PROLOGUE

 

It was only when the copper haired girl stepped on the stage that Jake's gaze became alert and intent. Her body was slim, gently curved at the waist and swelled to small but well-formed breasts. Her pubis was bare, reaching down to long legs and slender ankles. The curly auburn hair tumbled past her shoulders. Her facial features were even and delicate, her lips full and soft. But what struck Jake were the large green eyes that reflected every emotion. She was trying very hard to look composed and sophisticated, but her eyes were mutinous and apprehensive. Even as she smiled, her lips trembled slightly.

He laughed quietly and then nodded with satisfaction. There was no need to look further. His purchase would earn him the gratitude of several individuals who were friends and the upper hand with those who were not.

Jake consulted his catalogue. "That one," he told the man sitting with him.

"Are you sure, Jake? She looks all of sixteen. What about-"

"She's twenty-two. Her name is Beth. Buy her."

"But you haven't . . ."

Jake looked coldly at his associate, his ash grey eyes hard.

The man's words died in his throat.

"Yes, Sir."

As he rose, Jake caught the glance of an acquaintance across the auction room floor and nodded fractionally.

"Oh, and Bob," he turned back to his associate. "Don't fuck with the merchandise."

 

CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING

 

Handcuffed and blindfolded, Beth was handed over to a man the chauffer referred to as James.

"This way, miss," the man said formally, his hand on her elbow.

"Are you ... I mean..."

"I'm the butler, miss," he responded with a touch of censure.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Of course."

Given his formal and proper manner, the fact that the butler seemed totally unfazed at escorting a handcuffed, blindfolded, naked female suddenly struck Beth as funny and for a moment she fought against erupting into nervous giggles. Humour fled quickly, though, leaving only trepidation in its wake. She was led through a maze of hallways, somewhat dazed and disorientated. She took a deep breath, trying in vain to calm her racing pulse and pounding heart. She heard James knock, open a door and then felt herself being led inside. There was the sound of his receding footsteps, then the door closing and finally silence.

Beth stood for a long time, not knowing if there was anyone else in the room. It was hard not to fidget but she was determined to stand straight, head respectfully lowered.

She didn't hear anyone approach and when a hand touched her shoulder, she jumped. "Steady," a man's voice murmured. He unlinked the cuffs but left the blindfold in place. He did not utter another word and the silence became increasingly difficult for Beth to bear. The man's hands moved over her body, turning her head this way and that. His finger followed the line of her collarbone and she trembled slightly. Hands moved down her shoulders and arms, the touch cool and dry.

The man took her right hand and kneaded her palm with the pad of a thumb. He kept his thumb on her palm, curled his index finger between her knuckles, and pressed his fingers together. The pain was unexpected and agonizing. It was a searing throbbing pain that travelled from her hand up her arm and to her shoulder. The sensation was so intense that Beth gasped and her eyes filled with tears. Her knees begin to buckle and she fought to stay upright. And then his fingers suddenly withdrew, the pain ending as abruptly as it had begun.

Once her breathing steadied he took her left hand. It took all of Beth's self-discipline not to jerk it away. She forced her hand to relax in his.

"Very nice," he said, low and soft. "Good girl."

Beth shivered. His voice sounded as smooth as silk and as hard as steel.

His hands swept down her shoulders to her breasts, the edge of his palm calloused and rough. He briefly lifted each breast, as if gauging its weight. He twisted one nipple and then the other; the sudden pain made Beth hiss. He alternated between stroking her breasts and pinching her nipples. Beth whimpered, her breathing rapid. The man ran his fingernail down her stomach, cupping her sex and smiling slightly as he found her wet. He slipped two fingers inside and feathered her lightly. Beth could not stop herself from pressing against his fingers. When his hand withdrew, her aching need was expressed in a silent sob.

He laughed. "Such a hungry little girl. Turn around, please."

