Named and Shamed (17 page)

'Eyes front!' yelled Black Shirt, in a voice not unlike a sergeant major's, and continued, 'The grooms who didn't manage to make their pony's orgasm, line up against the fence and pull your pants down.' He withdrew a short tasselled whip from inside his pocket and Jenny blinked. What was all this about? 'You'll each have ten points deducted from your score card and you will be spending plenty of time with Mistress Lupine and a whole host of sex toy practice. You need to be able to use these devices expertly gentlemen, if you are to ever hold the hope of becoming an Albrecht dominant one day.

Jenny's eyes followed Daniel and the other grooms as they made their way over to the fence without a murmur and began unfastening their trousers. Her mind was racing. Daniel was getting a beating because he had failed to make her climax? The trousers slid down their legs and their undergarments swiftly followed. All of them stood up ramrod straight, with their hands clasped in front of them and a hushed silence fell over the group of ponies. There were already tears in Red's eyes and she began snuffling and sniffing, as if in pain.

Black Shirt wasted no time in getting stuck in. His flogger swished away, delivering stinging, smarting blows to the hapless fellows in front of him. Buttocks wobbled and trembled under his heavy-handed swipes, and Jenny could only imagine the looks of dismay the grooms must have been wearing. His gloved hands beat down upon the five sets of ass cheeks with a controlled fury. Over and over again he let his instrument of torture rain down, until each pair of pale buttocks had turned a fiery red.

'I'm going to blister these backsides,' he announced loudly enough for all to hear, 'so you're unable to use them for at least a week. That should ensure you don't fail in any future tasks I set you.'

To their credit none of the grooms opened their lips once. Yes, there was the occasional gasp or whisper of pain, but nothing more. They all bore their punishment in stoic silence. This was not the case with the ponies behind them. Both Red and Asscheeks had broken down and were emitting heaving sobs from behind their bit gags. A couple of the other ponies had moved in close and offered consoling glances, which was as much as they were able to do considering the circumstances. Sir Lyle was intent on his duty, and if anything, the ponies' cries just fuelled his ardent flogging. But when one groom crumpled to his knees and CD nearly choked on her bit, there was a voice from several yards away that managed to break through the misery.

'Good day to you, Sir Lyle. Lovely hand action, I must say.'

Jenny was familiar with that voice. Her day nosedived instantly. What did he want? Where the hell was her rescue brigade? Feeling her body tighten involuntarily at the sound of Mark's greeting, she had a desperate urge to flee the premises, although she knew how futile that would be trussed up as she was.

'Ah, Matthews. Wonderful to see you, old chap.' Sir Lyle beamed. 'Was that your helicopter I heard?'

Jenny kept her face hidden amongst the other ponies, not wanting to draw attention to herself, but her ears pricked up at that last comment. When Mark answered the question with an affirmative her face crumpled in abject misery.

'Yes, you know how much I enjoy the odd spot of flying, amongst other things... such as flogging.' He eyed the whip in Lyle's hand.

Sir Lyle took the hint. 'Would you care to help me keep these grooms in line?' He waggled his whip in the air and offered it in Mark's direction.

'Oh? What have they done wrong now?' Mark gave an amused but questioning glance for Lyle's benefit.

'They failed in an incredibly simple task. They had five minutes and a wand to get their ponies to orgasm. A wand, I tell you. See what a generous Dom I am? It doesn't get any easier than that, and still they failed. This shockingly appalling behaviour can't be tolerated, obviously, and I'm providing remedial action to make sure it never happens again.' Another swish of the flogger could be heard on each of the five backsides.

'Hmm, interesting. Can I ask which ponies managed to make it past the five minute mark?'

'Red, CD, Asscheeks, Beauty and P.'

Mark's eyes narrowed. 'P?' There were a few tittering laughs of amusement from the ponies. Jenny wanted to dig a hole in the ground and burrow all the way to Australia.

'Yes, P. She's one of our newest additions. Pretty Pink Petals. Have you met her yet?' Lyle walked to her, yanked her reins and marched her over. He left her standing in front of Mark, for his inspection, while he returned to his whip workout.

