Sandra herself had once been threatened with a trip to Lucien after a particularly serious row with her husband. He had been incensed at Sandra for her summary dismissal of his favorite maid, Lyss.
Sandra had been increasingly jealous of the time and attention her husband Dirk paid to the buxom slut. He insisted Lyss parade around the estate in the briefest of uniforms, which did nothing but emphasize the girl’s bounteous charms. Sandra knew he was probably fucking the little minx, but as long as he was discreet about it, she tolerated his little dalliances (after all, she had a few of her own).
Still, it had been the last straw for her when she had watched from her sun room balcony as he put the girl — clad only in stockings — through exercise drills out on the front lawn in the bright morning sunlight.
Several male servants had stopped to observe Lyss huff and puff her plump little behind through several rounds of breast bouncing exercises. Her husband reclined on a lawn chair, his gaze avid, a prodigious erection freely tenting the front of his trousers as he directed the display.
Well, as soon as her husband left for business in Wyndhaven, she’d had the little slut hauled in front of her and dismissed on a charge of idleness. The girl was really nothing of the kind, and unfortunately, was actually quite sweet — a quality that just further inflamed Sandra’s jealousy. Regardless, the girl was sent packing, despite her tears and pleading.
When Sandra’s husband arrived a week later he was enraged, and threatened to add Sandra to that monster Lucien’s next pony intake. It was only after tearful supplications of Sandra’s own and a stiff dose of the cane across her bottom and thighs, did her husband relent and say he would consider not sending her after all.
That night after an arduous few minutes of taking her husband’s thick member deep into her throat did he pronounce her official reprieve from a trip to the next intake. He’d punctuated his decision with a gout of sperm down her throat, Sandra spluttering as she’d tried to swallow the viscous offering.
“Farrier allows him such freedom because he is
excellent
at what he does,” Miriam said, her eyes sparkling. “If you’ve never seen Lucien at work on his pony girls, then you have never seen how a proper slave is treated. No kid gloves there I can assure you! In fact, that was his proposed trade in exchange for bringing our fair Sophie to milk. He wanted me to put her up for a term.”
“Ah, not so bad a trade I should think,” Sandra said, mesmerized at the languid movement of the soft breasts.
“Maybe not, but Lucien takes his time with his charges. No matter how delightful it would be to keep Sophie with milk-swollen tits, I couldn’t bear to be deprived of her charms for six months — longer if Lucien decided she needed to repeat the course, which he would be perfectly within his rights to do.“ Miriam laid a hand tenderly against one of Sophie’s tear-streaked cheeks.
“Fortunate for you to have such a merciful Lady, my dear,” Sandra said, gently tweaking one of Sophie’s earlobes. Miriam beamed again, looking upon her charge with warm fondness.
Sandra clucked her tongue in mock concern. “Ah, but look at this belly. Soft, but smooth. Such youthful flesh. She may need to stay away from the sweet cakes when she gets a bit older though, lest that big bottom get even bigger.”
Miriam tutted, pushing her friend’s shoulder in faux protest. “Nonsense Sandra. She is the finest flesh I’ve laid eyes on in years. Any man’s — or woman’s — dream. If she gets a little heavy in the hindquarters in later years, then it will just be her husband’s or Owner’s job to whip her into shape. Such flesh just needs regular exercise — of one kind or another.”
Miriam winked at the Countess. Sophie’s face, burning with shame, dropped toward the floor.
“Besides,” Miriam said, poking a thigh with a long nail. “I like a girl with some softness, some vulnerability. I have my men for the hard angles and tight flesh! I still think Lucien may be on to something though.”
Sophie let a short sob escape before cutting it off.
Sandra spread her hand across the flat expanse of Sophie’s abdomen, a finger delving into the recess of the navel. “Does Lucien frighten you, girl?”
Sophie nodded her head, her eyes still downcast. A tear had gathered in a fat drop at the end of her neat nose. Miriam having moved to sit on the bed next to the girl, darted in to lick it off with a prehensile tongue.
