south and whilst some of that reticence was due to monetary restraint, there had been marked absences for a year or so now, as if they suspected she was doing something wrong or underhand. If only they knew. But at least she could spare them that. When Mark continued to look at her with a slightly askance expression, Marianna remembered the weight of what was residing on success or failure. She opened her lips and not one word of what came out of them was a lie.
'Yes, Sir, I want you. I've wanted you every single day I've worked for you. Having watched you use nearly every submissive in this office bar me just made me want you more. Every time you walk into the office I am wet. These last two years have been hell, faced with the thought of what your body does to my libido and my inability to do anything with it or about it. You have no idea how much I wanted to have been born a natural blonde.' She laughed bitterly, although the full-throated sound was somewhat subdued in the position she found herself in.
Mark Matthews smiled his first real smile of the evening. The tension seemed to flow from his body and desire seeped into the space it had freed. 'That wasn't exactly what I meant, Marianna, although I do appreciate your honesty.' He looked at her thoughtfully and wondered whether to take pity on her. She had managed to go nearly two years with nothing more powerful than a single self-administered orgasm to satisfy her wants and needs. As he opened his mouth to let her off the hook she spoke, and damned if she didn't give him exactly what he had asked for.
'Sir, I want your cock inside me, but I do not want you to be gentle. I want my throat, lips and mouth used roughly, and my hair pulled until the pain of it makes me wince. I want swollen lips that beg to be kissed and the sharp slice of your belt upon the naked skin of my back. For the first time in two years, I want to feel. I want to feel the sting of agony, followed by the sweet aftermath of desire and I want to feel it again and again. I want to beg to be fucked, but I don't want you to give in until I am screaming for release, almost lethally aroused and nearly insane with lust. And I don't want you to stop there. My lips need to be dribbling with your seed, Sir, and I want to swallow every last drop that you choose to offer me. I want to please you, offer each tight, wet...'
'That will do nicely, Marianna, thank you,' said Mark, realising his willpower wasn't all it could be this late in the day. 'Now, open that beautiful jaw and offer your throat to me.' He was already reaching for his zipper, and his cock needed little encouragement. It sprung free and landed on the sweet warmth of her enticingly long tongue. Like a good little sex-slave she obediently waited to be allowed the privilege of sucking him off. So, she had been trained well. It was time to see if she could deliver the goods. 'You may suck, slut.' But as her sweet mouth enclosed his member in the tightest embrace, he brought the looped belt down wickedly hard on her backside and pushed forward, jerking forcibly from his hips, almost as if he wanted to bruise the back of her throat. His control had nearly vanished. Taking a steadying breath as she gagged around him, he softened the blows of both his belt and his cock. He had forgotten himself. Using the belt to cup her buttocks with his tear-shaped hold, he pulled the tempting rondures towards him, letting the belt cup, caresses and tease them. It would be hard for her to tense her body, which would lessen the sting of the stroke, because she would be concentrating on the glorious things she was doing to his cock with her tongue and lips.
Two years had not lessened her proficiency at completing the task in hand, or mouth, to be exact. Back and forth he pummelled her throat with the potent desire of one who had long been denied release, albeit not nearly as long as she had. The belt crashed down on her flesh, over and over, and he'd be lying if he said the intense pink glow of her backside didn't arouse him. He laid into her, but this time with measured precision, judging her pain threshold carefully. She wasn't a masochist, that much was clear, but he could still have a little fun with her. He always put them through the horrors of hell, before letting them get a glimpse of the glitteringly-wet, pearly gates of heaven.
