Bondage Hotel Page 10

  She couldn’t move and fierce arousal ignited in her belly as she stared down her nose at her helplessly proffered breasts.

  Her Master walked around in front of her and crouched down, his eyes on a level with hers. “I bet you never imagined yourself as a pony-girl, eh, Hazel?” he chuckled. “Never thought you could be put in harness with a pony bit in your mouth? But you are, aren’t you? You wanted to be a slave, so I made it my business to enslave you and now I want you to be a pony-girl, so that’s just what you will be. Harnessed to a carriage to pull me and my guests around the grounds. But don’t worry, that won’t be all you’re used for. Not by a long chalk. After a brisk canter and a few good cuts of the whip across that delectable bottom of yours, I’m quite sure that my guests will be in the mood to try out your other...talents. Just as I am about to.”

  Hazel moaned softly as she learned her unavoidable fate, but her nipples quivered and her sex grew slick as she visualised her body being used by unknown Masters for their pleasure.

  He chuckled, “You like that idea, don’t you, slave? I knew you would. Thanks to you and Giselle, my Bondage Hotel is going to be a roaring success. You are going to make me a very rich man, Hazel. Rich enough to retire to a nice, warm, secluded spot where I can relax with a slave or two to look after all my needs.”

  Hazel stared at him and her belly burned like a furnace.

  Assuming that his retirement plan included her as one of his slaves, she was never going to be set free and as she saw his vision of her lifelong captivity as his bondage slave, she gulped with excitement and nodded her head in willing submission.

  His hands darted forward to capture her breasts. Devastating arousal coursed through her body as he tweaked and rolled her prominent nipples until they grew painfully hard and stood up like twin acorns, quivering to his every touch.

  In a frenzy of enforced need, she tried in vain to open her thighs wider than the chain between her knees would allow and her Master chuckled with pleasure as he saw this evidence of her complete subjugation and willingness to submit to him.

  With casual strength, he lifted her and laid her on her back and Hazel trembled in helpless desire as he unclipped the chain and his strong hands gripped her knees to spread her wide open before him, her oozing sex utterly exposed and hopelessly vulnerable.

  Holding her so, he gazed down into her pleading green eyes, deliberately making her wait until the uncontrollable fluttering of her belly and her soft whimpers of desperate need proved to his complete satisfaction that Hazel was as totally submissive as he desired her to be.

  “Hold the position, slave,” he commanded sternly and she moaned in anguish as he stood up and began to remove his clothing agonisingly slowly, his hard eyes never leaving hers as he forced her to display the most intimate and secret recesses of her body...and the full extent of her obedience.

  Held by a mental bondage whose power far exceeded the strength of the chains binding her physical body, Hazel was in ecstasy and torment at the same time, her absolute enslavement plain to both herself and her Master.

  She could have closed her thighs...but she didn’t.

  Commanded as a slave, Hazel obeyed as a slave and received the ultimate reward of a slave.

  Her Master’s huge, iron hard erection plunged full length into the yawning depths of her copiously lubricated sex, his weight pinning her beneath him, his hands holding her mercilessly open to receive the full power of his savage thrusts as he enforced his dominance over her and sent her hurtling into the orgy of submission and surrender she craved.

  Subjugated as she wished to be, Hazel screamed in frenzied welcome behind her steel bit as love juices boiled into her belly and she writhed helplessly in her bonds as his rigid shaft impaled her, driving to the very core of her being and imposing climax after climax upon her.

  Driven far beyond control, her body aflame with true slave heat, her green eyes opened wide with fearful incredulity as his deeply embedded maleness grew even larger within her.

  His jolting lunges drove the breath from her lungs in a series of gasping snorts and she threw her head from side to side, not daring to believe that such intensity of pleasure, such unbearable passion, could be extracted from her body.

  Her Master, knowing better and revelling in the fury of her uncontrollable responses, delayed his own release to the very last second he could, then, with a hoarse cry of ultimate gratification, lunged to the spasming centre of her belly and allowed his seed to fountain into Hazel’s body.

  Her shrill wails of joyful surrender filled the stable and explosive contractions greeted his release, shaking Hazel like a rag doll as a final orgasm of immense power crashed over her and over his pulsing erection, flooding her belly with yet more hot juices as her body gave up its tribute to his absolute mastery of her.

  Shuddering in her bondage to the devastating power of her subjugation, Hazel whimpered as he slid from her belly and stood gazing down, his eyes drinking in the chaos he had wrought upon her and the silvery trails of glistening love juices trailing from her spread sex to puddle on the floor beneath her in mute testimony to the depths of her surrender.

  He began to dress, then grinned broadly, “Most satisfactory, little pony-girl. It seems I shall not have to encourage you with a whipping. Not this time, anyway.”

  Hazel blushed, knowing how deeply she had responded to him and well aware that he would have whipped her if he had not been completely satisfied.

  His grin faded. “Tomorrow, of course, things may be different...” he added calmly, “but that is up to you, isn’t it? We will just have to see how your training goes during the next few days.”

  He completed his dressing, connected Hazel’s collar to the ceiling track, then unharnessed her and took her back to her cell in his suite, locking her in with her supper.

