Vesta - Painworld (20 page)

At first, progress in the hideously awkward hoof boots was slow and ungainly, though even without them the presence of the main shaft between her legs, together with its uncompromising appendage, would have been a serious handicap to style and grace. However, the stable lad was uncompromising, the thin braid slapping across Lianne's upraised rump at any sign of her flagging. And after some time she found she was growing used to the extreme footwear and was able to establish and maintain a respectable progress of sorts.

Unfortunately, all the while the natural bobbing motion of the cart was causing the trace shaft to rise and fall slightly with every step, so that the huge dildo was now sliding in and out of Lianne's moist tunnel at a precipitous rate. And the steady tugging of the heavy chains at her distended nipples combined to lift her into a state of sexual tension and awareness that she at once both hated and yet was forever on the brink of yielding to.

Determined as she was not to submit to the indignities of her torturers, Lianne was only too well aware of her physical limitations. And by the time she had completed the fifth lap of the training circuit she knew she was on the verge of orgasm. And the severity of her bondage, the degradation of her appearance and the causally off-handed manner of her treatment all served only to increase the pressure upon her to surrender to her most inner urgings completely.

William, though, did not appear to be aiming for this outcome, for at the very moment when Lianne was preparing to concede defeat, he reined her to a complete halt with a cursory jerk on the reins that sent the bit flange rearing painfully into the roof of her mouth.

‘Stand!' he commanded, leaping agilely down from his seat. He walked along her flank, one hand passing lightly over her dappled skin, wiping away little droplets of sweat that had succeeded in penetrating to the outside and nodding appreciatively to himself. Then, stooping down, he seized the rein where it joined the right side of Lianne's bit and jerked her head around towards him.

‘Got to do these things by stages,' he chuckled. ‘Can't use up all your energies in one go, can we? Needs to get these lovely legs fit and these big titties used to swingin' in the open. ‘Sides, yer due a tuppin' shortly, so I don't want you plain tuckered first. I likes my fillies to explode on the end of my old todger.'

He stepped back and felt underneath her belly with his left hand, his fingers probing where the phallus penetrated her, then withdrew them and stared at the glistening film which now coated them.

‘Ah!' he exclaimed. ‘That's good, that is. A nice wet pony makes the best racer, it's a fact. An' a nice wet filly makes a good ride for her driver, too. But we don't want you comin' just yet, Amber, do we? So William will just let you stand a bit longer and then we'll ‘ave another couple of circuits.

‘Meantime, just so you knows what happens to fillies who lose control without permission, we'll ‘ave a little sample session for you.' Wiping his hand on his breeches he walked back to the cart, rummaged behind the seat and produced a long flat leather paddle. Realising Lianne could not view his actions, he brought it around and held it out in front of her nose.

‘This is what I calls Willie's warmer,' he laughed. ‘Don't cut nor mark the skin like a whip or crop, but it certain stings, so I'm gonna warm up this lovely arse of yours before we carries on.'

Eyes wide, Lianne wished there was some way in which she could try to plead with him, for she knew only too well what the outcome of this would be, and it was not the prospect of the immediate pain from the paddle that worried her. Rather, her previous experiences left her in no doubt as to the ultimate effect the paddle would have on her treacherous body. For standing helplessly in the traces, her sex plugged with the monstrous rubber phallus, sweating and straining, the application of even a mild chastisement would undo all her efforts to hold herself in check.

Crack!

The noise as the leather exploded onto her flesh was far worse than the actual impact, but nevertheless Lianne bucked automatically, the dildo moving out and then plunging deeply back inside her as a result. She let out a helpless little whinny, but this served only to spur William on to greater efforts. Again his arm rose and fell.

Once more the leather slapped down onto exposed girl filly flesh. But Lianne scarcely heard the impact and felt it hardly even more, for already the trigger mechanisms within her were working, little relays of passion and lust tripping to open so many little lock gates that had striven to hold back the tidal wave for so long.

Slap! Slap!

Damn him! Lianne let out a high-pitched cry, biting into the bit in an effort - one final, doomed effort - to avoid the unavoidable, avert the inevitable. Damn him, her mind screeched, for there was no doubt he knew only too well what he was doing, despite what he'd said beforehand.

Crack!

‘Atta girl!'

Lianne only dimly heard William's cry of triumph, neither did she see his hand grasping at the shaft to prevent her falling forward and her knees giving beneath her. With a surprising strength he supported the wooden pole with one hand, still using the other to wield the paddle and, with two more crisp slaps, brought her quivering, shuddering, mewling to a helpless, explosive climax, impaled there on the pole in all her harness finery, chains and brasses jingling in a musical mockery, a discordant witness to her ultimate humiliation.

 

Paul, now resigned to the role of Susie that Dolores was determined he/she should assume, was fairing a little better than Lianne, though he/she would not have believed that possible had anyone mentioned it. Initially, finding himself as Pauline had been an exciting development and Paul had regarded it as an excellent opportunity to discover what it was like to possess a truly feminine body, rather than just dressing in the relevant outfits to exploit his fantasies.

The reality, however, was proving to be far different from the anticipation.

In his role play with Lianne - and with other women before she had appeared in his life - it had always been a case of make-believe lesbianism, with the added advantage that Paul possessed one certain attribute that was denied a genetic woman. As Pauline, however, the contents of his panties were completely female and the Hazel lookalike VESTA had generated, or Dolores as she insisted on calling herself, was determined to exploit both that and Pauline's reduced physical stature and lack of inherent male body strength.

Within an hour of meeting the powerful dominatrix, Paul had long since ceased to think of himself as male, and now was beyond even trying to lose himself in his outer world alter ego of Pauline. For neither Paul nor Pauline would have succumbed so easily as did the silly, weak-limbed, quivering, tremulous Susie, who seemed to need little more than a cunningly manipulated stimulation of her huge nipples to reduce her to a gasping, helpless wreck.

