“Nothing is going to settle this lady down but a good spanking,” said Georgette.
“But the Queen might want her fresh—” Oweyn started.
“The Queen wants her in harness and trained,” said Georgette. “Oweyn, you’re too soft. You always were. Now you wouldn’t hesitate to spank any experienced little pony who was sobbing like this.”
“You’re right,” said Oweyn. “Now, Sybil, you behave. Georgette’s going to wear you out with her paddle and you need it and deserve it.”
Sybil sobbed into the pillow, barely able to keep her lips shut, and suddenly with all her might she struggled. She couldn’t help it. It just happened. She struggled wildly, though never really trying to stand up or run. But Georgette’s paddle came down hard on her backside.
As soon as she felt the next spank, she went limp, and as a whole series of smart spanks came down upon her, she found herself utterly subdued and moaning softly, utterly delivered up by her own soul to the chastening pain. The pain was warm and tingling and she felt herself undulating under the paddle, and deep moans came from her chest. Oh, how right they were that she needed this, this thudding assault that reminded her of her nakedness, of her hopelessness, and of her great desire to please.
Suddenly Georgette’s cool fingers kneaded her bottom, and squeezed each cheek. Then the paddle came again with one fierce resounding blow after another.
“Keep those feet on the ground, young lady,” said Georgette. “We’re not anywhere near finished with this. Prop her chin, Oweyn, so I can see her face. Excellent.”
Sybil shut her eyes as Oweyn lifted her face, smoothing her hair back. She could feel the tears dripping from her face.
The spanking resumed. This time she caught it on the thighs as well, hot sizzling spanks that caused her to gasp. But all resistance had left her. Only the paddle moved her, pushing her slightly this way or that with the force of the spank, or making her backside jump reflexively. She had become her body in a wordless way, become her private parts, her hindquarters, her bouncing bottom, and her quivering hungry sex.
“That’s better now, much better,” said Georgette. “Oweyn, I can tell you with this one a spanking every morning and every night is absolutely required, no matter what else the Queen wishes. This is a high-spirited and delicate girl.”
“Georgette, it’s good to have you back,” said Oweyn, “but I always spank them all. Every single one of them. Always have. No matter how tired I am, I make sure they’re all well spanked every night, and in the morning, they get the worst spanking, I can assure you. Now you know me, George.”
“Now Sybil, I’m going to bit you and harness you,” said Georgette. “Up on your feet, now.”
“Well, a little cream first,” said Oweyn. At once his hands went to work on Sybil’s backside.
She struggled to stand up straight, Georgette’s firm left hand cradling her chin, and Oweyn holding her by the hip as he rubbed the cream into her.
“Nice and hot,” said Oweyn. “And a becoming shade of pink. Sybil, your skin is precisely the kind the Queen fancies.”
“You must tell me what else she likes,” said Georgette.
“Well, I will as we go along. This little bird the Queen’s been taming on her own, she and a little buck who came in with her, and that sturdy little god you won’t believe. Both have very black hair, and lily-white skin. But the Queen likes quite a few other combinations as well.”
With every word, Sybil’s sex throbbed. When Georgette’s fingers again stroked her pubic hair, she winced. She had never dreamed how long she might endure in an exalted state of torment.
“Open your eyes, young lady,” said Oweyn. “Take a look around yourself, and then eyes down.”
Sybil was shaking with suppressed sobs. She opened her eyes and in a blur she saw the magnificently tall figure of Georgette—with soft curly reddish-brown hair cut very short, short as an old Greek god, and long bright gray eyes. Taller than Oweyn, she was quite slim and her hands were long and tapering as they passed before Sybil’s dazed face, reaching to smooth Sybil’s hair back from her temples. There was something terrifying about her, about the blending of masculine and feminine in her, about her naked neck above her manly collar, and the obvious strength of her hand.
And there was the muscular Oweyn, with his happy smiling face as his fingers cradled Sybil’s backside and rubbed it and he whispered how pretty she was.