The man rubbed the nape of her neck and trailed his fingers slowly down her back to the deep valley between her ass cheeks. As he stroked between them, Beth tensed but then willed her muscles to relax again. He gave a low chuckle. Then he stopped touching her and seemed to just stand still. The prolonged silence heightened Beth's apprehension and when he finally spoke she started.

"Take off your blindfold, please."

It was all she could do not to hurry as she untied the velvet knot and it took most of her will power to keep her eyes lowered.

His voice was cool and amused. "You're allowed to look around, Ms. Harris."

The room was an elegant panelled study with worn brown leather couches and chairs. A large desk, made of mahogany and inlaid with ebony, dominated the centre of the room. And standing next to the desk was the man who would be her owner.

He was tall, his unruly brown hair layered and laced with silver, clean shaven with rugged features and eyes that were smoky grey and unfathomable. He was impeccably dressed in a black silk shirt and a grey Armani suit. Beth shivered. The man radiated power. He was soft spoken, well dressed and looked every bit as tame as a panther. He took off his jacket and laid it over the back of a chair near his desk. Beth stared as he unbuckled a brown leather shoulder holster and gun and placed them in his desk drawer. She shook her head helplessly. She did not need to see the gun to know that this man was dangerous. He loosened his burgundy tie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Heavily muscled arms belied the businessman's attire. He eased himself into a leather armchair, his right hand rubbing his temple as if trying to massage away a headache.

"Come here," he said. It was as much an order as a request.

Beth knelt gracefully in front of him. He positioned her so that her head lay against the carpet and her bottom stuck up in the air. Then he slapped her butt sharply. She gasped as the force of the blow made her fall forward. He repositioned her and this time put one hand under her hips to hold her up as he hit her again. She cried out as his hand came down harshly. Each stroke seemed harder than the one before it and Beth's bottom danced with pain. He was methodical and unyielding. The blaze of one blow blended in with the searing pain of the next. She heard herself begin to scream. The hand that supported her hips moved downward to cup her sex even as his other hand came down so powerfully that her body jerked. Beth's butt quivered under his hand. Yet the heat of his blows awakened an aching hot need between her legs and she began to welcome the blows that thrust her sex against his fingers.

The sharp slaps continued until her flesh was burning, but each slap echoed downward into a throbbing desire for his touch. He stopped hitting her and soothed her raging bottom with one hand while the fingers of his other hand taunted her to distraction. He stroked the skin on either side of her bare mons until she groaned, this time not from pain but with longing. He eased two fingers upward along the length of her moist opening, slowly separating her outer lips and caressed her clitoris. His touch was light, like a whisper. He hit her again, just once, as his fingers penetrated deep into her sex. His thumb circled her clitoris, teasing and enticing until Beth felt maddened with unmet need. After an eternity, he rubbed against her clitoris. That was all it took, just that one touch and Beth's entire body stiffened with the rising swirls of pleasure. She climaxed, arching as the waves crashed over her.

He held her as her body spasmed and then, when her bones seemed to turn liquid, he lowered her to the floor. The tears came, confusing her. She did not know if she was crying out of relief, pain, passion, or shame. He hunkered down beside her and stroked her hair until she quieted. She could feel him leaving her side, returning moments later to hold a handkerchief to her nose.

"Blow."

"I'll ruin it," she hiccupped.

"Don't worry about that."

She blew her nose, feeling foolish. He took a warm wet hand towel and wiped her face and then her sex before helping her to her feet. She averted her eyes; afraid she would see contempt that mirrored her sense of shame.

"For this interview, Ms. Harris, you have the freedom to speak your mind and ask any questions you have."

Beth relaxed somewhat at the impersonal way he addressed her, formally as if nothing had ever happened. She hesitated and then asked, "I do not know, how should I address you?"

"My name is Jake Adams. Address me as Sir," he replied evenly.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Express your understanding of your situation, Ms. Harris."

Beth recited her response, one that she had rehearsed many times. "I am a slave you have purchased. I will strive to obey you and gratefully accept the discipline you mete out. After one year of service I am free to leave or to renew my status should you wish it."