Even that would not have been so bad, but Dolores was unwilling to allow pleasure without pain. Indeed, so far she had concentrated mostly on the pain, and the pleasure had been merely an incidental side-effect of the process at odd and unexpected moments. Hanging in the woman's sturdy whipping frame, arms and shoulders aching from the stretched position, plump buttocks throbbing from the repeated assaults from both cane and crop, poor Susie was a beaten shell.

Worse still, she was a humiliated shell, for every fibre in her new being was screaming out for the release that only orgasm could bring, and she knew it. More to the point, so did the evil Dolores.

‘Beg me!' she taunted, thrusting her face close. Susie shook the damp hair from her face and stared defiantly up at her, battling to retrieve even some small measure of self-respect.

‘No,' she croaked. ‘You can beat me all you like, it won't make any difference.'

Dolores laughed and shook her head in mockery. ‘That's not what I'm talking about, as we both know,' she said, softly this time. She reached down and one hand probed between Susie's outstretched thighs, pressing aside the soft flesh of her outer lips and seeking the swollen bud that throbbed within. At her touch, Susie's back arched as if from an electrical charge and a hoarse shriek ripped from her throat.

‘No-ooo!' she wailed, twisting and turning in an effort to break the contact, but it was to no avail. Again Dolores massaged and again little fingers of fire rushed through every vein and muscle.

‘Fuck you!' Susie shrieked, but was rewarded by a stinging slap across her unprotected breasts that served only to heighten her state of helpless agitation.

‘No,' Dolores said, stepping back and thrusting her hands on her hips. ‘Fuck you is what this is all about, if we're honest. Look at you, you little slut. You dance to the whip so prettily, tits a-bouncing and yelling and screaming, yet you're wet through and helpless to the slightest touch. What you need is a good stiff cock inside you, and maybe another one to suck on.' She turned away briefly and clapped her hands.

The effect was like magic. From out of the shadows, materialising like two spirits, stepped two strapping young men, dark-haired, dark-eyed and tall. Both, Susie guessed, in their mid-twenties. A groan of despair slipped from between her trembling lips as she stared at their naked bodies. Oiled to gleam in the harsh spotlights, the pale skin was a stark contrast to the heavily studded black wrist and ankle bands that were their only adornments, save for a similar, though much thinner strap that tightly encircled the bases of their rigidly erect penises.

‘My little present for you,' Dolores sniggered. Susie closed her eyes, but another slap, this time across her face, made her quickly reopen them. ‘Close your eyes again without permission and you'll live to regret it!' Dolores snarled. ‘I expect my slaves to show proper gratitude for all the trouble I go to over them.'

From somewhere deep within, what remained of Paul seemed to watch as a detached observer. The Susie personality appeared to have taken over completely now, and yet he wasn't an observer at all, he knew, for he was Susie, Susie was him, and this was their body that was being so dreadfully abused. A body that, despite what the brain tried to say, persisted on being a willing participant, responding to each new torture or maltreatment by becoming more and more excited, and it was becoming rapidly more difficult for its owner or owners to exercise any cogent, logical thinking.

‘Meet Grant and Devon,' Dolores said, convinced her warning had been heeded. ‘Grant is the one with the slightly longer hair, but telling one from another needn't concern you. For that matter, you don't even need to know their names, but we must remember our manners, I suppose.' She stepped away and nodded to the waiting men.

Moving as one, they glided in at either side of their helpless victim, hands reaching out, touching, massaging, kneading, twisting. Susie gave a strangled scream and bucked wildly in her bondage, but there was no escaping this new onslaught and, as a mouth closed firmly over each of her nipples, she felt the huge wave of her first orgasm beginning to peak over the shores of her lust.

 

‘You're certain you don't need the little creep any more?' Naylor persisted, staring hard at the impassive features of Jurgen Koenig.

The German shrugged. ‘If I should need him I can always pull him back out for a while,' he pointed out. ‘And meantime, the safest place for him is in his little world with the rest of his little friends.'

‘And you've cleaned out any safe words or passwords?'

‘Everything. VESTA is as clean as the proverbial whistle, you have my total assurance on that.'

‘You seem very confident,' James Naylor almost sneered. ‘Especially given that we are dealing with an absolute genius here. This work of his is so much more advanced than even we guessed.'

‘And is a perfect illustration of what money can achieve. Had I had but...'

‘Yes, yes, we've heard it all before,' Naylor cut him short with a wave of his hand. ‘The fact that I did not have that sort of money at my disposal rather negates any argument. In any case,' he continued, a smile returning to his face, ‘we now have all the money we could possibly wish for, courtesy of my dear friend Nadia. Plus we have VESTA herself.'

‘Together with a captive set of guinea pigs,' Koenig added, but Naylor merely shrugged.

‘I'm quite happy to let Christina play with them for the moment,' he said dismissively. ‘As far as she's concerned the VESTA painworld is the ultimate goal, both as a toy for her and as a means of making money from rich clients who share either her tastes or those at the other end of the spectrum.

‘However,' he went on, pacing across the deep pile carpet to stand looking out of the huge bay window to the grounds beyond. ‘Whilst that will undoubtedly bring in considerable revenue - certainly Nadia expected to recoup even her massive investment quite quickly - that is but the merest tip of the iceberg.

‘Tell me, Jurgen, how quickly could you construct a replica of VESTA?'

‘Depending upon my budget...'

‘I thought I'd made it clear on that score,' Naylor snapped. ‘Money is no longer a factor in this; you may have whatever budget it takes. So, how long?'

Koenig thought for a few moments.

‘A month,' he said at length. ‘Maybe a little less.'