“Legs apart, young filly,” said Georgette. “That’s it. You never press your legs together, do you hear, not with a plump red little sex like that. Haven’t they taught you this already? If Her Majesty wants you to squeal with pleasure for her, that will be her choice. For me, you behave yourself.”
Georgette gave a firm slap to Sybil’s pubis and then another.
“No, stand still, no twisting away when you’re spanked or slapped ever,” said Georgette, but the voice was patient.
“Now I’m going to let you go,” said Oweyn, “and I want you to stand firmly on your own two feet, and then stamp one foot and then the other.”
Sybil began to weep all over again. It seemed impossible that she was standing. Why had she not collapsed? It was just as Brenn had described it so well, this feeling of melting, of delicious and engulfing shame. She had nothing to lose now, nothing, no dignity, no secrets, nothing held back. She stood still because she was commanded to do it.
A soft cloth wiped at her cheeks and her nose.
Georgette had slipped behind her but Oweyn stood in front, inspecting her obviously, feeling of her thighs with hard pinches.
“She’s a good strong little girl,” he said. “Highborn, well bred, small hands and feet, but strong, strong as lilies are strong with strong stems.”
Suddenly something hard was forced into Sybil’s mouth.
“That’s it, between your teeth,” said Georgette. “Bite down. It’s soft leather, and it’s been rubbed with a nice sweet taste, that’s it. Open wide and bite down.” And suddenly Sybil had been bitted and the bit had long reins and she felt them lying over her shoulders.
“Now, this is just for your mistress or driver to get you to lift your head, and to jerk you to attention. But the leads that guide you to turn will be fitted to these straps on your shoulders.”
The harness came down around her, its straps being fitted around her arms, across her breasts but above them, and then buckled tight in back.
“When you feel the tug on your shoulder, you turn to left or right, accordingly. You don’t think. You turn.”
Sybil nodded but the spill of sobs from behind the bit sounded all too shamefully like a complaint. The paddle cracked her backside hard again.
“You want another spanking right here and now?” asked Georgette. “I’ll be glad to provide it. I love to spank bad little fillies. I have a nice strong strap I can use, if that works better. And I can hold you upside down by one ankle, too, if you force me to do it.”
Sybil didn’t dare shake her head yes or no. She’d been taught in etiquette class never, never to make that mistake. All she could do was shiver and quiet her sobs.
More straps were being fitted to her head, running from under her chin over the top and then around her forehead. The reins attached to the ends of the bit were run through loops on these straps. She could feel all this, but not see it. All she could see was the ground right before her, and the legs of Oweyn and Georgette as they went about their work.
Then there came the firm prod of a phallus against her anus, something smooth and very well creamed or oiled, prying open her tiny secret nether mouth and then being inserted into her.
“Now this is made of wax, girl,” said Georgette, “and a good size. In the old kingdom they were all the same size and often too big. But Lady Eva has these molded and made every day. And all must pass Lady Lucinda’s approval. And this one’s perfect for you. And it’s got metal lo
ops embedded in it for the harnessing.”
Sybil jumped but caught herself. The soft swishing horse tail moved against her thighs. It was streaming out of that little phallus and the phallus was being anchored tight inside her by the straps that ran between her legs and then up across her belly to be hooked to a broad girdle being fitted to her waist. With a few tugs she was firmly wound up in these leather straps, but could feel the pull of reins running through a hook in the phallus.
Another agonizing wave of desire passed through her, heating her breasts, hardening her nipples, and her sex throbbed again with hungry spasms. She could feel it in her ears, this pounding pull that seemed to originate not in her heart but in her loins. The straps running from the phallus were against her pubic lips, and pressed them together, but not enough to alleviate the desire that burned through her, burned even her face and made her face go soft suddenly, her tongue playing on the bit, her eyes closing.
“Now that looks lovely,” said Georgette. “Blindfold, Oweyn.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Oweyn.