“Mustn’t waste,” Miriam murmured, winking, making Sandra laugh once more.
“Well you
should
be afraid of him, dear,” Sandra said. “From what I hear he makes your stern Mistress Westwood seem like a playful kitten by comparison. Heed her words well lest she put you up for the next intake.”
Sophie shuddered, but straightened, arms moving back fractionally to an approving coo and caress of a breast from Miriam. The Lady flashed an encouraging grin to the Countess.
Emboldened, Sandra moved her attention back up to those luscious breasts. “Now these are amazing. These just beg for attention, and a taste,” she said, with a glance to a clearly approving Lady.
“Hold them up for your Countess,” Miriam said.
Sophie grasped her breasts in trembling hands, pushing them up in offering. Her face flushed pink, eyes downcast.
“More,” Miriam said. “There’s a good girl.”
Sandra pinched a nipple tight at the base, and ran a wet tongue over the tip, gazing up into the girl’s face. She worried one nipple and then the other between even, white teeth, sucking deep on each teat before letting it go with an audible pop.
The Countess glanced over at Miriam. “Do you have anything … else?”
“I thought you’d get into the swing of things,” Miriam said, laughing. “Let me see.”
The Lady moved to the dresser, a hand stroking Sophie’s hair as she passed.
“Unless she needs to go back into her cage, of course.” Sandra laved a stiff nipple with the flat of her tongue.
“Nonsense,” Miriam said, turning back toward them, a long steel darning needle in her hand. “We have all the time in the world. Cook won’t have supper ready for hours, and my husband is out inspecting the Frontier fortifications again.”
She handed the needle to Sandra. “Try this. Perfect for those impudent nipples.”
The tips of Sophie’s breasts had tightened to stony hardness in fear of what the Countess held in her slim fingers. The captive girl hissed, tense, as the Countess played the sharp tip back and forth over a nipple, a gentle prick here and there to the sensitive flesh.
The Lady Westwood sat on the bed behind Sophie. “Be very still, girl. We wouldn’t want you poked now, would we?” She peered over Sophie’s shoulder, winking at Sandra.
Sandra dragged the point of the needle down the vulnerable flesh of Sophie’s breast. She pinched the nipple in her fingers once more, lifting the heavy globe up by the sensitive tip. The needle was then held vertically from beneath. Sandra lowered the girl’s breast down until its weight rested fully on the needle, its sharp point deeply indenting the skin.
Sophie cried out at the sting.
“Oh hush, girl,” Miriam said. “It’s just a little stick. You’ll have worse than that in a few minutes.”
Sandra worried the girl’s breasts with the sharp instrument for several minutes, even commanding Sophie at one point to push her own nipple against the outstretched tip of the needle. After more threats from her unyielding Lady, Sophie finally complied, the tears streaming anew.
With a deft hand, Sandra managed to avoid puncturing the skin, but when she was finished, the captive’s breasts were crisscrossed with pink lines, the nipples inflamed at the harsh abrasions of the sharp needle. She laid a tender kiss on each tortured tip, then brushed her lips over Sophie’s mouth.
Sandra scooted her stool back. “Spread your legs, girl. I want to see what you’re hiding between those lovely thighs.”
The girl complied, but not fast enough for her demanding mistress. “Get them open, girl. Now.” Miriam’s brow furrowed, her eyes glittering.
“Please, Mistress,” Sophie murmured, her eyes brimming, her face blushing furiously.
“I said
now
, Sophie!” Miriam slapped the lush inner thigh, making the girl yelp. She spread much wider, a hand print blossoming on the creamy flesh of one of her inner thighs.
“Rather moist down here, I see.” Sandra winked at her friend. “At least part of your fair Sophie doesn’t object too much to her treatment.”
The Countess played her red-painted fingertips over the plump labia, tugging at the curls there. She grasped a hair and yanked at it, making Sophie whimper. It took a second pull before the hair gave way. The Countess twirled it in her fingers, turning it this way and that before her eyes.
“I usually shear the serving girls. Helps with hygiene,” Miriam said, patting the plump lips of Sophie’s sex with her palm. “But she has such fetching curls; I think I may let her keep them after all.”
