A Rough Ride: Pony Girl Training in Latex and Leather (17 page)

'Wasabi, or Japanese horseradish, has quite a strong flavour, does it not? It's used by Japanese chefs because it helps preserve the flavour and kill the bacteria which can develop on raw fish. I wouldn't hold it in your mouth too much longer though; the fumes get rather painful after a while.' He waited for her to swallow.

She looked at him helplessly. It would take the threat of a good caning in order to get her to swallow this fiery green lava.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. 'Come here.' Pulling her head towards his mouth he took her lips deftly in his and sucked the small sliver of fish into his mouth, where he swallowed it with little effort. Marianna's pulse had just gone nuclear and at that point in time she could have bitten into a bird's eye chilli and been unaffected. His eyes bored into hers and his tongue gently traced a slick path on her bottom lip. Unlike her, he was not breathing hard.

'Lucky for you, I like hot things.' He was trying hard not to laugh. 'Now may I suggest you leave the Sashimi alone and stick to the noodles or sushi.' Picking up another piece of fish, this time in a more conventional way by using his chopsticks, he guzzled more of the blistering condiment down without a moment's unease.

Even though the aftereffects of the wasabi had lessened somewhat, Marianna was still feeling the heat. The stray stares of the men gathered around the table, admiring her form in the barely-there dress were obvious, as was their hunger for pleasures not in the least bit related to food. Mark's immediate proximity had wetness seeping between her thighs as his kiss, brief though it was, performed its magic. She squirmed on the now sticky stool and gasped as her backside protested being rubbed on the unforgiving plastic surface.

'I'd sit still and eat if I were you,' said Mark, reaching up towards the Japanese lady's breasts for an elegantly curved tiger prawn, wrapped in batter. She watched as he tormented the poor girl first, squeezing a soft pink nipple between his chopsticks before he released the devilish pressure and lunged for his original prize. He bit into the succulent, soft, juicy flesh and sighed in appreciation. 'They even spice her skin. Furikake, seaweed flavour by the looks of it, has been sprinkled just beneath her breasts. You can dip your rice in it.'

Marianna cautiously picked up a parcel of banana leaves tied neatly with string. She was careful not to touch the woman's sex as she grabbed her snack, which was getting a lot of chopstick attention, and concentrated on getting the item back to her plate in order to unwrap it. When she'd managed that she almost groaned in despair. Rice. How on earth did she eat that with two little wooden sticks?

'Japanese rice is sticky and glutinous. It's easy to pick up with the chopsticks, but by all means use your fingers. I have a feeling you'll be very popular around here if you start licking things.' Mark had reached for a similar parcel of rice, which he deposited on his plate, but his chopsticks returned to her sex and delved inside. Marianna looked at him curiously when he pulled out something spherical and orange. 'It's called
Ikura
. Open wide, sweetie.'

She looked at the small orange ball with mistrust, but opened her jaw obediently. It wasn't like she had a choice. If he'd had a tube of wasabi in his hand and demanded that she eat it, that would have been her lot unless she decided to risk angering him and then she would still be required to suffer, albeit in a different way. Rolling the ball around on her tongue she detected little taste. Biting into it released a distinctly unsettling 'popping' sensation, which made her jump. The taste was not unpleasant, slightly salty and almost - dare she say it - semen-like.

'Salmon roe. I'll have you know it's an excellent source of omega-three fatty acids.' Marianna sucked in her cheeks and nodded. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about eating fish eggs, but was well aware that he was having fun with her. Popping a few more into his mouth and savouring them with the look of a seasoned connoisseur, he said, 'Would you like some more?'

She shook her head so quickly and forcefully she nearly dismantled her chignon. It wouldn't do to send pins flying everywhere. She pursed her lips and whispered, 'No, thank you, Sir.'

'I didn't think so.' Placing his hand over his chin thoughtfully, he studied Marianna carefully. She couldn't help another squirm and yet another squeak as her ass slid painfully on the plastic. Shaking his head in amusement he said, 'They are going to need some volunteers to serve the wine in a moment, so why don't you make yourself useful at the bar?' With that he turned his attention back to the naked girl's sex and continued his thorough exploration.

