Beauty's Kingdom Page 32

  She plunged her face into Sybil’s hot pubis, lifting Sybil higher, and it was all Sybil could do not to cry out.

  She felt Georgette’s tongue exploring her vagina, lapping strongly at it, and then the lips tight on her clitoris, sucking it, and Sybil let out a long raw moan she scarcely recognized as her own.

  It seemed she’d reached the pinnacle and it was over and she ought to be glad of it, but the hunger went on and on, and again Georgette brought her to climax and then again.

  “All right, dear boy,” said Georgette, “I think you may have her now.”

  Sybil was turned around, her arms falling over Oweyn’s shoulders and her head lolling there as she felt herself brought down over his cock.

  And it was beginning all over again, her hands suddenly clutching at the air, her body spanked against Oweyn’s pelvis and the cock filling her over and over, slippery, huge, and sublimely hard. Oweyn grunted as he came, and she could feel the sound emanating from his chest, passing into her breasts. Don’t stop, she wanted to wait, but then she went over the peak once more.

  “Now let’s see to our precious little Cressida,” said Georgette. “Put this one down for her rest.”

  iii

  Full dress harness. Sybil dozed on the pillow. They’d given her a potion that had brought sleep to her immediately, a sweet syrup that had been poured into her wine bowl for lapping. Then the bowl had been taken away and the pillow laid down for her. She’d gone into a blank and dreamless sleep as hands still scrubbed and oiled her.

  When she opened her eyes, she heard the words, “Full dress harness.” Her body shimmered and thrummed with sensation.

  A great after echo of the pleasure washed through her.

  As they stood her on her feet, a fresh silk blindfold fitted over her eyes, she saw the other ponies in the paddock being painted, decorated, harnessed.

  Soon her own nipples were gilded with thick gold paste, and little chains were strung to connect them. How she loved this particular ornament. Emeralds were being hung from her earlobes, and a large emerald was pressed into the adhesive in her navel.

  But the wax phallus pushed up into her vagina caught her off guard. It was well oiled and not too large, and her body sang in response to it. But a handful of golden bells hung from it on thin chains, and these gave off their high tinkling music with every breath she took. Then came the anal plug, made she knew now of the same wax, all these little instruments supplied fresh every day from Lady Eva’s stores of such things, and this anal plug not only contained the root of the shining black horse tail but more delicate gold chains with their little bells.

  The boots she wore this time were painted gold, and fitted just as snugly to her ankles and calves, laced up by the busy fingers of two grooms who hastened to outfit her completely with every finishing touch. Gold combs for her hair, a touch of kohl to her lashes, gold for her lips.

  Georgette and Oweyn moved up and down the paddock, inspecting, giving an order here or there, telling this or that filly to stand straight, their paddles ready.

  Through the blindfold, Sybil could see Cressida opposite being similarly outfitted and she wondered what Cressida’s thoughts were. She had seemed so perfect during their training.

  The Queen appeared. Princess Lucinda walked beside her.

  No one had expected the Queen so soon.

  At once the grooms fell to their knees but all ponies remained as before, many tethered to hooks at the foot of their stalls, others merely knowing what was expected, that a slave does nothing unless told, and Sybil, trembling all over at the sight of the Queen, bowed her head and prayed it was proper to stand still and wait for an order. Cressida was doing the same.

  Even through the gauzy silk of the blindfold, Sybil could see the Queen was magnificently attired in a great shimmering gown of silver weave, her breasts barely covered by the ruby-red border of her bodice, her skirts flowing from a high waist in great graceful gores to the tips of her silver slippers. Her glossy yellow hair was piled on her head with only a few flaxen locks falling down to her shoulders. Diamond-studded combs decorated her hair. And her fingernails had been painted silver.

  To the right and the left she looked as she made her way slowly through the stable, calling her fillies by name and asking as to their progress.

  Her words to Princess Lucinda were too low and confidential for Sybil to catch more than the tone. But she had come to Sybil and she drew in close, the scent of roses rising from her garments.

