The night was as all nights should be: passionate hugs with kisses that were insatiable, gymnastics and innovation, cruelty and tenderness. My limbs ached from being contorted, my fingers from overuse. At the end of it, I felt used and stretched, satisfied and content.
We spent the night snuggled up to each other, Emmette’s sweet breath washing over me, our scents of arousal and sex mingling with perfume to create an exotic blend that clung to the sheets and the pillows, to our bodies and our skin.
She was gone when I woke up in the morning; despite The Equestrienne Lodge having closed for the season, the proprietor’s job was never done. There was an end of season cleaning to supervise, a skeleton staff to direct and the lodge’s account’s to manage and close off. She had opened the curtains before she left, and the sun was streaming through the windows when I finally woke up.
Moments later, the door opened, and Raven walked in; she was Emmette’s trusted assistant and I had seen her around The Lodge: she supported the staff at the check-in desk, assisting when necessary, did the books, and managed the housekeepers. She was olive skinned and slender, her high cheek bones adding to her striking looks. I had observed her at work and while her manner exuded efficiency and her presence was commanding, she was always pleasant and accommodating, doing her best to please.
The dissonance between what I knew of Raven and what I was seeing bewildered me: a pair of shiny, steel manacles dangled from her hands, a solid looking paddle hung from a clip on her belt. I was still lying in bed, stunned, as she ripped the top sheet away from me, leaving me naked to her gaze, defenseless to her moves. Before I could respond, I felt my wrists being grasped and shackled; I instinctively knew that this was not a game and that I was in beyond my depth.
Walk of Shame
“We are going to the stables,” Raven nformed me, “I heard you had fun there!”
There was an edge to her voice, a malice that I would never have guessed she possessed.
She gave me a slight push from behind, propelling me towards the door. I hesitated; I was naked and there would be no privacy beyond the door. While I knew that there were no guests booked in, I was sure that we would bump into the staff that remained.
“Now move it!”
I felt a sense of panic as I walked out of the room, knowing that she was just a pace behind. It wasn’t only panic though; it was with a feeling of shame for my nakedness, shame for my shackles, shame for my obvious submission.
Raven rapped my bare bottom with her paddle, not too hard, but hard enough to make me yelp. My chains rattled as I jerked aside in a futile attempt to escape any further smacks. My hands tried to reach back, but were restrained by the manacles.
My feeling of shame was matched now by a feeling of fear; I knew that the paddle was not for show and I knew that I was the only target in sight.
“Lift your knees right up. I want to see them parallel to the ground.’
I complied, feeling ridiculous. We walked past an open bedroom door; mercifully the maid who was spring-cleaning it did not look back as we passed. At the end of the corridor, I stopped. I had two choices, left into the kitchen or right into the dining room. Stopping proved not to be the wisest thing to do. I heard woosh of air followed by a loud splat; as if on cue, a searing heat spread through my bottom. The blow from the paddle made my whole mind go numb. I frantically swung around, desperate to avoid another spank, fearsome of what might come next.
“I never told you that you could stop marching!” Raven scolded, “but seeing as you have, we will have a change of tempo. Now, I want you to trot, knees up high. You will not stop until I tell you to. If we have to stay in one place, you will trot on the spot.”
She gave my tender bottom a sharp slap with the paddle.
“Now start trotting!”
I started to trot on the spot, lifting my knees up high. Unsupported, my breasts jiggled around ferociously, seeming to build up a momentum of their own. They bounced and swung around at will, but I did my best to ignore them, focusing on getting my knees up high so that I would not be struck again with that paddle.
“Into the kitchen; I want to speak to Merle.”
Merle was the cook, a huge cheerful woman, who loved to walk around the kitchen brandishing a huge wooden spatula, laughingly threatening to spank her helpers if they didn’t do her will.
We came to a stop in front of her, and mercifully Raven told me to stand still and rest my legs. I was breathless, and felt trickles of sweat winding their way down from my armpits, seeming to pool in the crease beneath my breasts.
“Ooh, she’s a spirited one!” Merle cackled gleefully. “Where are you taking her?”
“We are off to the tack room; her backside needs a good leathering!” came the response from Raven.
Merle stepped close to me and looked me in the eye. A cheerful smile crossed her lips.
“Oh, you are going to be in a lot of pain, filly, Raven loves to break Mistress Emmette’s girls in!”
Merle seemed to delight in my indignity and revel in my impending pain; perversely, that excited me and I could feel my nipples flesh out and my lower lips begin to swell. She reached up and plumped my breasts. As she withdrew her hands, she grasped each of my nipples and twisted them at the same time. I gasped in pain, the sudden-ness of it shocking me.
“And a feathery little bush she has too, Raven! I am sure you are going to have fun plucking this little birdie.”
I flushed; the humiliation was almost worse than the pain. For a moment I wondered if Emmette would walk in and stop this torment, but then I pushed it from my mind; I did not want her to see me in this situation. I did wonder where she was, but it was a fleeting thought as I was quickly brought back to the discomfort of my own predicament.
“Well then, Merle, I must get her to the tack room and get her locked down for the morning. If you want to look in and watch her polishing the leather we will use on her this afternoon, feel free; I am sure she will enjoy your company!”
The paddle swung again and I jerked forward, my manacles chinking.
“To the tack room girl; knees up and breasts out.”
Flushed with humiliation, I pranced out of the door in front of her, and trotted down the bridle path to the stables.