Theresa's Punishment Part 2

The equerry took up a bag from the sheltered interior and led her into the adjacent woods. Theresa's mind was thundering with the possibilities - desertion, execution, staked out and left for a slow death, all manner of prospects so terrible that her heart stomped audibly in her chest, and her throat became dry despite the heavy rainstorm that still managed to pierce the thick forest canopy with its sheer dogged ferocity. She had to trust that his malevolence wanted prolonged suffering, years of it, and not a doom squandered in a few days. It was odd to think that her life was guaranteed by the sheer cruel malignance of this race, they were just too evil to let her perish easily or quickly.

The masking trees that guarded against prying eyes stepped aside to reveal a natural clearing where the overhanging arms opened at the heart to offer a view of the dark clouds. The tightly packed trunks formed a natural fence whose exiguous c.h.i.n.ks left only glimpses of the shadowy gloom beyond. Strange rocky stalagmites burst up from the wild gra.s.ses of this eerie spot and they appeared like termite mounds sculpted from single slabs of marble.

Overcoming his victim's hesitation with drags at her reigns, Setchak brought the nervous captive to the centre of the arena and laid her down upon the soft gra.s.ses. Steering her legs out, he brushed aside the wet vegetation and revealed metal stakes. They were unblemished by their exposure to the elemental forces of this distant world.

Theresa's breath quickened with worry as he tied her ankles before she could even react. Gaining a shallow degree of insight into her appointed fate, she fought to get free, tugging at the bonds with all her might and finding them more than able to contain her.

The groom mocked her pointless efforts with a trenchant chuckle. His eyes were full of grim amus.e.m.e.nt as the rain ran down his pale silken face and dripped from his chin, his dark hair a slick curtain about the elegant features that had entranced and d.a.m.ned her.

Setchak clasped a wrist and released the shackle. He defeated her manic fight for freedom, stretched out the limb, and placed it up to another stake. After sealing the joint to the bond, he handled the last appendage in a similar manner.

He had spread-eagled the terrified female amidst the halcyon grove and had done so to such a painfully acute degree that she could scarcely twitch.

Opening the bag, he stripped her completely naked, not even sparing the bra or the d.i.l.d.os that were such a perpetual companion. By sitting on her legs to hold them, he freed each extremity of boot and exposed the soft flesh before again securing the limbs. All was removed and placed within the dark interior of the bag before a featureless hood was drawn free. With rough tugs, he drew it down over her face, and the familiar sensation of the undiscriminating glue forged a perfect seal around her neck.

Without eye-slits, she was plunged into a deep void where she could only find breath through the filter across her maw a nominally easy feat if it had not been for the rain, whose droplets clogged the tiny vents and made her fight to acquire every single lungful of air. The rain often stained the precious intake with moisture to make her cough, splutter, and battle against her restraints all the more fervently.

Through the drumming hail upon the hood, she heard the groom address her.

"I shall return in a few days to take you back, if you are still alive that is," he said without hint of regret or conscience, and after a short pause, the crack of an energy weapon rent the sounds of drizzle, a sound that preceded a deafening eruption.

A shockwave rolled through the ground and small chunks of stone pelted her as the scent of sundered flint rolled out. Four more times he fired, obviously destroying the mounds for some as yet unknown but a.s.suredly dark design.

Quiet returned and no clue as to the groom's proximity could be discerned, informing Theresa that he had left and truly deserted her to the dubious mercies of the wilderness.

Pondering what might lay ahead, she continued to strain for breath, waiting for the rains to cease. This sole endeavour was the only thing to keep her mind occupied.

Slowly, the downpour moved on. Theresa was left damp and open to the warmth of the sun's soft radiance. It was only after a few hours under this heat, with the punishing myalgia installed by her predicament and soaking bed did she realise what the true torture of this place was to be.