  “Ah, and this is my little one, Sybil, my new postulant, my precious new pony,” she said in her soft, affectionate voice. Her fine white hand with its glittering silver nails reached for the end of the phallus in Sybil’s vagina, and lifted it apparently by the loop that would soon be threaded with a harness.

  Sybil struggled to keep her balance as she stood, hands clasped behind her back, feeling herself lifted slightly and then tugged forward by the phallus.

  “Have you behaved, Sybil?” the Queen asked.

  Without permission to speak, all Sybil could do was nod her head. Her heart was bursting. It seemed forever since she’d felt the Queen’s eyes on her, felt the touch of the Queen’s hand. She swallowed hard on her sobs. However, Georgette had stepped up to answer.

  “She’s doing very well, my queen. I worked with her all morning. She learns quickly. She’s a promising little filly. She needs hard spanking to settle her down, but that’s not unusual with frisky ponies.”

  Tears of gratitude spilled down from under Sybil’s blindfold.

  “Turn her around,” said the Queen. “I want to see how hard she’s been spanked.”

  At once Georgette’s firm hands turned Sybil by her shoulders. Sybil felt keenly the indignity of the phallus with the horse tail in her rear, saw in her mind how it must look, the cheeks of her backside pushed apart by the big glossy black tail with its myriad bells. Her face burned. The Queen had demanded many things of her, but never this, and she hoped with all her soul the Queen would be pleased.

  “Oh, but Georgette, this will never do,” said the Queen. Her tone was gentle as always. “Oweyn, I’ve spoken to you about this. These girls are pink, but they are not red.”

  “Yes, my queen,” said Georgette. “At once, my queen.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Princess Lucinda. “I shall see that you’re never disappointed again.” Her voice was as mellow and polite as that of the Queen, just the way Sybil remembered it.

  “Spank all of them soundly,” said Princess Lucinda, “until they are red, until I can feel the heat coming off their backsides without touching them. Do this now, and then put back their tails, and finish with the harnessing.”

  The Queen then gave a list of nine names of those she’d chosen for her evening drive. “And Sybil, of course, but I want to see a red backside there.”

  Why did Sybil feel such gratitude, gratitude for the gentle words, that the dissatisfaction was not with her? There came into her mind the moment last night when the Queen had given her a saucer of milk to lap at her feet. How helplessly Sybil had lapped it and how she’d loved the feel of the Queen’s fingers playing with her curls, stroking her naked back.

  Sybil waited on her knees in one of two lines to be spanked. Georgette, seated on a three-legged stool, put her girls over her lap to paddle them. Oweyn merely held them by the chin standing in front of him, swinging his paddle wide and hard. Somewhere else in the paddock other paddles were busy, but Sybil didn’t dare to try to see.

  Princess Lucinda stood watching all, her arms folded. Her gray velvet dress was beautiful with her smoky ashen hair.

  A girl might be taken from either line by Georgette or Oweyn, and Sybil found herself wondering which of them would give her the punishment the Queen had ordered.

  Sybil glanced up fearfully as she drew closer and closer. What demeanor the ponies had, their bodies utterly pliant as t
hey were prepared by the paddle for the Queen’s approval. Sybil wasn’t at all sure she could master herself in the same way.

  Then she felt Oweyn’s big warm hand lifting her by her chin. “Stand up, Sybil, and turn to the side. I want to see a pretty little dance as I paddle you, but nothing else. And that’s what Princess Lucinda is watching for as well.”

  The paddle came down hard on her bottom. When she squirmed and struggled not to cry out, she felt Oweyn’s fingers tighten on her chin.

  “Good girl!” he said, walloping her again and again and again.

  Before her, even with her eyes down she had a clear view of Cressida thrown over Georgette’s lap, and Georgette’s gilded paddle slamming her again and again. Georgette appeared as strong as a man. It seemed Cressida was bouncing on Georgette’s lap. She marveled at the beauty of Cressida’s bottom and her long perfectly shaped legs. Was she herself that well made? She had no idea. And she could see Cressida’s pubic lips and the way her bottom flexed and contracted with each spank.