  “Get plenty of rest, pony-girl,” he advised seriously, “You’re going to need all your stamina.”

  It proved to be wise advice, for the days that followed tested Hazel and Giselle to their limits.

  In their restrictive harnesses, subject always to the sting of the whips wielded by their hard to please Masters, they were given no option but to obey the commands transmitted to their soft mouths by the bits wedged between their teeth, learning to walk and trot and canter on demand, their bodies and limbs slowly becoming accustomed to the unnatural, high stepping gaits deemed by their Masters to be appropriate for pony-girls.

  Verbal commands were no longer used, firm twitches of the leading rein taking their place, the indignity adding to both girl’s helpless embarrassment as they found themselves no longer accorded the scant respectability of even a one-sided conversation.

  In harness, the men treated them exactly as any owners treat their animals, feeding and watering them, ensuring their health, limiting the discomfort of their bondage to what each could bear, but never at any time allowing them to resist or give less than instant and perfect obedience.

  The single leading rein was discarded in favour of long reins attached to the rings at the sides of the pony-girls’ mouths, giving the men fingertip control and enabling them to turn their ponies this way or that and vary their pace with a casual flick of their wrists.

  To Hazel and Giselle, the ease with which they could be made to obey was a terrible humiliation and they racked their brains trying to think of a way to express their discontent without earning themselves the painful whip cuts which inevitably accompanied their real, or even imagined, failings.

  On the rare occasions that they were alone together and able to speak, they discussed it at length, but could come up with no solution that would not get them punished.

  Their situation was impossible and simply had to be endured, for there was no way out of it.

  Once resigned to that unpalatable fact and given their submissive natures, Hazel and Giselle thrust their embarrassment to the back of their minds and concentrated on the demanding schedule of training set out for them by their Masters, sensibly recogn
ising that any other course of action would be both counter productive...and painful.

  Conditioned to respond to the pressure of the reins at her cheeks, Hazel even managed to find a kind of guilty pleasure in her perfect obedience, secretly thrilled by the Masters’ arrogant assurance as they put her through her paces, her groin tingling with moist heat each time they harnessed her and made her display the skills she had learned with such effort.

  Sometimes, Miles and Anton swapped over and she had to adjust to their differing techniques of pony driving, finding that Miles was the more skilled, with softer hands on the reins, while his partner was more abrupt, the bit sawing at her tongue and lips and making it far more difficult for her to understand and obey his requirements.

  Invariably, at the end of a schooling session with Anton, her mouth was sore and her buttocks criss-crossed with the red whip marks of his displeasure and she could only thank her lucky stars that it was Giselle and not her who bore the brunt of his rough handling.

  Hard though the training was, it was not without its compensations, for after each session, the sweating pony-girls were rewarded for their work.

  Alone with whichever Master had schooled them, they gasped and writhed to feverish arousal as the men toyed with their still harnessed bodies, forcing them to respond as the slaves they were, their breasts and nipples and bellies easy prey for skilled fingers and probing, searching tongues.

  Until, if the Master felt they deserved it or simply chose to slake his lust, their thighs were thrust rudely apart and their wet-slicked sexes spread to receive his rampant flesh.

  Hazel inched backwards between the shafts of the carriage and stood passively, her breasts and belly trembling with excitement as Miles clipped her broad, tight leather waist belt to the steel rings set into the wooden shafts, harnessing her to the carriage.

  Before her, a paved track wide enough for two carriages, stretched away across the parkland surrounding the Bondage Hotel and disappeared around a large clump of trees in the distance.

  Hazel swallowed nervously as, without a word, Miles checked her harness and walked around behind her.

  The carriage creaked softly and she felt firm pressure at her waist belt as he climbed aboard, but was pleasantly surprised that the carriage was so well balanced that almost none of his weight came on the shafts.

  She would have liked to have turned around to see him in the driving seat behind her and also to see how Giselle looked, harnessed to the other carriage, but she had a strong suspicion that such an action would be frowned upon and would earn her a sharp cut from the whip she had no doubt was already in her driver’s hand.

  Real ponies were not, as far as she knew, encouraged to be curious and she wasn’t about to risk a punishment simply to satisfy hers.

  She felt her reins lift from her shoulders and tensed, but still wasn’t mentally prepared for their gentle slap across her bare shoulders and their firm tug at the steel bit in her mouth as he gave her the signal to walk forward.

  Even after all her training, she still couldn’t really believe that he was going to make her pull him wherever he wanted to go.

  It seemed too far-fetched, too ridiculous that she was harnessed as a human pony and her first impulse was to laugh at the very idea that he would subject her to such a thing.

  With an abbreviated whistle, the leather thong of the coach whip snaked out, curling around her left buttock and biting into the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

  Hazel squealed as heat flared across her leg and jerked forward, away from the whip.

  And the carriage began to move, rolling smoothly on its rubber tires.

  Stung by the unexpected blow, she stumbled forward...and instantly received a second smart whip cut and a tug at her bit as he reminded her to lift her knees and perform as she had been trained.

  For a fraction of a second, she nearly refused to obey, but, luckily, remembered just in time that she was harnessed and in no position to rebel.