From the shattered nests spewed forth hordes of many legged invertebrates. The shuffling creatures fanned out to gather the raw materials in order to repair their shattered abodes. Nevertheless, it was not their scampering pa.s.sage across her body that was to be the horror that the orchestrator of this site had intended, or the occasional bite into her skin to test her eligibility for use as a building stock. It was a test that she thankfully failed, but it was the preying birds that instead seized the chance for an easy meal.

The feathered fiends landed within the clearing and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the sweet snacks, heedless of whether they were traversing stone, gra.s.s, or imprisoned human slavegirl. Even though they did not break the skin, the stab of their beaks made her suffer unspeakably. She initially managed to shoo them away with some faint wriggles and cries but they were soon undeterred by such motions after realising that the supine form could offer them no true threat. Theresa howled as they jabbed into her, the direst harm being brought by pecks into her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, inner thighs, the soles of her feet, and her belly, though the sharp prods into the rest of her were just as hard to endure.

Sometimes an insect detected an imminent attack and clung to her for its very life with its jaws and hooked feet. The pulling at her skin continued until it was torn free and devoured. Some took refuge in the cleft of her pudenda, where the relentless zeal of the anonymous birds swiftly ferreted them out. Whether it was confusion, the sultry wink of her silver rings, or mere stupidity, the birds occasionally bit her nipples and c.l.i.toris, taking hold and wrenching as though to haul a worm from its sanctuary, mistaking the erect morsels for eligible sustenance. Such tearing pulls made her sing aloud with duress, screaming to scare away the authors of this atrocious abuse, and always she failed in her desperate mission. Theresa was left with no alternative to waiting for the deluded animal to figure out that no matter how hard it pulled, or how viciously it pecked, the 'meal' could not be dislodged or ingested, and it was perhaps an indication of the creatures intelligence at just how exasperatingly long it took for the truth to finally dawn.

Earthly beasts would have ended this process when night came, but she was not on Earth, and the wholesale slaughter of the endless tide of busy insects continued without remission even when she felt the chill embrace of night start to soak into her body and gnaw into her very bones.

Her hunger and thirst began to grow to join the pecks and bites as unbearable banes. The warm sun prolonged the desiccation of her frame with its diffused rays. Her only clock was the heat of the day and the cold of the night, and the length of each one left delirium to confuse her as to how many of each were actually pa.s.sing.

a.s.sured that she was to perish here, only the endless rain of pecking bills kept her animated and her doleful struggles were also offered to keep scavengers at bay, for as soon as vitality left her form she would surely be mistaken for a cadaver, and the scathing beaks might become considerably more sanguinary.

The draconian nightmare of her existence was beyond tolerance, and all she wanted was to find an end to it. She was sick of being used and abused, but most of all, she could feel the last glowing embers of her resistance flagging. Soon they would die altogether, leaving her a true obedient beast, and such a fate filled her with revulsion, for there was nothing more alien to her true nature.

The cycle of grand torment trundled onwards, dissolving her sanity with its hardship until it felt as though she had always been here, and that the rest of her memories - her upbringing, the attack, her capture, the imprisonment - all them were but vivid dreams she had conjured in her more somnolent states to be mistaken for legitimate recall.

When a hand began to brush away the lingering insects and birds she at first thought it to be a flapping wing, but then the adhesive at her neck was dissolved and the hood removed. The fabric was unwilling to be parted from the features it had for so long smothered and stuck fondly to her face.

Theresa squinted in the blinding light of a faint sunset. The almost imperceptible glow was a lucent pulse of scintillating radiance to her starved eyes, and it took her long minutes to finally distinguish her surroundings from the sheet of white.

When the groom offered her the nozzle emerging from a small package of nutrient paste, she found herself unable to raise her head to it. The alien smiled and teased her spitefully, bringing it close so she might stretch her parched lips to the sustenance, only to have it drawn away as she managed to get close enough to suckle. Eventually he tired of this minor torment and let her sup upon the gross fare that was now a divine banquet to a famished prisoner.