  Sybil’s senses were flooded with the thudding pain, yet she couldn’t take her eyes off Cressida’s comely backside. Oh, surely it is enough, she cried in her mind, pressing her lips tight. Her bottom was on fire and certainly Cressida must be feeling the same unbearable heat. Then at last, the paddle stopped and Oweyn’s left fingers caressed and cupped Sybil’s breasts as he kissed her wet face. Georgette’s paddle continued working on Cressida.

  “Now, get back to that stall, young lady,” said Oweyn, “with knees high as you march. Your dressers are waiting for you. And so is the Queen.”

  Princess Lucinda was suddenly beside her. “Lovely,” she said in her gentle ladylike voice. “I’ve never seen a little filly in my life who didn’t improve with every single spanking.”

  As Sybil marched as smartly as she could, Cressida caught up with her. She couldn’t resist a sideways glance, and sure enough Cressida was glancing at her too and giving her a little confidential smile. A hot wave of desire nearly caused Sybil to buckle. But the dressers reached out to catch her.

  iv

  It was a magnificent open coach, plated in embossed silver, with two facing seats, and an elevated place for the driver. Nine ponies, three across in three rows, were being harnessed to pull it.

  Samuel, or Samantha, the Queen’s new female groom, would be that driver. Seems different voices called her different names, including Sammy and Sam. In her black velvet male garb, she looked smart and beautiful like a very tall boy of tender age with her black hair as long as many a page. She had high cheekbones and sensuous lips. She certainly carried herself like a man.

  Harnessed and decorated, Sybil was ushered to the last row of the team, the countless little bells ringing between her legs and in the horse’s tail, the chains that connected her breasts shivering and flashing in the light as she looked down at them.

  Like all the other ponies, she’d been fitted with gold plumes attached to her head harness. Gold rosettes adorned her many buckles and hooks. And her breasts had been more lavishly decorated for the royal team. Large gold rings had been pasted around each breast, forcing the breast itself a little higher on her chest. And the gold rings around each nipple were affixed with a stronger paste so that they more securely held the strands of gold chain that connected each breast. Sybil had never been so aware of all the parts of her body as she was now with the phallus in her anus and in her vagina, and the many straps binding her. Even the boots caressing her ankles, like fingers squeezing her ankles, and the leather halfway up her calves made her thighs feel naked and visible to her in her own mind.

  When her hands were gloved in very tight leather she was astonished at how this added to the racing sensations she felt. The gloves covered the underside of her fingers and palms but on top they were artfully cut open to reveal the skin on the back of her fingers and hands.

  Pushed firmly into place by Georgette she was told to put her gloved hands on the smooth bar in front of her. She and all the nine ponies, three abreast, would push the coach by means of the bars. And her wrists were firmly manacled to them. Cressida was right beside her.

  “Obey your reins,” said Georgette. “Sammy tolerates nothing! When she jerks the reins, you lift your head and you turn as she directs you. The entire team will be turning. The lead fillies are the Queen’s favorites. They know what they are doing. They know the way too. You won’t find it hard. But don’t you think for a minute Sammy won’t see you individually as well as each one of all the others! You’re on trial with this run, Sybil. Cressida, you too. Look sharp. Disappoint the Queen and I shudder to think.”

  Smack came the paddle on her thighs over and over until Sybil was gasping, sobbing behind the inevitable bit, and jumping in place. Then reaching past her, Georgette went to work on Cressida. “Chin up, girl!”

  It seemed to Sybil that all the team was aglitter with their lovely decorations sparkling in the light of the torches that lined the yard and the road. The sky was still light—a lovely shade of violet sprinkled with faint stars—and indeed a great sunset lay across the west in fading ribbons of crimson and purple.

  How beautiful it seemed, as if Sybil had never noticed it before. And Princess Lucinda appeared so distinctive and pretty as she slowly inspected the entire team, her gray velvet shimmering in the light, her quick hazel eyes passing over all straps, buckles, upturned faces, nipples, boots.