Jake seemed to be weighing her words. "Are you aware that I can, and indeed will, give you to others?"

"Being shared with others is your right and my pleasure."

"Your file indicates that you were raised in the Midwest, Chicago, I believe."

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you have family out there?"

"No, Sir," Beth lied. Her eyes betrayed her.

Jake didn't say anything. As the silence grew longer, it became oppressive. The silence was sucking the air out of the room. Beth wondered how long it would be before she suffocated.

"Would you like to try again?"

Shame coloured her cheeks. "Yes, Sir. I have an uncle in Chicago but we are ... we are estranged. I don't consider him family, Sir."

He raised his eyebrow in inquiry.

Beth looked at the floor. "He was my guardian. He was never particularly kind to me. When I turned eighteen and wanted to leave, he became violent."

The memory washed over her.

Beth bit her lip, willing herself to stay still as the whip slashed her back, again and again. The lines of pain gave way to an overwhelming searing burn as brine was poured over her tattered skin. Still she maintained her kneeling position, even when every fibre of her being compelled her to scramble out of harm's way. Her gnawed, bleeding lip was evidence of the effort it took not to scream aloud, for screaming was forbidden. Tears coursed down her cheeks in silent agony. Only when the soothing words of forgiveness were spoken, only when the door closed, did Beth's body sag.

"He almost ... destroyed me," she said bitterly. "It took me a year to escape."

"His name?"

"Mark Phillip, Sir."

Jake nodded. "Okay. The decision to become a slave was your own?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And how did you come to make that decision?"

"Because I want to submit, to please, to be dominated. The stipend I will receive at the end of the year will provide me with financial security." To her dismay tears spilled silently down her cheeks. "Please Sir, I'm so tired of feeling numb. I need to do this so that I can feel like I did when ... when you touched me."

Jake considered her carefully. "I am not personally interested in training you or using you sexually. You will be given to various individuals for a period of time. Between these periods you will return here for a week or so as a guest. You will be free to dissolve the contract without penalty during any of these respites. Is this agreeable to you, Ms. Harris?"

Beth nodded slowly. "Yes, Sir. But really, you don't ... I'm sorry I cried, Sir. I'm usually much more resilient. You don't have to-"

"But I do have to, Ms. Harris. I may be lending your services to others but for the next twelve months I own you." His smile was suddenly cold and feral. "And I take very good care of my possessions."

 

CHAPTER TWO: THE PONY AND THE GROOM

 

Beth left the way she arrived, unclothed, handcuffed and blindfolded in black velvet. After a long trip two men flanked her and led her down a long winding path until, at long last, they stopped. The blindfold was removed and Beth squinted, eyes watering in the harsh sunlight. She stood before a bright red barn but there were none of the smells she associated with barnyard animals. A heavyset man with a florid complexion walked towards her; his broad features, short pug nose and small eyes gave him a piggish appearance. He was dressed in riding gear and held a crop under his arm. Beth stood still, head respectfully lowered.

His beefy hands examined her body. In some aspects the inspection was not unlike the examination she had from Jake, but this time it was much coarser. He slapped Beth's mouth softly and she opened it, allowing the man to run his fingers against her teeth. He nodded and one of the men removed the cuffs. She ached to rub her wrists but did not. His hands encircled her upper arms and squeezed. He punched her lightly in the stomach, grunting with satisfaction as her abdomen contracted. Beth gasped, not from pain but from surprise. Using the handle of the crop, the man lifted her chin. "My name is Tub, Harry Tub, but that's Master to you. Got that?"

"Yes, Master."

"Fine. Look over to the field on your right. Tell me what you see."

"I see women. They are naked except for harnesses and caps with feathers. They are running with their knees pumping high in the air. There is a rider on a horse next to each woman and, um, I'm not sure, Master."

"The women are ponies. They live, eat and behave like ponies. For your time here, Beth, you too will be a pony. You will race for my guests. You will not see me again. Your training and care will be the responsibility of your groom. Do you understand?"