As she dined, Setchak began to untie her. The free limbs remained where they had lain for so long, their prolonged restraint instilling a rigid stiffness in joint and muscle that felt like petrifaction such was its level of impediment. There were few insects still about for they had restored their vandalised homes and returned to the safety of the subterranean tunnels. Their escape had deprived the birds of an easy meal and caused most of the milling flocks to move off in search of more readily available feeding grounds.

"So, you survived the ordeal. You must be tougher than I though. So much the better. I can really get to work on your now," he muttered.

The replacing of her b.e.s.t.i.a.l garb had her groaning as he tightened the snug fitting items. The pressure upon her bruised frame and the days spent free of the accursed attire made her flesh burn. After forcing in the toys and locking them into position he hauled her to her hooves.

Theresa let out a distraught sob upon seeing her body - now coated in a comprehensive mesh of purple contusions. The colour of the wounds ranged from a fresh and dark purple, through lighter shades to the earliest wounds, which were now only a faint blemishing hint of yellow or red.

Hardly able to achieve more than an ambulating shuffle, Theresa staggered behind her tormentor. Every bold stride she attempted was reduced to a curtailed step by her lazy muscles and sudden inexperience in both walking and tolerating the restored tack.

When the undergrowth conspired with her scant balance to trip her, the vengeful groom vigorously applied a short crop until she arose. The ceaseless amerce lent her new determination to retain a vertical stance and added patterns to the virgin back that had for so long been protected by her supine pose.

Back at the waiting gig, a blonde filly already stood ready to draw the vehicle, giving Theresa a reprieve from hauling the gig's weight. She could barely carry the burden of her own torso.

Tethering her to the back by her reigns, Setchak climbed within and whipped the female into a slow trot. It was a speed that Theresa had great trouble in matching. Thrice she lost her footing and fell. It was a display of clumsiness that was simply and terribly punished by the ignoring of the event. Dragged along behind the gig by her tack, the abrasive texture of the rough road grated against her already raw skin. The battle to rise as she squealed, and the effort involved in accomplishing the task while being towed with her arms denied her, gave her new cause to remain on her feet. The trio of lessons defeated her lethargy through sheer panicked and terrified willpower.

Praying for added stamina as the world seemed to whirl and nausea rampaged through her stomach, she finally spied the house. Her only thought was to seek the comfort of her stables before she pa.s.sed out from weariness.

The gig slowed to a halt and she dropped to her knees. Her legs were trembling from fatigue, the muscles were throbbing, and her head was swimming with giddiness. Had Setchak no ounce of pity in him? Was her momentary attraction to him going to result in retributive pains for the rest of her life? If so, her longevity would be brief indeed under such callous havoc, unless of course she could somehow escape.

Her tyrannical trainer released her from the gig and dragged her to her small chamber. He set her in, pulled out the food tube, and tied her reigns to the wall before he removed her bit.

As the door slammed shut and the metallic clack of the bolt being shot resounded, she was already sucking in the days quota of nutrient sludge, gulping down all that her owners were prepared to give. Once the flow ceased, she suckled with all the vacuum her maw could garner, trying to gain more, and when these efforts went without reward, she lay gently back.

The few minutes of inactivity had caused her strained limbs to stiffen and seize up, making it hard to curl into a ball. She closed her eyes, drained by the rural imprisonment and indifferent castigation of nature itself. Her mind promised to remain devoid of all thought until she had slept, but she feared that such dimming of her psyche was permanent, and that she was rapidly becoming an actual beast. Was her mind inexorably following the path her body had been forced to take?

Chapter Five.

The end of the hive retracted suddenly into the walls. The portal opened like a sphincter amidst a moist rustling of movement. Lady Tytax had no clue as to how long she had listened to the screams, but it had felt like an eternity. Now her captors were scheduling her for the same treatment and she had no concept as to whether she could stand it or not. No Dregakk had ever faced such an end. They had never been interrogated, tortured, or captured, and it was this uncertainty that made her pulse quicken and her body tremble in mortal dread of her fate.