It took Mark several seconds before he realised who was standing in front of him. With her short black hair and lack of make-up she looked a different young woman. The pretty, smartass socialite had been stripped of her artificial beauty and her tongue, judging by the long length of drool that fell from the corner of her lips. With her waist elegantly nipped inside her corset and her arms behind her back, the small but perfectly proportioned breasts appeared bigger than they really were. The hoof-boots elongated her legs and made her look slimmer. She had taken on an elfin look and if anything, it simply made her more appealing.

He waited for her pretty blue eyes to raise themselves and connect with his, but she refused to cooperate. The fact that her eyes were downcast spoke volumes. Lifting a finger gently to the underside of her chin, he raised her face and drank her in. Pure venom met him as he saw the sparks in her eyes. Her insolence was amusing. It saddened him to think that all defiance would shortly be whipped out of her. Albrecht wasn't a game she could ever have a hope of winning.

Jenny's heart raced. She hadn't wanted to look at him, had known that as soon as she looked in his eyes desire would burn bright and hot. Mark looked even sexier in a suit than he did in tight riding breeches, and that was saying something. It didn't matter that the man was a complete monster; she still wanted him with an intensity which frightened her. Thus forced to do so, she held his gaze but let her resentment at his previous treatment of her be known.

'She's quite talented for a novice and she's been given the golden egg. The trainer who gets his hands on her tomorrow is going to have lots of fun. I've already signed up for the ride.' Sir Lyle chuckled to himself.

That was the last thing Mark wanted to hear. The less competition he had at the auction the better. Still, he didn't think his pony would choose Lyle after today's activities. Not if she had two brain cells to rub together, she wouldn't.

'Cute, isn't she?' Sir Lyle had managed to get two of the grooms on their knees and both were struggling admirably to right themselves. All five pairs of buttocks were now glowing with scorching heat. 'Will you bid for her tomorrow, Matthews?'

'I'm not sure I have enough time on my hands to train up a new novice,' said Mark, affecting an air of ennui. Maybe next year, when things have slowed down a bit.' He withdrew his hand from Jenny's face and noted that she maintained eye contact. This was obviously a subject she found interesting.

'It's tough at the top, eh?' Sir Lyle smiled jovially towards Mark, before relaunching a flurry of repeatedly hard smacks upon the three grooms whom he hadn't managed to floor with his efforts.

Smug bastard, thought Mark. It was all right for him. He got to sit on his ass all day in the House of Lords and make up ridiculous laws, when he wasn't falling asleep in his chair. Mark rolled his eyes at Lyle's words for Jenny's benefit, knowing he wouldn't be looking their way, far too intent on the task in hand. She merely glared at him in response. The defiance in her eyes turned him on. Here she was, in a situation that was inescapable and under hands of people who were often cruel and heartless, and yet they had not diluted her spirit in any shape or form. It was encouraging to see. Most of the ponies who came here 'unwillingly' would have been in floods of unstoppable tears by now, but not this one. She had a determination in her depths that was rare. With the right encouragement she would make a beautiful submissive, and that was why it was important that she get the right trainer. In the hands of Lyle she'd eventually learn to submit, but there would be an empty shell of a submissive left and all of her fiery passion would slowly be left to bleed away. Mark was fairly sure he could turn her into something special, given half a chance.

'What have you got planned for the ponies today?' he asked, already knowing the answer but needing to steer the conversation in the right direction.

'Nettle picking. The shameful horsie, whose reins you hold in your hand, couldn't stop herself from squirting last night. What is the world coming to?' Sir Lyle raised his eyebrows. 'It's a terrible state of affairs when these ponies come to Albrecht greener than a fairytale princess.'

Mark nodded in sympathy. Likening Jennifer Redcliff to a virgin was almost akin to saying the Pope had a secret Jewish fetish, but he decided to keep that titbit of information to himself. 'So she couldn't keep herself in order last night, but today she managed five minutes under the wand. Was it something you said, Sir Lyle?' Mark smiled. 'Perhaps that dashing facade of yours put her off her breakfast.'

Lyle blustered under Mark's close scrutiny. 'That's just typical, coming from an uneducated pretty boy,' he fought back. 'The only reason you've managed to secure a place in Albrecht is because you're rolling in it.' He sniffed disdainfully and let the spiteful remark hit home.

Mark's gaze did not waver as he looked over Jenny's head and straight into Lyle's beady brown eyes. Whilst it was true he had dropped out of college, it had been due to monetary restraints rather than a lack of intelligence, and he had more than made up for the deficit as soon as he'd managed to pioneer his first company into profit.

