Winning Ways

Child? I'm not a child, thought Zeta. I am eighteen and a few months. I am legally an adult now. What is this woman talking about, the stupid bitch? She hesitated just a moment too long in lifting her head as the massive hand of Marcel grasped her long black hair, pulling her face up and twisting her head to see out of the window.

"Owww! My God!" Zeta exclaimed, looking around her. There were at least a hundred naked women and men lining the route to a huge castle-like house, clearly built in Tudor times. They were bowing low, with some completely shaven: everywhere!

"Shut up Bitch!" Madam snapped at her. "These people are the worthy ones who have gained my respect and love. You will have to work to earn a place beside them on this road."

"I'm not a b..."

The smack across her buttocks from Marcel was so hard she was flung forward in the car onto all fours. Her skin felt hot and stung madly. A shiver of fear pulsed through her body, but strangely she found she did not cry out nor protest. And as she remained now, with her buttocks raised and her head down, Zeta let the tears quietly flow as other sensations spread out from that source of pain.

"You will leave the car in that position bitch!" Madam snapped, sounding even angrier than when she had spoken out of turn before. So Zeta stayed where she was, afraid and yet struggling with some other, more fundamental feelings that linked her pain to her pleasure.

The limousine stopped gently outside, she presumed, the house.

_________________________

How wrong she was!

"Out, now, bitch!" Marcel instructed, spanking her hard once more as she tried to turn round to exit the door. It was clear she was to go out backwards, showing her naked arse to the spectators.

There was a giggle behind her. Then more laughter. She felt humiliated. There she was, naked, and people were mocking her. Worse, she realised the ground was cobbled and there was straw everywhere, together with a smell of horses.

She stayed low, humiliated almost beyond reason. It had been different on the train. Why was it so difficult in front of others, especially this powerful woman and her hunk of a son? In a short time she had fucked with her best friend and with Imogen (whom she knew as Isabella remember) whom she considered on a par with Anissa, if not her superior given the amount she had done with her and shown her was possible. Why were they laughing? They were all naked, so far as she had seen, so what made them different?

"You can stand now slut," Madam said, her voice stern and commanding. Zeta wanted that domination she realised but she equally had that inner streak of stubbornness and rudeness that was about her age and the spoiling that her mother had done. So, in spite of how much she liked Madam, the words shot out of her mouth like a reflex.

"Stop fucking telling me what to do!"

There was a sudden sharp intake of breath from the people behind her. In that instant she knew her defiance was a huge mistake. Too late now, she thought. Her whole body sensed the danger.

"Marcel, bind her!"

"Oh, yes," was the exclamation from the people.

"No, I won't be..."

But Marcel was upon her, holding both her wrists after a small struggle.

"Let go of me you bastard! You fucking ape!" She screamed, struggling and kicking out but held like a rag doll in his enormous hands.

"Oh, bad move, " said Madam, simply.

He was too strong for her, possibly even for many other body builders, and walked her away from the car to something she had only seen in books about the middle ages. It was a set of medieval stocks.

"Get off!" she screamed, followed by more invectives aimed at him, at Madam, at anyone and everyone. She could see the laughing naked men and women who surrounded her. So wrapped up in her anger she failed to notice some adorned peculiar accessories. To her they were just a set of naked and partially naked people mocking her.

Marcel let go of both wrists, taking one arm and the back of her neck instead, as Madam opened up the top of the stocks. He part lifted her, part carried her, until her head was over the large notch designed for the head. Then with the help of Madam and some of the naked spectators, her arms were pinned down in their corresponding notches and the top half of the oak stock was locked into position. She was held fast now, still screaming and swearing, with tears now running down her cheeks. Her mascara that she had so carefully applied with Imogen's help was a stream of black. There was no beauty left in her youthful face, just anger: a pure rage at everyone for her predicament.

Imogen watched, laughing inside at the stupidity of the girl but also remembering how she had been the same when she first came to Madam's. Zeta's punishment and subsequent training had started.

"Give her two dozen lashes and then insert the pony tail. Tonight and for however many nights it takes she sleeps in the stable. Give her the stall next to Beauty," Madam instructed, walking back to the car and leaving Marcel, Imogen and the crowd of onlookers to deal with the screaming young woman.