Drifting upon a beam of light, she was borne down through a circular hall. The walls were comprised of raw flesh and the veins and arteries that flowed along the organic structure beat with a steady rhythm. The whole vessel thrummed with the same steady cadence.

The pa.s.sage was lined with banks of the same panels that had sealed her in, revealing that hundreds of these hives existed. The corridor of diminutive prisons brought her to a hall, where a table of hardened bone awaited her. The aura of light carried her down and laid her gently upon the slab as a spotlight of dazzling white was cast down onto her, illuminating her fully for her captors attention.

Tears of fear rolled out from her eyes, filling the layer between skin and coc.o.o.n. From the shadows emerged seven of the slender, wiry framed aliens. Their emotionless countenances regarded her bare form with black, uncaring eyes. Was this the fear the slaves felt as she prepared to punish them for her arbitrary whims? The fear of the unknown, of what abuses and atrocities would be delivered unto her. It was more than she could stand, and her dignity cracked and fell away under the emotional torrent.

Whimpering and grovelling, the implacable dominatrix implored for them to release her, that she would do anything they wanted, but to her words, there was no response, and perhaps they could not even understand them.

They lifted silver spines in their thin digits. The barbed stilettos had an ornate pommel with several pulsing lights of red and green. Each closed in and began to prod her flesh, as though seeking something, and as they found their goal, they pushed the points to her skin.

Gasping in alarm, she stuttered and fumbled for words upon seeing the imminent ordeal; as they turned the devices in their grasp she lost control of her bodily functions. Warm wet spilled out within the coc.o.o.n and her words transformed into a keening wail when the aliens pushed. The taut material opened for each device as did her skin to let the infernal spines sink into her thighs, her biceps, her stomach, and her shins. The pain as they sheathed their instruments to their hilts made her jolt and spasm uncontrollably, but she was not bleeding, the devices seemed incorporeal, even though there was nothing ethereal about the agony. Her breathing was uneven and ragged as she spent her exhales on hollers, but the pain of the piercing teeth was nothing compared to the sheer duress wrought by their activation. The burning fire that poured throughout her flesh as the machines hummed and shook, threw her beyond all levels of endurance, and she could scarcely credit how her flesh could withstand such pain and survive. All thought dissolved into a mere storm of unprecedented agony until the discharge broke off.

Still screaming in her woe, her body arose and drifted back into her hive. The portal sealed behind her as she bucked and pleaded, the claustrophobia arising to ally with her pain and magnify her ordeal.

Trapped and suffering, she could do nothing as nodules welled in the ceiling. The budding growths reached down to grasp the devices and take hold, anchoring her to one spot and making every twitch a source of even greater pain. Then the veins upon the growths began to throb, the flow moving up, stripping her internally so that a steady pounding ache opened in the a.s.sailed regions about the embedded spikes.

Maddened with calamity at this attack, she failed to notice other growths welling above her. They reached down to touch her features and when they brushed her face she flew into panicked dread. It was a fright that made her ignorant of the agony her movements were imparting. The imprisoning skin over her mouth obediently split, and a slithering tentacle plunged down her gullet, cutting off her scream and making her retch and gag upon the intruder. Two tendrils began to worm their way into her nostrils, slithering down. The feel of the slippery p.r.o.ngs and their own personal pulse tore at her soul with revulsion.

The device was now controlling her breath and proved a most frugal supplier. The feeble intake was insufficient for her needs, and gasping, straining to gather even a partial lungful, her face burning, her chest aflame from within, she slowly began to slip into coma just as she felt secondary tubes plunging into her rear and s.e.x. The intrusion made her seek unattainable breath all the more devoutly. They were not going to kill her; she was going to be kept alive in this bondage. They had turned her into an organic component of the ship, some sort of living filter or power reservoir. Her body had been taken from her and exploited for their use and she was a helpless slave to it. A woman who had tortured and enslaved, subjugated, humiliated, degraded for fun, was now more a captive servile than any species she had abused. Shuddering in her bonds, her shattered mind drifted into shocked darkness.