  And it is happening, Sybil thought. It is real. I am here. How many times in my dreams did I imagine such things as I lay in Brenn’s arms, but it was never the same, those imaginings, no never enough, no, the pale shadow of what is real. Now I am in the kingdom, I am part of it, part of the things I imagined! A great swelling pride rose in her mingling with the tormenting pleasure between her legs. She felt safe among the other ponies. She felt utterly cradled by the entire equipage, and hearing the crack of a whip over her head, she lifted her chin and stamped her horseshoed feet.

  “Remember your lessons of this afternoon, little ones!” cried Georgette and the team was off.

  If only I could see the Queen in the carriage behind me, thought Sybil, but she could not, though quite suddenly she realized she could hear the King’s ringing laughter and a mingling of others laughing too. Yes, an open coach with two bench seats and nine girls to pull it. The King was there too.

  Run, little ponies run, she thought, and they were indeed running and she was with them, the cool air moving over her sizzling skin. The phalluses ground into her with every jogging movement, every marching or trotting step. She loved it. Loved the straps pulling, and the jerk of the reins reminding her to keep her head high.

  The grand equipage moved towards the great gleaming battlements of the castle and she looked up to see the banners streaming in the wind! My kingdom, she thought, Beauty’s Kingdom and I am part of it.

  But when she saw the crowds all along both sides of the road—as they moved past the castle and out into the country—a hot shame flooded her. I can’t be seen like this by all these people, she thought, but then she was being seen, that was the great wonder of it—as it had been in the gardens last night—and there was nothing she could do to escape the sublime coercion to which she’d committed herself, nothing whatsoever, and she strained with all her might to raise her knees as high as Cressida beside her or the girl ahead with the swaying mass of blond hair. She strained to arch her back and display her breasts, the chains and their tiny bells jangling sweetly, and she pushed at the bar eagerly with both hands.

  The whip cracked above again and again.

  As they moved well clear of the castle, the crowd changed from highborn lords and ladies out for an evening stroll perhaps to the villagers and the many guests prowling the kingdom, and again the shame brought a flood of tears from beneath her blindfold to see simple peasant men watching with folded arms, women in aprons, and even naked slaves made to kneel beside them like puppies on leash.


  Sybil’s throat began to burn. She was panting. But then mercifully the team slowed and Sammy’s voice rang out: “Team, slow trot.”

  At once she was able to breathe more freely and a lovely relaxation coursed through her. The road was soft earth now. The horseshoes made no clatter but rather a dull thumping. Massive forests rose to meet the luminous lavender sky on either side.

  But the flickering roadside torches—and the eager spectators—never seemed to go away.

  What a spectacle we must be, Sybil thought, and again her pride surged. Her nipples throbbed, and indeed it seemed her breasts were actually swelling with the desire that tormented her.

  The team was allowed to walk slowly for a long while, and those who’d come to admire it now enjoyed quite a careful and close look. Never had she felt so deliciously exposed, so completely delivered of all will and resistance. It was a grand sensation to strain against the harnesses in vain as she moved on. She did not know what tantalized her the most, the bit, or her arms strapped behind her back, or the boots so tight around her ankles and calves.

  The voices of the Queen and the King mingled in Sybil’s ears, but she could not make out the words, or the words of those laughing and murmuring along the sides of the road. People were bowing now to the royal majesties and more than one man or woman shouted out, “Long live our king and queen!”

  At one point the spectators not only bowed but broke into applause, apparently for the beauty of the coach and its fillies. Sybil could only imagine how the King and Queen must be waving to all.

  Full darkness descended soundlessly on the woods, but the torches illuminated the road up ahead, and at last the great hulk of a handsome manor house came into view. Its many windows blazed with light.

  Sybil was ready for a rest as the ponies slowly brought the coach to the entrance. She struggled to see those who had come out to greet the arriving royal guests. There was the mighty golden-haired Prince Tristan, lovingly arrayed in green silk, and the alluring Prince Alexi, always in burgundy, it seemed, both of whom she knew well on sight from her induction. Was that Lady Eva?