Beth started to reply but the man angrily interrupted her. "No! I told you! You are now a pony. Ponies do not talk. If you understand, nod your head. That's it. You are no longer Beth. For the time that you are here, you will be called Beauty. Don't disappoint me."

The man abruptly turned and walked away.

Beth was led into the barn. A tall, attractive man dressed in dark suede met her. His tanned skin contrasted with a bright white smile and he had eyes the colour of caramel. "Hello there, Beauty," he murmured. "What a pretty filly you are. I'm John, your groom and my job is to take care of you. You'll feel better after you're groomed."

He positioned Beth on her hands and knees. "That's a good girl. Ponies don't stand up, you know." He brushed her hair, gently teasing out the knots until her hair was a shining cascade down her back. "Be a good pony and don't move."

Beth struggled not to move even though her limbs cramped. The groom washed her with warm soapy water, lathering her breasts, pubic mound, the delicate folds of her labia and her rectum. Humiliation washed over her and that alone became arousing.

After briskly drying her off, the groom said, "Now, little one, you need to be curried." His voice was kind but his eyes glinted in anticipation. He brushed her back with a currycomb of fine, stiff, metal bristles. The sensation was startling and painful. The bristles scraped her skin and she felt rubbed raw. She could not help herself. She scuttled away from the groom, moaning loudly.

"Whoa ... Shh ... Just relax, sweetheart," he murmured.

But Beth had reached her limit. The whole day had been just too much to bear and she wailed, tears streaming down her face, sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath.

Her cries brought unwanted attention. "What have we here? Is this the way your ponies behave?" the stable Master grumbled. "I hope that you intend to discipline her."

"No," the groom demurred. "Beauty is just new and frightened, aren't you, girl? I'll just use the training bridle on her for a few days and she'll be just fine. Won't you, little one?"

She moaned, still overwhelmed and distraught.

The stable Master nodded curtly. "Just make sure you use the training bit, too. I don't want to hear her. Understood?"

John put sturdy cuffs on Beth's ankles and wrists. They were made of metal and lined with horsehair that scratched and chafed. He eyed her discomfort with amusement and then tightened them until she winced in pain. He fastened her ankle cuffs to rings on the floor. Beth trembled. The groom lowered a leather wrapped pole from the ceiling, mounted on chains with a pulley to control the height. He bent her over the pole and then, as he did with her ankles, he fastened her wrist manacles to rings on the floor. He raised the bar pulling Beth's waist up and she grimaced as it dug into her stomach. Her movements were now sharply curtailed. A moment later, the groom held out a thick leather bit.

"Open your mouth for me, sweetheart," he said softly.

She resisted, shaking her head wildly.

He held her nose shut until she opened her mouth to gasp for air and then neatly inserted the bit into her mouth. He fastened the bit tightly behind her head. It hurt the corners of her mouth and muffled her moans.

"See, Beauty," he said. "Ponies are allowed to neigh and snicker, but you must never talk or scream. Now we don't have to worry about your staying in position or making too much noise." He raised the bar several inches higher, increasing her discomfort until she groaned. "And I don't have to worry that you'll embarrass me."

John stroked her back with his hand, gentling her trembling. When he felt her panic begin to recede he continued to groom her with the wire bristle brush. The sensation was painful, as if her whole body was rubbed by coarse sandpaper. The torment intensified as the groom repeated strokes of the currycomb over and over, on skin already red and throbbing. Beth sobbed and strained against her restraints and then, whimpering, she finally slumped in defeat.

"That's it, little one. You just need some taming, don't you?"

The groom's soothing sounds accompanied the rhythmic strokes of the currycomb and finally Beth relaxed into the pain rather than fight it.

"Now, Beauty," he continued casually, "You need to understand just how gentle I'm being with you. Naughty fillies get groomed much more severely."

Without moving the currycomb away from her upper thigh, John exerted more pressure until hundreds of needle-thin wires pressed sharply against her skin. She mewled in pain. He continued to stroke her hair gently.