For three days, Theresa was permitted time to recover her lost strength, and rather than lazily pa.s.s the time she kept her body moving, knowing that if she let her physique ail, the poised whips of her overlords would fall in endless droves. Only two visitors attended her during this time, one was Setchak, who would stand before her and whip her with all his might and animosity until his brow was laced with beads of perspiration. The other was the groom with a taste for b.e.s.t.i.a.lity. He would enter, take her, and depart without word, indulging his wicked vice and fleeing before discovery. Sometimes he took his time and she found great delight in his ravishment, but other times he was pressed for time and was a quick and uncaring lover.

Vigour returned to her wasted form quickly, and she was not sure whether that was a good thing, for it opened her more rapidly to a return to training and abuse.

It was approaching sundown when the portal opened and Setchak s.n.a.t.c.hed her reigns and drew her out. Other grooms were similarly fetching various steeds and congregating at one of the larger pens.

Theresa observed despondently as the idly conversing trainers gathered. Their intention became clear when five steeds were hog-tied and set down in a line close to one of the fences so that each faced forward across the empty interior and to the other side.

Bets were made on whose beast would reach the opposite side first and once the stakes had been settled each groom lifted their chosen weapon and awaited the start of the race. After a declaration to abstain from use of implants, the insane compet.i.tion began with a triumphant shout. The air suddenly filled with cheers and the bright crack of the grooms lashing into the p.r.o.ne forms with all the tempestuous wrath their need for victory gave them. Each was seeking to drive their unfortunate compet.i.tor to the finish line ahead of all others and the handicapped slaves shrieked and bucked, shuffling forward like mangled worms. Their movements would have been amusing had it not been for the smack of leather on skin and the cries and tears streaming down the faces of those who began to fall behind. This brought harder and faster strokes onto them as incentives to reacquire haste, and by cruel irony, those in the lead began to receive treatment that was just as barbarous to keep them ahead of the pack.

A cheer went up as a colt reached the goal and as the debts were settled and winnings collected, brags made and fresh wagers and challenges prepared, a new line of slaves was set up.

Theresa kept her eyes lowered, not because she could not bear to see the races, but because the sight of bound, quivering naked forms was greatly arousing her. Setchak abused her and her lover amused her. Pain and pleasure, they were the powers that ruled her life and she was becoming addicted to them. Her animal status was stripping her of human reason, and as an animal, she was simply accepting these sensations and not questioning them anymore. Her fight to resist her m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic l.u.s.ts had been lost along with speech and human thought.

Three more of the despicable races were held, each with a new line of unwilling contestants. When Theresa's turn came, she was wet with craving. Setchak tied her tightly and laid her out in the line of her compet.i.tion. She was fearful of the abuse but was also eager to feel him thrash her and drive his pony with brutal ardour.

The race commenced and his savage crop ate burning weals in her thighs and flanks. She shuffled in the manner she had seen the others do, but her lack of exertion of late had left her physically weaker and no match for the rivals.

Every jolt forward crushed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath her b.u.mping torso and made the rings twist painfully in her nipples. The weights upon the d.i.l.d.os dragged in the dirt, moving the inserted lengths to a far greater degree than what was wrought by a normal upright trot. As she started to lag, Setchak slashed into her with venom, making her yowl and push herself harder. When she finally crossed the line in the dirt that marked the point of respite, he was furious at her having lost him the race. Where the other slaves were being granted rest, Theresa was beaten for a full five minutes before being rolled to the side so she could lie wheezing and exhausted, the flogging having left her virtually comatose.