Marianne's mouth worked him over and over. It had been a long time since it had been filled quite this snugly, which in Matthews' case was full-to-bursting. She was trying her hardest to please, which meant she was sucking with something akin to the concentrated power of a vacuum cleaner. She might not have had a sexual partner for two years, but she had diligently practised sucking with her favourite eight inch dildo every evening before she went to bed. It barely compared to the real thing. Matthews' cock filled her mouth so tightly there was barely room left to breathe and the constant pounding left her no time to suck in air. That didn't mean she wasn't enjoying herself though. This was the most fun she'd had in two years and she was going for gold. Her ass smarted fiercely at each new blow his belt delivered and the continued swipes had more sting in them than that of a killer bee, but she let her mouth hoover up the nice fat specimen of male-hood to the best of her ability. She could hear him moaning. Little grunts and groans of pleasure escaped, and the more aroused her boss became the deeper the swing of the belt in his hands. She knew it was a race. Could she make him come before the pain reached intolerable levels? But she needn't have worried. He let out a gigantic roar of pleasure and began to fill her mouth with his seed, still thrusting away vigorously. When he eventually withdrew she found herself feeling bereft. Closing her tender lips she winced as a dribble of creamy semen began to seep down her chin.
'You'd better not spill another drop, Marianna. That's one of my favourite carnal sins and will be punished. Remember what I said earlier about swallowing?' Matthews concentrated on rearranging his trousers before he deigned to look upon her again. When he had calmed down somewhat he picked up the saucer of spilt coffee that had long since turned stone-cold and placed it in front of her. 'Coffee with cream, Marianna?' he asked.
It was not a question. She wanted to scream with frustration and the pent-up desire of two years of enforced celibacy, but it would be pointless. Marianna had even asked to be made to wait and knew with surety that he would push her to the absolute limit. Awkwardly, due to her restrained nature, she lapped at the saucer in front of her like a pet cat would attack a bowl of cream. Sticky goo dribbled down her chin and met with the now dull and lifeless coffee, but she slurped it up with greedy enthusiasm. In less than two minutes she had licked the little saucer clean.
'Good girl,' he murmured, but he wasn't looking at her or examining her efforts in any way. Mark Matthews was running scared. The whole time his cock had been pounding her throat he'd been imagining the lips and face of Jennifer Redcliff in front of him.
Communal Spanking
After a fitful night's sleep, when morning finally dawned, glorious it was not. The light that seeped under the barn's door was grey and dismal, barely giving off enough light to see by and the stable had become considerably cooler, even though she was still tightly wrapped in a mass of snoring bodies. Her stomach was cramping miserably and she guessed it was due to the contraceptive device they'd implanted within her. Her pussy was grazed and rubbed raw from the rope and her limbs ached from the rough handling of yesterday. Feeling tired and enervated, Jenny was ticking off her woes yet again.
Her most ridiculous thought of the morning so far was that she wanted her toothbrush. Her need to feel mint toothpaste sliding around her teeth; having them all smooth, clean and grit-free was one of comfort and familiarity. Never had normality and safety seemed so far away. Purposefully Jenny turned the direction of her thoughts. It was no use dwelling on all she couldn't have. Today would be a different day. Today the cavalry were coming to rescue her. Would it be a few minutes or a few hours that she would need to wait?
When the sounding of a piercing alarm broke through the stable walls Jenny nearly jumped out of her skin, even though she was wide awake. The other ponies simply groaned, blinked sleep-filled eyes and got to their feet, which wasn't the easiest task considering the hoof-boots all of them wore. Everybody seemed to help each other and it wasn't long before several lithe arms had managed to propel Jenny into a standing position. In seconds she was shivering and her flesh erupted in goose bumps. What had the guys here got against clothes? She sunk back into her listing of woes until the large stable doors opened and a troop of men and women, dressed mostly in jeans, sweaters and comfortable walking boots, stomped in.
All the pony girls began to form an orderly line without being told, but if in any doubt as to the procedure, the lead groom yelled at the top of his lungs, 'All fillies line up, eyes forward, no talking and start marching to the breakfast room.' His voice was so loud Jenny winced. It was not what you wanted to hear at stupid o'clock in the morning. What was the time, anyway? She had no way of knowing, but a guess would have said six a.m., judging by the poor light outside. Having been manoeuvred into line she had little choice but to go with the flow, the quick pace murderous in her absurd hoof-boots.