"That's what happens to naughty fillies. But you're going to be a good pony. You won't make me look bad to the stable Master again, will you, girl?"

More sternly, he directed her, "Come on. Answer me by moving your head."

Beth nodded with exaggerated movements, desperate to please him.

"Because it could always be worse. See what I mean, sweetheart?"

He grinned and pressed the currycomb down, the wire needles piercing her skin now. The pain was immediate, stinging and smarting. Beth writhed and strained against her restraints. His pressure on the currycomb slowly increased. She wailed into the training bit. The red hot burning in her thigh began to kindle a different kind of heat that radiated to her core.

John waited dispassionately until the first surge of pain abated. "You know, little one, the more you struggle and move about, the worse it gets."

He worked the bristles deeper, the needles now embedded into her skin.

"See what I mean, sweetheart?" he whispered.

She could not bear it and shrieked with agony. Slowly he wriggled the brush with its bristles still rooted in her skin. The pain was excruciating and Beth bucked desperately against her bindings, shuddering with anguish. She screamed, though the bit muffled her sounds, screamed until her voice was hoarse. And yet somehow the torment fanned the heat in her sex. Pain bowed, pleasure curtsied and they began to dance.

John removed the currycomb and waited quietly for several moments, watching Beth panting and heaving, until she gained some measure of control.

"Now, Beauty," he continued, "This is what happens after the currycomb. Good little ponies like it very much." He massaged a pungent smelling cream into her skin. "This is horse liniment."

Although it was initially cool, the ointment soon began to heat up. The groom massaged the liniment into her sore shoulders and, in response to the pressure and warmth, her muscles relaxed and unclenched. John moved behind her and with one hand played with her sex, deftly stroking her labia and fingering her clitoris. The sense of pleasurable heat began to build, even as Beth's face reddened from the shame of it all. He pressed harder, pinching softly. She felt more and more aroused, a crescendo of sweet spirals of pleasure. Just as she was reaching toward release, he slowly removed his hand. Beth moaned again, this time not in pain but in protest. She thrust her pubic mound back as if trying to recapture his hand and he chuckled, "Not yet, pretty one, not just yet. You see, Beauty," he continued conversationally, "naughty fillies don't like the liniment nearly as much."

He took a dollop of the liniment and stroked it lightly on the area still reddened by hundreds of tiny puncture marks. The same lotion that felt warm and relaxing on her unbroken skin now became a white-hot flame. The pain seemed more than she could endure yet she had no choice. She bucked and writhed. Sharp whistling breaths yielded to shrieks and then to unearthly high screeches. She shook uncontrollably, straining against her bindings so frantically that the rough horsehair lining of her cuffs rubbed her wrists and ankles raw.

"It's a good thing you're wearing the bit, isn't it, pretty one? Otherwise I think you would be wailing now and that would be very naughty. Then I'd have to punish you, wouldn't I? It's okay sweetheart. I know what you can take. I know what you need."

With one hand John resumed teasing and stroking the folds of her sex. With the other hand he kneaded the ointment into the reddened patch of broken skin. The unbearable agony was so crushing that Beauty could not catch her breath and she choked on her screams. The white-hot pain returned doubled now, burning so deeply that she felt she would die. At the same time his skilful manipulation of her sex filled her with a different kind of torment. Heat from her reddened skin travelled and became a fire raging in her loins.

John stopped only long enough to substitute his erection for his fingers. He groaned as he entered her dewy hot recess and groaned again as she tightened around him. As he massaged the biting ointment into her raw skin, Beth's vaginal muscles clenched in agony and he thrust in and out with vigour. He pressed his thumb against her clitoris and now her movements were no longer simply pain driven. Pain and pleasure combined in a roaring wave that propelled her up, up and outward.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let go. That's a good girl."

The wave crested, hurtling her into a shuddering orgasm more intense than she had ever known and then finally into blessed darkness.