'Are you questioning my talent with the ladies?' There were a few amused snorts amongst the ponies and Sir Lyle's eyes darkened. Throwing his whip down and striding towards Mark, he gestured for the grooms to pull their pants up and get dressed. They obeyed unquestioningly, pulling up their jeans gently over raw backsides, but their movements were slow and somewhat strained.

Lyle retorted, 'Are you questioning mine? I'll wager I could make P squirt in less than three minutes.' His eyes narrowed to see if Matthews would take up his challenge. He did not disappoint.

'I'll take that bet and up the odds. I'll wager I can make her climax in less than a minute and straight after you've failed.' Mark's eyes fairly sparkled with the promise of such a contest. 'Winner gets to choose the loser's forfeit. Are those terms acceptable, old boy?'

Lyle did not like the expression 'old boy'. He bristled with indignation, even though at fifty-five he was considerably older than his challenger. Trying his best to ignore the comment he asked, 'What methods are acceptable to you? Wands, fingers, whips, lips or tongue?'

'I'll be generous and allow you to use whatever method you like. I'm that kind of guy.' Mark's smile got wider.

Sir Lyle scowled. 'After I've won, Matthews, you'll be picking nettles, naked, along with the rest of them.' His eyes had a mad glint in them and it was clear that he meant every word he had just uttered.

Then you had better not win, thought Mark as he replied, 'I shall look forward to it.' Giving Lyle an amused wink, he flexed his fingers experimentally and there was more than one sigh of appreciation amongst the herd.

Lyle stomped off, his riding boots making squelchy prints in the wet grass. Presumably he had gone to find an instrument of torture, or should that be delight? Where Lyle was concerned it was anybody's guess.

Having been given a few minutes alone with Miss Redcliff, Mark decided to apprise her and the team of their situation. He waited until Lyle was out of earshot and then addressed his charge.

'Are you still aroused from the wand?' Assessing eyes looked her body up and down. Jenny would not return his gaze. 'We haven't got time for this,' he muttered and grabbed her chin in his cupped palm. 'Listening?' She nodded sullenly. 'Are you still aroused from the wand?' Another nod. Do you think you can withstand three minutes under Lyle?' Jenny simply raised an eyebrow of defiance at him. Shaking her head sharply within his hands, he pressed his fingernails into the tender flesh of her cheek. 'Cute. If you really want to crawl amongst a field of nettles and pick them with your teeth, be my guest. If, however, you'd prefer to trot back to the stables and have a spot of lunch without a body of throbbing nettle stings to contend with, I suggest you listen up. Actually,' he raised his voice so the rest of the herd could hear, 'you can all listen up. If Petal manages to withstand three minutes under Lyle and then explode under my artful fingers, I'll make sure the gate to the fallow field remains closed and that every single one of you is exempt from Lyle's nettle duty. If Petal can obey orders for a change, I promise that everyone can have their oats a little earlier than normal.'

A loud round of raucous whinnies greeted his comment and it was clear that the herd were quite happy with this arrangement. He raised his voice once more and said, 'If she fails, ponies, make sure her second night is hell on earth within the confines of Albrecht Stables. Everyone catch my drift?' Lots of stomping, some nods and plenty of excited neighs and whinnies greeted that comment.

Mark turned his attention back to Jenny and lowered his voice. 'If you think I can be a bastard, you have no idea what an afternoon of harvesting nettles will do to fifty or so pony girls. They will lose their sense of humour quite rapidly, and believe me when I say that nothing Lyle can think up will touch it. Oh, and one more thing. If I have to join you in that field of stingers naked, I will personally see to it that your life is made hell on earth. If you think you have it bad right now, I can pretty accurately say that I can multiply your misery level figure by a thousand.

Jenny was a seething, bubbling, roiling ball of emotions. Several flickered over her corneas all at once: fear, loathing, anger, bitterness, desire and helplessness. Trying to look anywhere but at him, she had the uncanny feeling that not only did he spot and analyse each sentiment that crossed her features, but he understood them too. She was struggling with the simple effort of breathing, just being in close proximity to the damn man. Once again her throat grasped for breath, but this time it wasn't due to exercise or fatigue. Letting out a raspy groan of discontent, she wondered if she could actually go through this again with the eyes of all these people upon her.