Oh, but I can’t run with a blindfold, thought Sybil desperately. How could she tell them? She’d lose her balance. It had always been so. But there was no need. The blindfold was over her eyes, and she could see through it, see the world in a soft golden light, and there was no need to look down away from the indistinct figures who adjusted her straps and petted her comfortingly.
A new sense of powerlessness came over her, something deeper and more languid than before. No one can see my eyes, she thought, and I can’t cry out, the bit is a gag. And she was tempted to struggle again just to feel the restraint of the harnessing, but that would be very bad etiquette and she knew it.
“Now, I want you to keep that chin up for me,” said Georgette, “without a collar, you understand? If I have to put a collar on you, it will be high and it will really force your chin uncomfortably.”
“And the Queen does not like collars,” said Oweyn. “Nor elaborate corsets. She wants her beautiful fillies as naked as possible.”
Sybil nodded frantically.
“Good girl,” said Georgette. “Now all day I’m going to be watching you. That chin is to stay up!”
Suddenly Sybil’s wrists were unbound, only so that her arms could be folded behind her, folded just the way one might fold them in front, and she felt the straps tightening to hold them together. The straps around her shoulders were tightened and connected to the straps holding her arms. It was marvelously comforting, all of it, and there came over her that thought again—no more anticipation or fear. It is happening!
“Now this is called arm harnessing,” said Georgette, “and it’s for training and forces your breasts out in marvelous display. Now march forward!”
Sybil was swiftly spanked.
“Lift those knees, lift them higher,” came Georgette’s voice. “And you do it briskly.”
Georgette walked beside her, wielding the paddle, and it woke up Sybil’s burning backside with its blows as she scurried to obey. Now it was Oweyn telling her sharply to lift her knees. Georgette and Oweyn flanked her as she marched slowly on through the long stable and out the double doors into a bright yard.
The blindfold shielded Sybil’s eyes from the glare of the warm sun, and the breeze played sweetly with her hair and on her hot face. And she could see more clearly now than in the shadowy stable. There was a huge oval track here and ponies were pulling small chariots around it. Each chariot had a rider, and some were pulled by two ponies, some by four, and some by only one.
I can’t do it, I can’t, thought Sybil desperately, I can’t be made to pull a chariot like that, I can’t, but this was a lie, and she knew it. Escape was impossible and rebellion useless.
She could see, some distance away, a pony girl, fitted in harnesses, who was being soundly spanked over a groom’s knee as he rested his boot on the lower rail of the fence that surrounded the yard. And to her right were two harnessed fillies bound to the fence being soundly paddled also.
On a raised platform many yards away on the far side of the track stood a grand lady in blue velvet whom Sybil recognized as Lady Lucinda, with two grooms beside her surveying the yard.
Oh, I must be approved, I must, Sybil thought.
Suddenly a chariot appeared out of the corner of her eyes, a high graceful chariot decorated all over in gold and embossed-gold figures, with great delicate sparkling wheels. There was a red-haired filly between the shafts but her hands weren’t bound behind her back. They were resting on a crossbar by which she was pulling the chariot. She appeared very straight and proud, and her horse tail matched the red hair of her head and was further decorated with flowers. But the long gilded shafts went on past the red-haired pony, and it was to the front, where the shafts ended, that Sybil was brought and planted between them.
Straps were being fitted to her thighs and these were being harnessed to the shafts. Also her shoulder straps were harnessed to them. Again, Sybil couldn’t see quite how, but she was suddenly firmly anchored in place. The reins connected to her shoulders and to her bit were pulled taut behind her.
“Now, Cressida is going to push the bar and pull the chariot,” said Georgette. “And Oweyn tells us she’s quite strong and good at it. And you are going to be the lead pony, Sybil, do you see, but you’ll pull the chariot too. Your girdle has been tethered to the bar that Cressida is pushing.”
Suddenly the straps were jerked and the girdle pulled hard so that Sybil understood. But so were the shoulder straps tethered to the shafts, and also the straps around her thighs and around her waist.
