And it was beginning all over again, her hands suddenly clutching at the air, her body spanked against Oweyn’s pelvis and the cock filling her over and over, slippery, huge, and sublimely hard. Oweyn grunted as he came, and she could feel the sound emanating from his chest, passing into her breasts. Don’t stop, she wanted to wait, but then she went over the peak once more.
“Now let’s see to our precious little Cressida,” said Georgette. “Put this one down for her rest.”
iii
Full dress harness. Sybil dozed on the pillow. They’d given her a potion that had brought sleep to her immediately, a sweet syrup that had been poured into her wine bowl for lapping. Then the bowl had been taken away and the pillow laid down for her. She’d gone into a blank and dreamless sleep as hands still scrubbed and oiled her.
When she opened her eyes, she heard the words, “Full dress harness.” Her body shimmered and thrummed with sensation.
A great after echo of the pleasure washed through her.
As they stood her on her feet, a fresh silk blindfold fitted over her eyes, she saw the other ponies in the paddock being painted, decorated, harnessed.
Soon her own nipples were gilded with thick gold paste, and little chains were strung to connect them. How she loved this particular ornament. Emeralds were being hung from her earlobes, and a large emerald was pressed into the adhesive in her navel.
But the wax phallus pushed up into her vagina caught her off guard. It was well oiled and not too large, and her body sang in response to it. But a handful of golden bells hung from it on thin chains, and these gave off their high tinkling music with every breath she took. Then came the anal plug, made she knew now of the same wax, all these little instruments supplied fresh every day from Lady Eva’s stores of such things, and this anal plug not only contained the root of the shining black horse tail but more delicate gold chains with their little bells.
The boots she wore this time were painted gold, and fitted just as snugly to her ankles and calves, laced up by the busy fingers of two grooms who hastened to outfit her completely with every finishing touch. Gold combs for her hair, a touch of kohl to her lashes, gold for her lips.
Georgette and Oweyn moved up and down the paddock, inspecting, giving an order here or there, telling this or that filly to stand straight, their paddles ready.
Through the blindfold, Sybil could see Cressida opposite being similarly outfitted and she wondered what Cressida’s thoughts were. She had seemed so perfect during their training.
The Queen appeared. Princess Lucinda walked beside her.
No one had expected the Queen so soon.
At once the grooms fell to their knees but all ponies remained as before, many tethered to hooks at the foot of their stalls, others merely knowing what was expected, that a slave does nothing unless told, and Sybil, trembling all over at the sight of the Queen, bowed her head and prayed it was proper to stand still and wait for an order. Cressida was doing the same.
Even through the gauzy silk of the blindfold, Sybil could see the Queen was magnificently attired in a great shimmering gown of silver weave, her breasts barely covered by the ruby-red border of her bodice, her skirts flowing from a high waist in great graceful gores to the tips of her silver slippers. Her glossy yellow hair was piled on her head with only a few flaxen locks falling down to her shoulders. Diamond-studded combs decorated her hair. And her fingernails had been painted silver.
To the right and the left she looked as she made her way slowly through the stable, calling her fillies by name and asking as to their progress.
Her words to Princess Lucinda were too low and confidential for Sybil to catch more than the tone. But she had come to Sybil and she drew in close, the scent of roses rising from her garments.
“Ah, and this is my little one, Sybil, my new postulant, my precious new pony,” she said in her soft, affectionate voice. Her fine white hand with its glittering silver nails reached for the end of the phallus in Sybil’s vagina, and lifted it apparently by the loop that would soon be threaded with a harness.
Sybil struggled to keep her balance as she stood, hands clasped behind her back, feeling herself lifted slightly and then tugged forward by the phallus.
“Have you behaved, Sybil?” the Queen asked.
Without permission to speak, all Sybil could do was nod her head. Her heart was bursting. It seemed forever since she’d felt the Queen’s eyes on her, felt the touch of the Queen’s hand. She swallowed hard on her sobs. However, Georgette had stepped up to answer.
“She’s doing very well, my queen. I worked with her all morning. She learns quickly. She’s a promising little filly. She needs hard spanking to settle her down, but that’s not unusual with frisky ponies.”