Marianna did not miss the fact that most of the men's chopsticks resided there and spent as much time pinching and nipping the folds of her labia as they did actually acquiring the delicate morsels of food. She was most grateful it was not her body plated up as the
plat du jour
.

Excusing herself from the table and her now somewhat gooey stool, she slowly made her way over to the bar. Her heels clicked loudly on the transparent floor and the sight of moving ripples of water and swimming fish unnerved her somewhat. Getting her balance and maintaining her eye-line above floor level, she made it without a stumble.

The bar was lined with row upon row of little ceramic flasks which were neatly stacked on the counter. A line of girls, mostly naked, had gathered in order to help serve the beverage. She guessed this must be sake, although she had never actually tried it herself. The sound of a door slamming abruptly caught her attention and a bald-headed man with a fist full of leather strips cleared his throat sharply.

'Right ladies, hands behind your backs because you won't be needing them.' His voice was deep and guttural and she, like the rest of the women assembled, obeyed instantly. He was a big, portly fellow and had a gold front tooth that wouldn't have looked out of place on a gangster. The tattoos that littered his forearms and disappeared into the rolled-up sleeves of his bleached white shirt screamed 'do not mess with me!' A team of helpers quickly followed in his wake, and she found herself pressed firmly into the counter by one of them. Her arms, now gracefully pressed behind her, were arranged fingers to elbow in a box-tie, and this was secured at the wrists in a figure of eight knot. They were yanked tight together and the result was that her breasts and shoulders were thrust forward in a rather painful manner.

'Right, you can all turn around now and 'ave your trays fitted. Face forward,' the large man bellowed, and she whipped her body around smartly. Her assistant stood directly in front of her and even though she had known he was behind her, seeing him in the flesh still made her jump. He was in his early twenties, either Spanish or Italian in origin, and obviously worked out. Muscles popped out of his shirt in all the right places and he had a sly look about him that spoke volumes. He did not have to work to get women; they fell in a heap at his feet. She wanted to run her fingers through the soft dark curls that rested on his collar bone, and taste the essence of man he was parading around him so boldly. She wouldn't, of course. For one thing, Mark would have his eye on her and it would be more than her life was worth to dishonour him in that fashion. For another, she had her hands tied behind her and any leaning forward on her part would probably cause her to fall flat on her face.

Something cold pressed against her stomach. She'd been so lost in her daydream that she hadn't spotted the clear plastic tray he held in his hands. He was buckling it behind her and as his face leaned over her shoulder to check the fastening, he pressed his lips to her neck. She shivered and hoped to hell Mark's attention was still focused on his meal. His hands lingered on her waist and when his fingers had managed to complete the simple belt fastening, they slid up and down the contours of her spine.

'Stop that,' she whispered, but only half-heartedly, feeling her body tremble beneath his youthful fingers. In response to her command the man playfully nipped her buttock, making her jump.

'Stop horsing around!' bellowed gold-tooth to his staff, unimpressed with their slow progress. 'Fit the trays, gentlemen, and then gag the ladies if needs be.'

As her assistant stepped back Marianna wondered idly how they would manage to fix the trays upright. At the moment hers was hanging over her stomach and the inverted 'V' of her legs. Chains dangled from two points on its outermost rim and if she followed them towards the floor she could just make out the twin jaws of two metal clamps. How on earth would that work? Surely they weren't going to attempt to attach them to her dress? It would fall apart in a matter of seconds.

'Querida, you are going to look muy beautiful when you serve like this,' said the smiling young man, who had proved himself to be Spanish. Marianna raised her eyebrows. She failed to see how going about with a large plastic tray on her stomach was going to... and then realisation dawned. The clamps were for her nipples. That was how the tray would be anchored. One clamp for each nipple and the tray would rest at a forty-five degree angle to her body. Any weight placed upon the tray would be borne by her tender...