"Slut, you can have the first dozen and I will have the second," said Marcel to Imogen . "Yes Master," she replied, head still bowed though not as much as for Madam.

A very tall woman wearing a leather face harness, with a bit between her teeth like a horse, trotted forward carrying a thin ash cane. She had enormous breasts that jiggled and swung alarmingly with the sway of her hips and long strides. She kissed the instrument of torment as best she could with the bit in place, then handed it to Imogen.

"Thank you, Beauty," he said, with genuine gratitude.

Marcel signalled, again with no use of words, for everyone to get behind or to the side of Imogen but giving her sufficient space for a striking zone. There was a set of lines on the floor a few feet apart. Imogen walked to behind the furthest from the victim, Zeta. Then, raising the cane high in her hand she stepped forward to the middle line and then rapidly to the one nearest to Zeta. As she made those quick steps, so she focused on the delightful arse of the Bitch. There was venom in the first stroke. She had promised Paul, her Master, that privilege and she would report back on its effect.

The scream was heard all across the estate. The crowd clapped, congratulating Imogen on the skill of the strike: an enormous stripe across the very top of her curvy arse.

"You fucking bastard!" Zeta shouted, not knowing it was Imogen who had struck the stinging blow. And she was made even less aware when Imogen walked to the front of the stocks, took the young woman's face in her hands with such gentleness and kissed her full on the lips in front of everyone. Then she broke the smooch. Zeta was confused. A pulse started in her cunt, spreading out from her engorging clitoris and over her belly and thighs.

"Shhhh, darling, it is best to not swear as Marcel is likely to increase the number of strokes. They do not tolerate bad language at Madam's"

"B-b-but it fucking hurts. They are hurting my arse," she cried loudly, unable to control herself, her estuary English spitting from the full mouth that was now turned down at its edges in a sulk.

"Shhhh, don't let them hear that you cannot take the cane..."

"It fucking hurts...the pissing bastards are fu..."

And then she screamed again. Marcel had taken a large bullwhip and, standing behind the furthest line, had placed a stripe across her right buttock. He announced to the crowd, "This slut has been given to Madam until such time she learns good manners. Her failure to curb her fishwife language means that she will live in the stable for the next week alongside Madam's favourite mare. She is to be taught at every opportunity to respect others and every slave, pony man or woman, and free submissive is ordered to apply punishments of their choice to her until she learns good manners. You are forbidden from this moment to tell her what her transgression is, only to apply the punishment immediately. She knows good from bad, but chooses not to apply that learning. Turn her into one of Madam's best citizens and honour your Mistress. Also, given she had chosen to ignore the advice that I am sure her friend has just given her; I increase her punishment by another dozen strokes. They will be with a leather paddle which one of you must fetch from the stable."

Zeta gritted her teeth in anger as a tall naked man approached the front, bowed to her and said, "I would be honoured to choose a paddle perfect for your beautiful brown skin. My name is..."

"Fuck off! You are all a bunch of twisted...aaarrrgh!"

The bullwhip caught her left buttock, raising a line that stretched around her thigh, the tip of the whip catching just below her cunt lips. She felt the sharp jolt of pain, then the rising heat that followed. She had felt too the brush of air as the tip came so close to her sex. There was applause, assumedly for his accuracy was all Zeta could imagine, but she was experiencing something else, something so primeval within her. She was shocked by the assault but somehow wanted it. Yes, she wanted to feel the kiss of the whip. She deserved to be punished. Why had she been so cruel to the man? He had tried to be kind, even honouring her with however perverted an offer. And was it perverted given what she had done with Anissa and Isabella over the previous days?

"I'm sorry sir," she cried, tears suddenly streaming down her face, despite the warm glow that seemed to be radiating more and more from her pussy. "Please," she continued, battling to speak as another assault of cane and then whip bit into her now hot backside, "Please choose a paddle for me..."

"That is so much better," Imogen said, coming up to the front again, stroking her hair like a mother does her baby, then letting her hand slide down her cheek to cup her ample breast as if in reward. They were so heavy as she was bent over by the stocks. Her friend was taking her time to appraise it, to tease at the nipple, as she kissed her forcefully on the mouth, pushing her tongue hard between Zeta's lips that opened so readily. Sensuality mixed with pain, blended with a modicum of regret and sadness at her behaviour.