Tears of gratitude spilled down from under Sybil’s blindfold.
“Turn her around,” said the Queen. “I want to see how hard she’s been spanked.”
At once Georgette’s firm hands turned Sybil by her shoulders. Sybil felt keenly the indignity of the phallus with the horse tail in her rear, saw in her mind how it must look, the cheeks of her backside pushed apart by the big glossy black tail with its myriad bells. Her face burned. The Queen had demanded many things of her, but never this, and she hoped with all her soul the Queen would be pleased.
“Oh, but Georgette, this will never do,” said the Queen. Her tone was gentle as always. “Oweyn, I’ve spoken to you about this. These girls are pink, but they are not red.”
“Yes, my queen,” said Georgette. “At once, my queen.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Princess Lucinda. “I shall see that you’re never disappointed again.” Her voice was as mellow and polite as that of the Queen, just the way Sybil remembered it.
“Spank all of them soundly,” said Princess Lucinda, “until they are red, until I can feel the heat coming off their backsides without touching them. Do this now, and then put back their tails, and finish with the harnessing.”
The Queen then gave a list of nine names of those she’d chosen for her evening drive. “And Sybil, of course, but I want to see a red backside there.”
Why did Sybil feel such gratitude, gratitude for the gentle words, that the dissatisfaction was not with her? There came into her mind the moment last night when the Queen had given her a saucer of milk to lap at her feet. How helplessly Sybil had lapped it and how she’d loved the feel of the Queen’s fingers playing with her curls, stroking her naked back.
Sybil waited on her knees in one of two lines to be spanked. Georgette, seated on a three-legged stool, put her girls over her lap to paddle them. Oweyn merely held them by the chin standing in front of him, swinging his paddle wide and hard. Somewhere else in the paddock other paddles were busy, but Sybil didn’t dare to try to see.
Princess Lucinda stood watching all, her arms folded. Her gray velvet dress was beautiful with her smoky ashen hair.
A girl might be taken from either line by Georgette or Oweyn, and Sybil found herself wondering which of them would give her the punishment the Queen had ordered.
Sybil glanced up fearfully as she drew closer and closer. What demeanor the ponies had, their bodies utterly pliant as they were prepared by the paddle for the Queen’s approval. Sybil wasn’t at all sure she could master herself in the same way.
Then she felt Oweyn’s big warm hand lifting her by her chin. “Stand up, Sybil, and turn to the side. I want to see a pretty little dance as I paddle you, but nothing else. And that’s what Princess Lucinda is watching for as well.”
The paddle came down hard on her bottom. When she squirmed and struggled not to cry out, she felt Oweyn’s fingers tighten on her chin.
“Good girl!” he said, walloping her again and again and again.
Before her, even with her eyes down she had a clear view of Cressida thrown over Georgette’s lap, and Georgette’s gilded paddle slamming her again and again. Georgette appeared as strong as a man. It seemed Cressida was bouncing on Georgette’s lap. She marveled at the beauty of Cressida’s bottom and her long perfectly shaped legs. Was she herself that well made? She had no idea. And she could see Cressida’s pubic lips and the way her bottom flexed and contracted with each spank.
Sybil’s senses were flooded with the thudding pain, yet she couldn’t take her eyes off Cressida’s comely backside. Oh, surely it is enough, she cried in her mind, pressing her lips tight. Her bottom was on fire and certainly Cressida must be feeling the same unbearable heat. Then at last, the paddle stopped and Oweyn’s left fingers caressed and cupped Sybil’s breasts as he kissed her wet face. Georgette’s paddle continued working on Cressida.
“Now, get back to that stall, young lady,” said Oweyn, “with knees high as you march. Your dressers are waiting for you. And so is the Queen.”
Princess Lucinda was suddenly beside her. “Lovely,” she said in her gentle ladylike voice. “I’ve never seen a little filly in my life who didn’t improve with every single spanking.”
As Sybil marched as smartly as she could, Cressida caught up with her. She couldn’t resist a sideways glance, and sure enough Cressida was glancing at her too and giving her a little confidential smile. A hot wave of desire nearly caused Sybil to buckle. But the dressers reached out to catch her.