Miriam’s long fingers pushed the prominent hood back, revealing the deep red clitoris to the candlelight.
“No, she’s not objecting at all,” Sandra murmured, touching the tip of it with a fingernail. Sophie jerked, but stayed in place. “What with this clit you’d think she was bringing herself off at all hours. Look how big and swollen it is, Miriam!”
“Isn’t it delightful?” Miriam flicked the stiff flesh back and forth with a finger and Sophie inhaled sharply. “When I first laid eyes on it, I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I shouldn’t be surprised though. Everything else on this girl —except perhaps her brain — is
big
. Why should her not-so-little button be any different?”
Both women giggled, their mirth lost on the crimson-faced Sophie. A tear gathered and dropped from one brimming eye, trailing down a burning cheek.
“Lucien told me that he has clients in the East, some beyond even the Frontier.”
Sandra’s eyes widened. “You mean —”
Miriam nodded. “Yes, even there. He says some of the clients in the East like to have the hood pruned back, to expose the clit fully.”
Sandra shivered at the warmth that bloomed between her thighs. Such cruelty! What was happening to her? She seemed to be open to deeper and deeper depravity the longer she stayed with her sadistic friend. Miriam looked up into Sophie’s brimming eyes. “How would that strike you, girl?”
“Oh please,
please
no Mistress,” Sophie whispered, shaking her head.
Miriam lay her finger across Sophie’s lips. “What have we discussed about that word, girl?”
Sophie burst into fresh tears. “Not — to use it.”
“
Ever
,” Miriam said, steel in her voice. “You needn’t worry though. I don’t go in for such barbarity, Sophie. I like this cunt just as it is.”
She worried the tip of the girl’s clit with a sharp fingernail, and Sophie let go a pained grunt.
“Do be quiet, girl! Maybe we should have Sandra take hold of her needle once more?”
“I’ll be good, Mistress. Please.” Sophie’s face was awash in tears.
“I know you’ll try to be,” Miriam said, using a lace kerchief to dab at Sophie’s flooded cheeks. “But if not, we have ways of reminding you to obey, don’t we?”
Sophie nodded, her eyes wide and bright as she bit her lower lip. Her entire body was tense, the fear emanating from her in waves. It made Sandra want to see how well the unfortunate girl’s tongue had been trained.
Soon.
“Do they object to the practice, Miriam?” Sandra tried her best to banish the aroused quaver from her voice. “The women, I mean.”
Miriam chuckled, placing the back of a cool hand against Sophie’s displayed sex. “They don’t usually ask for their opinion, Sandra. It’s no different than the excision of the prepuce from males, really. The males certainly don’t complain about that, so any feminine protest is no doubt ignored. It’s not really for me, though. I like to keep their buds as sensitive as possible — but I can certainly understand the appeal.”
“I’d like to see it sometime,” Sandra said, plucking at the delicate petals of the girl’s inner labia. She pulled at them until she could spread them flat against the swollen outer lips.
“Well, next time we journey to see that scoundrel Farrier, you must accompany us. I believe my husband plans a sojourn there this fall before the snows come.” Miriam stroked her palm along Sophie’s silken inner thigh.
“That would be splendid — as long as I can avoid Lucien.” Sandra dipped a finger into the girl’s sex, then brought her glistening fingertip to her lips, licking the essence away. “Mm, very nice, indeed.”
“Fine isn’t it? She’s still a virgin, but her cunt slickens like a common whore’s. Remarkable, really.” Miriam turned to Sandra. “What’s your objection to Lucien?”
Sandra didn’t want to tell Miriam about her close encounter with the pony intake. Strangely, a part of her feared it might give her friend ideas. “I just find him an overbearing boor. Regards women as mere livestock. Feels as if he’s assessing your auction value, even as he’s speaking with you. Beastly man.”
Miriam smiled, a slim eyebrow raised. “I find him fascinating. So commanding, so stern. Seeing him put those girls through their paces is like nothing else in this world.”