More blows of the cane now, but Imogen continued to kiss and caress her. Her groans and screams absorbed in her friend's mouth. Imogen's fingers toyed in Zeta's sex, parting the wet lips that dripped with excitement as the spoilt young woman's mind whirred with conflicting messages and thoughts. I hate them; I love them. Marcel is a bastard; the man was so attractive. Madam is a cow; Madam oozes sexuality and power. I want to lick her in homage. She was shocked by that final thought. Zeta wanted to lick the cunt of her tormentor? She did not understand what was happening to her.

Suddenly the whipping and caning stopped. Imogen just as abruptly detached her long kiss and took away her juice-soaked hand that had held her young lover on the brink of orgasm. All she was left with was the interminable pain and radiating heat that seemed to spread like erotic waves. She was confused that something so painful could produce such intense pleasure. Zeta was also saddened that Imogen quickly walked away, though not without lifting to her mouth the fingers that had only moments before been inside her. She licked and sucked them nosily and avidly.

"Slave, I am now going to give you the dozen spanks with the paddle as ordered by my Master. Please accept them in homage to your beauty and as punishment for your rudeness."

"Do what the fuck you like," Zeta snapped, unthinking, then immediately regretted it. She was using that old habit; attack was always her best form of defence. Why did she do that? Especially to people as kind as this man appeared to be. Besides, as she looked down in immediate humility for her rudeness she saw he sported an enormously long and thick cock that with the strange contraption of gold rings and leather straps held him proud. She tried to retract her words.

"Look, I'm really sor...."

"Another dozen spanks," snapped Marcel, interrupting her apology, "And the slave Julian will administer those as well. Slut Zeta you are not worthy of kissing his shoe. Fitting your ponytail as instructed by Madam Honfleur your Mistress and superior in everything will honour him. Begin, now!"

"N..."

She tried to say 'no' but the blows began again. The first was gentle, more a stroke than a hit.

"You are to say, 'thank you Slave Julian' every time he strokes your fat arse."

"I haven't got a fat..."

"Add another half dozen," Marcel ordered coldly. This was no game and Zeta would learn through loving punishment. His mother was right though, she was a feisty little bitch and he would love breaking her.

Another blow hit her square on her right buttock, right on the stripe created by the bullwhip. Inevitably, she screamed. Her mind was in turmoil, her arse in extreme pain followed quickly by that sensual heat that was gnawing at her cunt; tempting and corrupting, confusing her about what was good and bad sexually. However, she knew that to stop the hurt she needed to curb her language and do as she was told. Something she had been poor at doing since her early teens.

Julian's blows increased in power, but Zeta had determined she would not scream or even moan. No, she would not give Marcel the satisfaction of hearing her pain. It took all her willpower to do it, but she focussed on nothing but the pleasure that always surged through her after each stroke. She was amazed at how her cunt flowed freely with her nectar, the aroma wafting up from between her legs; helped by Julian's fingers that stroked between her thighs like feathers. She was warming to this man, wanting him, and her head was full of images of his long cock; wishing it was fucking her hard from behind, even if she was unsure what being fucked by a man was really like.

"Stop! The slut has had the first part of her punishment."

Zeta wanted to shout out, to plead for Julian's sensual strokes to continue, but everything stopped: the spankings with the paddle and those amazing fingers that had coaxed and teased. But then she remembered the second part of her punishment, something she had until now pushed from her mind. A pony tail? Were they going to put some silly harness round her with an artificial tail attached to it? How stupid, she thought.

How wrong!

Marcel whispered to Julian who trotted off, literally, to the stable. His magnificent cock pointed skyward as his body moved like a horse at the dressage. There was not an ounce of wasted flesh on his body, just pure, defined muscle. Madam's son and Imogen stared indecently long at him, admiring his well-turned calves and thighs, as he left and as he returned.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" they said, almost in unison, laughing at themselves for being so blatant in their love and admiration of him. Slave Julian was a favourite of Madam's and Imogen had been honoured by that firm dick embedded in her cunt or arse on many an occasion. Likewise, Marcel knew its thickness deep in his bowel, as well as the tightness of Julian's anus when he had fucked their honoured slave; especially during those long months when he had been broken. It had been for the CEO of a large petrochemical company whose bi-sexuality had recently hit the press in a 'kiss-and-tell' to a national newspaper. That had been by a partner not vetted by Madam. Now Julian was back to protect his anonymity and in exchange to help with this most special assignment for a good friend of Marcel's mother.