  Her naked buttocks were an easy target and it would be childishly simple for him to whip her into submission...and she had ample evidence that he would not hesitate to do so if she was foolish enough to attempt to resist him.

  With a muffled groan, Hazel overcame her anger at his treatment of her and forced her legs to lift in the familiar gait of the walk.

  To her surprise and relief, the carriage followed easily, needing only slight effort on her part and as she walked forward steadily, obedient to the reins’ command, her driver’s whip held back from punishing her further.

  After a hundred yards or so, the reins slapped her shoulders again, giving the signal to trot.

  This time, Hazel was ready and slid smoothly into the faster speed, jogging rhythmically along the paved track.

  A satisfied grunt from behind her told her that she had done well and she flushed, pleased that her obedience had been noted and relieved not to feel the whip striping her bottom...and only a little embarrassed by her immediate response to his unspoken order.

  The reins signalled again and she broke into a canter, her legs pumping and nostrils flaring as the real work began and she realised that she had no idea how far, or how fast, she was going to have to pull the carriage and her driver.

  It could be miles and her lungs and body were already beginning to feel the effects of her exertions.

  The track unreeled beneath her flying feet and sweat popped out on her forehead and breasts as she ran, but she received no signal to slow down and dared not slacken the pace, lest his whip seek her out again.

  Frightened, she raced on, seeing to her horror that the track began a slow rise ahead of her, towards the clump of trees she had seen from the, by now, distant stable.

  As she reached the uphill stretch, her driver...and Master...called out, “Go on, pony-girl!” His whip hissed out to sting her jouncing buttocks with fierce heat.

  Hazel squealed and hurled herself forward, the breath rasping in her nose as she forced her weary legs up the slope, brain reeling to the knowledge that he could whip her on and on until she collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

  The weight of carriage and driver was real now, dragging at her harness belt and her momentum slowed as gravity took effect.

  “On. Go on,” he shouted and Hazel gasped as his whip cracked, cruelly hard, across her labouring buttocks, painting two scorching lines of heat on her flesh.

  Forced to respond as the dumb animal her harness and bit made her, she drew on her inner reserves of strength and stamina, her lungs on fire as she was driven to the top of the small hill and into the shade under the overhanging trees.

  His “Whoa, pony-girl” and the steady backwards pressure of her reins came as the greatest relief of her life and after she was pulled to a halt, fell to her knees, her body shaking with effort and her breasts heaving to suck in great gulps of air.

  His whip fell across her bent back, curling around to bite at her trembling belly and she screamed as his hard voice snapped, “Up, pony-girl. On your feet. How dare you sit while in harness.”

  She scrambled to her feet, frightened of the genuine anger he displayed and stood trembling as he went on, “Right then. I’ll teach you once and for all not to disobey. I was going to let you rest and give you a reward for your effort, but not anymore.” He tugged at the reins, forcing her to turn the carriage around.

  In a cold, stony silence, he drove her all the way back to the stable without stopping, using his whip freely on her helpless buttocks if she showed even the smallest sign of flagging or slowing, then removed her from between the shafts and left her tethered and alone in the stable to ponder the error of her ways.

  It was a bad start to Hazel’s career as a carriage pony, but it taught her a lesson she never forgot.

  In harness, pony-girls, just like slave-girls, could expect no leniency whatsoever from their drivers.

  Chapter Seven

  Hazel knelt in the entrance hall of the Bondage Hotel, her naked body beautifully presented in the display
position, thighs parted, spine arched and hands locked behind her back as her Masters issued their final instructions and reminders.

  “Do not forget, slaves. All guests are to be addressed as Sir or Madam at all times and you will obey them as if they are your Masters. Which, for the duration of their stay, they are. You kneel when in their presence and remain silent until given permission to speak. And if they give you an order, you will obey, no matter what it may be. Anton and I will be watching and ensure no real harm comes to you. Do not let us down.”

  Miles stared hard into the upturned faces of Hazel and Giselle and nodded as their eyes slid away from his cold gaze.

  “That’s right,” Anton added flatly, giving Giselle a long look. “You know what to expect if our guests do not find you completely satisfactory and I am sure you would not like to be disciplined in front of them, now would you?”

  Giselle licked her lips, shuddering and shook her head quickly, bringing a throaty chuckle from her Master as he saw the alarm leap into her eyes.

  “Then you had better behave and...” he broke off as, through the open front door, the soft purring of an engine made itself heard.

  As if drawn by strings, the heads of all four turned in time to see a gleaming white Mercedes saloon draw up outside.

  Leaving the slave-girls kneeling, Miles and Anton hurried down the steps and opened the doors of the car.

  Hazel craned forward as far as she dared and as Giselle whispered, “Who is it? Can you see?” Hazel whispered back, “It’s a woman. No, two women. An older one and a young one.” Then she hastily resumed her position as the Masters and their guests made their way towards the door.

  It was the opening day of the Bondage Hotel, the day when all the planning, all the organisation, all the hopes and work that Miles Hetherington and Anton Dubeq had put into setting up their joint venture, was to come finally to fruition with the arrival of the first guests.