The first clamp came at her before she was ready for it and the tight metal jaws bit into her flesh with a bite that would have rivalled a bull mastiff's. Pain immediately lanced through her, only to be made worse by the fact that it was soon going to be repeated on the other side. Marianna held back the sob in her throat, but only just. A couple of seconds later the second clamp was headed in her direction. Marianna's first thought was to run but she quelled the reaction. Most people here would find a running, howling submissive highly entertaining and she didn't intend to grant them that pleasure or give them the opportunity to punish her. She wasn't entirely sure she would be able to contend with the extra pain coming her way, and when the second clamp bit she sucked in her breath on a sharp hiss.

'Ah, yes, that is a beautiful look. I was right.' The Spaniard winked at her and ran the tip of his index finger around her right nipple. Marianna whimpered. The tiny portion of nipple left poking out of the clamp was extremely sensitive and even his small caress was enough to make her gasp. 'A little sore, right? You wait till you start serving. It is going to be a very sweet agony, I think.' He caressed the underside of both breasts, whilst pretending to straighten out the tray. She moaned and her pussy clenched tightly. Pain hadn't dulled her arousal in the slightest, it had just reinforced it. 'Now, how many jugs would you like start with?' He gave her a questioning look and reached for one of the pretty ceramic jugs that had been delicately patterned with brush strokes, depicting Japanese characters of some sort.

'Can I start with one?' Marianna raised her eyebrows and gave her best pleading expression. She could barely contain the pain flowing through her body, a jug of sake would double it and two jugs... well, she might decide to run screaming after all and damn the consequences.

'Of course, but you are going to make things hard for yourself. Each waitress has to serve ten jugs. You take one at a time and you're going to be the slowest serving girl here.' He gave her an unimpressed look, but Marianna was beyond caring.

'I can walk quickly,' was all she said.

'Suit yourself,' he said with a dark frown. Marianna had managed to get a hold on the initial pain and her breath evened itself out, but she knew that would all change with the additional weight and braced herself accordingly.

The Spaniard held the jug above her tray several seconds longer than necessary. He was enjoying her discomfort. The marks of a sadist were already evident in his sharp, caramel eyes. They hungered for pain. The jug finally landed on her tray with an audible click and as much as she would have liked to disguise the look of immediate agony that appeared, it was impossible. Tears instantly sprang to her eyes and she witnessed his smug look of satisfaction, albeit through miserably blurred vision.

'If you break a jug I get to play with you for a bit as punishment. Would you like that?'

Marianna declined to reply and began walking towards her Master, but she was yanked back by his hand upon her arm. 'Uh, uh, uh,' he said, waggling his finger. He held up a red rubber ball-gag with a leather strap.

'But I haven't made a sound,' she protested, aghast at this unfair treatment.

'You just did.' He pressed the gag to her lips and she had no choice but to accept its presence. The large gag filled her mouth completely and the unpleasant taste of rubber infused her tongue. The leather strap bit into her lips and she knew it would not be long before she began to dribble.

'Get to work, querida. The gentlemen are waiting.' He slapped her backside, making the sake jug wobble precariously, and laughed as she winced at the sting in her raw ass cheeks. She didn't need to be told twice though, and her feet sped along the floor.

It took only a couple of steps before she realised the intensity of the pain would increase with each move she made. The tray wobbled and bounced with each click of her stilettos, thus causing the chains to pull painfully at her nipples. Although it would be only a short journey to return to Mark, it would undoubtedly be challenging. Concentrating on making her progress as smooth as possible she glided elegantly along the smooth plastic floor. The jug did not wobble again. There was no way her Spaniard was getting a freebie, gorgeous though he might be. As faint wisps of steam rose from the jug and teased her nostrils with their light scent she was taken aback for a second. Sake was served warm? Surely not?

'Ah, Marianna, here you are.' Mark smiled and, turning to face her, plucked the jug quickly from her tray. She moaned with relief as the painful weight was lifted. 'They had to gag you, hmm? We'll need to work on your pain tolerance then.'

If Marianna could have made a grimace at that statement she would have. Instead, a long sliver of drool chose that moment to drop with a splat upon her tray. The corner of Mark's mouth rose. He slowly picked the white linen napkin up off his trousers, shook it out and proceeded to dab at the corner of her mouth with it. He then very gently wiped her tray.