Now Julian was standing behind Zeta again, silently caressing the gorgeously striped arse of the Bitch. Well readers, I've seen the CCTV footage that Madam kept for me, so I can confirm Imogen's diary description. It was beautiful, literally masterstrokes; finished off with the caress of the paddle. I could also see how Julian, ever the tactician, slid his fingers between her punished arse to slide sensuously along her hairy crack. It was not long before he was squeezing hard at the curve of her buttocks closest to her anus, then slipping his fingers over her swollen labia and into her hole. His actions always ended with a pressure point that confused pain with lustful pleasure. Zeta was arching her neck as far as was possible under that oak board, obviously getting off on the sexually perverse experience.

Then the nod came from Marcel, as the crowd knew it would. Julian held out his right hand, having got Zeta close to fever pitch, and Imogen positioned herself at Zeta's front. The lawyer smiled, again caressing the young bitch's body. She was passive now, absorbed with erotic desire, and my slut kissed her with deep, slurping kisses, her hands dropping to the young woman's tits to squeeze and tease. Her fingers closed around Zeta's engorged nipples that were standing out like proverbial organ stops, the pink teats straining and the piercings standing out too as my lawyer pulled them. There could be heard the moan into Imogen's mouth. It was of agony as Imogen was not only kissing now but also squeezing the teats hard in her fingers, while Julian was insinuating a finger slowly into Zeta's anus. Again, pleasure was being confused with hurt, creating a dull, aching longing not only in her cunt but all over her body below the waist and up to her tits. Zeta was completely confused as Madam had referred to it as punishment and yet, this was something so different. Her mind could not explain it. All she knew was her body craved more of this humiliating yet satisfying submission. Also, she noticed that no longer was her mind wanting to swear at people. No something fundamental was changing.

She could hear clapping again. What was happening or about to happen? She felt something brush over her thighs and be whipped like some African fly swatter between her legs and over her cunt lips. What was this? Then the finger that had been fucking her anus was removed. She sneaked a look out of the corner of her eye as Imogen continued to kiss her and torture harder and harder her teats. Why was her friend punishing and yet loving her? No matter, because what she saw in that glimpse was enough to send a shiver of fear. Marcel had a large black dildo in his hand that had what could only be described as a pony's tail hairs attached to it. Surely he wasn't?

Then she felt someone grasping her hips. There was a cream or something similar being smeared between her arse cheeks. 'No, no, no,' she thought, 'surely not?' And then there was the pressure against her little rose that had already welcomed involuntarily one digit. However, whatever was there now was bigger. Much bigger. Could they? She tried to clench her arse cheeks, but the fingers were insistent, forcing against the forbidden entrance. She clenched again. A hard slap set off the burning in her arse that spread its confusing messages between her open thighs, causing a dripping message of desire. There would be more slaps and more spanks until she gave in. She knew that if she resisted they would make things worse for her. What choice did she have? She had none. She was their slut. I had ordered this and her mother was in agreement. She was to be taught more than manners. So her resolve collapsed like the submissive she knew she really was. She focused on relaxing; remembering what she had read in porno magazines with her friend Anissa. The fingers slipped in. Momentary pain, then a spread of lustful delights in the form of pulsing eroticism. The books were right! Always pain, then gain. She smiled to herself, despite the obscene humiliation of her position.

Then she heard the grunt, as a large -- well, she assumed it to be -- cock replaced the fingers, slipping in slowly, shifting back and forth, pumping its meaty thickness further and further, until the warm groin of a man met her fiery arse cheeks. She winced, but again the slut in her made her grind her arse against the fucking rod. Her cunt dripped and her mind raced with questions of what else would happen here, but always those thoughts so quickly lost in the obscene pleasure of an arse-fuck.