Setchak selected a new steed and returned to the pastime, finding greater success with a different mount, one who was more indoctrinated to her lifestyle as a beast of burden and sport. Theresa lay gasping for breath, pulling gently at her bonds. The long race and her discipline had caused surges of delightful endorphins that when coupled with her galloping adrenaline brought a giddy intoxication. Theresa writhed in her plight, her loins clutching at the d.i.l.d.o. She covertly dropped a hoof onto the chains and began to use fake twitches and struggles to pull at the strap and manoeuvre the toys. Her mind was bouncing on waves of depraved delectation. Each kiss of the whip now seemed like those of a lover and she started to drag her nipples against the rough dirt to feel the sc.r.a.pe and accept a gravely caress.

The new creature did considerably better than Theresa and Setchak returned to her position with it in tow, a broad smile of contentment, and a purse of winnings. Setting the vacant faced beast aside, he hurled a scowl and several licks of the crop into Theresa and leant up against the fence to converse with another groom. He used Theresa's back as a footstool while he talked and remained oblivious to the fact that her subtle shivers and minor tremors were those of adoration as she pictured his stern boot pressing into her skin, keeping her subjugated until he decided what other glorious abuses to visit on his owned piece of female property.

Again, she had angered him, and now she could expect further atrocities, ones that would no doubt weaken her further and provoke more failures and fresh retribution. She was trapped on a downward spiral of ever increasing agony, with no sign of hope anywhere.

Lying at the feet of Setchak and the other groom, she suddenly paid attention to their conversation as it unexpectedly drew her in.

"That filly you first picked was useless," slandered the rival.

"She has other strengths," replied Setchak, an iniquitous tone in his voice suggesting he had just concocted a new means to torment her.

"Such as? Weeping?"

"I will wager that she could sustain a whipping without sound for longer than your mare."

"That is a bet I shall readily accept, and a.s.suredly win. But, to ensure fairness, we both use the same type of crop, and both thrash the other's steed."

"Agreed," said Setchak, this being his intention all along.

Theresa was mortified, because the strictures of the bet meant that Setchak's opponent would lambaste her with every particle of his might and skill in order to win the wager.

"What does the losing steed get?" asked Setchak, forcing his boot into her spine to ensure she was paying attention and aware that he was intending to deliberately throw the challenge.

"Sent out as prey on the Warmaster's next hunt?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of being sent to the fields as a labourer."

"You must be confident to risk such a hefty fate, it will not be easy to justify such a transfer to the Warmaster."

"But I will not be the one losing, so why should it trouble me? Besides, with both of us agreeing to it, the transfer will go unnoticed."

"Possibly, but it will not be my mare being molested by a barrack full of human workers this night, Setchak, it will be yours."

Theresa's rival was brought forth. She was a woman around five years older than her, and from her impa.s.sive eyes, a great deal more broken in. The other groom explained the bet to his steed and did so slowly and simply, for it was a.s.sumed that her long sentence as an animal had r.e.t.a.r.ded her intellect.

Setchak untied Theresa's limbs and draped her over the fence. Her arms were outstretched, her legs were apart, and her rear was proffered for a most brutal beating. Leather cord was taken and used to fasten her extremities to the bars of the barrier so that her torso was inverted down the opposite side with her hips resting uncomfortably upon the top.

The groom took up the crops and moved to their adversaries mount before they cast the tips back. Theresa closed her eyes in antic.i.p.ation and braced for the pain, knowing that Setchak would hold back his full fury, leaving her to surely crack first and let any whimper condemn her to the abuses of her fellow humans toiling in the fields. Nevertheless, she would make him earn his victory and would commit to defeating his intentions. If she could win, she would earn another night of her anonymous lover, and this made her commit to enduring every morsel of pain. The other pony may be the veteran, but Theresa was the m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t. She started to fill her mind with every perverse fantasy she could in order to grab the pain and sculpt it, rework it, and create dark sinister pleasure.