Helpless, desperately, completely helpless, thought Sybil, sublimely helpless. A fresh flood of tears poured from her eyes, and the blindfold was suddenly soaked but still effective to shield her from the eyes of others because hers were covered. What an absurd idea. Surely anyone could see her naked, displayed, bound, her pubis mercilessly exposed, her hindquarters exposed. She had become her naked body utterly once again.
She felt the chariot moving, felt the shudder through all the straps, felt the pull on the bit.
“Now trot, young ladies, and trot smartly! Not fast, but smartly. Knees high. Right, into the track.”
All will had left Sybil. She was suddenly trotting as she’d been commanded, lapsing into the pace of the filly behind her, and with the harnesses tugging on her shoulders, her waist, her thighs, her bit as she moved forward. Other faster chariots moved past her on the track, the sight of them jarring her and confusing her, but she was trotting, thinking only of keeping her chin up and her knees up, and how she might be punished if she failed, but the thought of failing was too bitter, too dreadful. She couldn’t fail. If all these other beautiful girls could do this, so could she, and for the Queen, yes, for the Queen, she had to do it.
The reins tugged her to the left as if she had not seen the track turn to the left, and she followed the curve of it.
“Now, faster, young ladies, faster, into a run, that’s it!” sang out the voice of Georgette. “Head up, Cressida!”
Sybil’s sobs were mingled with her gasping breaths. A dreadful ache came into her thighs and her calves, but after a few minutes it was gone and she ran with a new exhilaration.
“Slower, Sybil,” Georgette cried out. “That’s it. That’s it. You want to feel the weight of the chariot but not pull it loose from Cressida.”
When at last the reins pulled her to a halt, Sybil stood panting behind the gag, her breasts heaving. They were at the opposite end of the track from the stables. They had passed under Lady Lucinda’s platform without Sybil even realizing it. The yard was now very busy, filled with harnessed ponies and grooms.
“You’re good enough for the team,” said Georgette, coming up to her and running a leather-gloved hand back through her hair. “And look at this sex, positively dripping! Spread your legs. This little honey pouch is so wet. Always at rest, spread
your legs.”
Georgette’s hand patted and stroked Sybil’s pubis. She tugged at the curls. Sybil shuddered. The pleasure was agonizing, and suddenly she felt all of her body singing in its harnesses, her bottom stinging from the paddling, her anus throbbing against the phallus, even the swishing hair of the tail tickling her inner thighs as the breeze stirred it and moved it. Sybil didn’t dare to turn her head to try to see Georgette more clearly.
Georgette squeezed Sybil’s breast and opened her mouth on it and sucked at her nipple. Her tongue teased Sybil’s nipple. Sybil sighed uncontrollably. She couldn’t keep her hips still. It seemed a shuddering cord within her connected her nipple to her vagina, to the hard little kernel of her clitoris! A paralyzing sense of utter surrender washed through her but she ached for satisfaction. Even with the greased phallus tucked into her anus, she had never felt so empty.
“We’ll be training for another hour,” said Georgette. She moved away, back towards Cressida. “Then you’ll be fed and rested and scrubbed down. And we’ll see what we can do to soothe these little hungry honey cups here. I mean we have two of them. Such apt little slaves. Such dainty honey cups for the Queen. And when the Queen comes you’ll be harnessed with her favorites for the drive down to Prince Tristan’s manor.”
The hour seemed a full morning, though Sybil knew it was not. Again and again, Sybil caught glances of Lady Lucinda inspecting this or that pony, or merely walking past.
Again and again, Sybil’s agonizing desire had subsided only to build again, and as she excelled at lesson after lesson, her calves ached and her nipples throbbed until all sensations were mingled in her and she knew only she was more fully a feeling being than ever before.
In the gloom of the stable, her harnesses and other accoutrements pulled off, she was held up by Oweyn, who cradled her in his right arm as he offered her to Georgette. “Lie back, close those eyes,” he said. His left hand held her thigh as he pulled it to the side.
“It’s been a while since I had anything as sweet as this,” said Georgette.