The first blow lit up her rear with white heat, and it took all her resolve to subdue a cry as she hauled against her bonds and caused the thin ropes to dig into her skin. The groom left no time for recovery and attacked the same soft spot with potent celerity until tears were streaming down her face as her thoughts swam under a wash of excruciating sensation. She gasped and hissed, every stroke making her convulse and her body quiver. Her fantasies were having the desired effect. She tried to find bliss in every rapid stroke and indeed, she started to find a fierce euphoria from the abuse. However, as she jutted her rear up for him to abuse, and her mind reeled with every swipe, her plan started to backfire. She could not hold out, the suffering was just too much to bear in silence. A scream of dissolute joy began to swell in her lungs, rising up her throat like a germinating bloom, welling, being feed with every virulent stroke. As the howl reached her larynx and began to form upon her undulating breath, the a.s.sault stopped. Theresa's sweat dampened and tensed frame sagged suddenly, as though the attack was the sole source of rigidity. The welling scream remained, but now her fight to stop it was being conducted because it would emerge as an imploring wail to have him continue and lay his harsh l.u.s.t into her cheeks and get her back into the harrowing tornado of lewd indulgence.

Through water filled eyes, Theresa looked up and saw Pelakh marching towards them. Her young and slender frame was sheathed in her customary halter neck catsuit. Lost to her vices, Theresa's mind lurched into a mire of new fantasy. She pulled at her bonds, her sodden body slithering against the fence as she dreamed of leaping down and licking the girls boots, curling her tongue around her heels, and once more finding herself condemned to the spiteful youths vile playroom. The slink of her nubile form was an o.r.g.a.s.m for her eyes and a slight trickle of wetness escaped her strap as her loins answered the insane peaks of her sudden arousal. To gain one climax at Pelakh's feet, to even kiss her rear, or even her lips, she would endure all that she had previously endured a thousand times over. The recall of that first and only kiss when contained in wire and lost to an algolagnic trance made her mad with need.

The grooms disbanded and adopted the pretence of other activities. The sport was in clear violation of the wishes of the family who employed them.

The villainous girl stepped to the fence and addressed the head groom as though he were the lowliest inferior.

"If you have quite finished, I require a gig."

With a false scanning of the scene for a suitable steed, she panned her gaze down to Theresa and smiled.

"She will do. Have her readied immediately. I leave within the hour."

"Yes, Miss," he said, and sneered as the adolescent wandered off towards the house to prepare for her journey.

Theresa did not know whether to be thankful for her deliverance or not. Pelakh had almost annihilated her with tortures and had set her up to be handed to the groom who hated her for daring to display a desire for him. To be specifically called upon to be her mount meant that the girl was not yet finished with her atrabilious mayhem and Theresa could not wait to experience it. The image of her tightly clad rear sauntering away, fuelled the desire and kept it strong.

Obviously reluctant to attend this task, Setchak called forth another groom to undertake the duty of processing her, and to Theresa's shock, it was the male who so regularly ravished her that stepped from the throng of grooms.

"Place this one on Miss Pelakh's carriage," said Setchak, handing her reigns to the subordinate as he finished untying her bonds. The cords had left ingrained patterns of weals from her energetic response to the crop but there was no time to rub them because her hands were quickly captured again.

With the Warmaster's daughter gone, the sport continued with the standard fervour. The grooms clearly found this demeaning game a source of great entertainment value.

Led from the scene, the groom took Theresa towards the vehicle bay and as they drew closer, he furtively glanced around, looking to see if anyone else were abroad. Theresa groaned inwardly, realising that he was intending another ravishing. Ordinarily she would be fine with his advances, but now she was possessed by the ravenous desire for Pelakh.

Unable to pa.s.s up the opportunity presented by the engagement of all the other grooms, he was given an equalled chance to take his favoured creature, and as they reached the shadows of the bay he ducked in with her in tow and pressed her front to the far wall, using the cover of a carriage as further concealment.

"Oh my sweet pony, I hope you are not too injured by that game. Setchak was so hard on you. Here, let me soothe you," he purred.