Beauty's Punishment - By A. N. Roquelaure & Anne Rice Page 0,33
And I had stolen clothes from their cottage. They stripped me fast enough and bound me hand and foot and brought me back, and I was sentenced to three years in the village. The Queen never even looked at me again.”
I winced. Three years! And he had served two already!
“ut would you really have been safe if you... ?”
“Yes, but the great difficulty is reaching the border.”
“And you weren’t afraid that your parents ... ? Didn’t they send you to the Queen and tell you to obey?”
“I was too afraid of the Queen,” he said. “And I wouldn’t have gone home anyway.”
“Have you ever tried since?”
“No,” he laughed softly under his breath. “I’m one of the best ponies in the village. I was sold right away to the public stables. I’m rented out every day by the rich Masters and Mistresses, though Master Nicolas and Mistress Julia rent me most often. I still hope for clemency from her Majesty, that I’ll be allowed back to the castle early, but if not, I won’t weep. If I weren’t run hard every day I’d probably become anxious. Now and then I feel fretful and I kick or struggle, but a good thrashing quiets me down beautifully. My Master knows just when I need it; even if I’ve been very good, he knows. I like pulling a handsome coach like your Master’s coach. I like the shiny new harnesses and reins, and he swings a hard strap, that one, the Queen’s Chronicler. You know he means it. Every now and then he’ll stop and rub my hair, or give me a pinch, and I almost come on the spot. He declares his authority over my cock, too, lashing it and then laughing at it. I adore him. Once he had me pull a little basket cart on two wheels all by myself while he walked beside it. I hate the small carts, but with your Master, I tell you I almost lost my mind from pride. It was so lovely.”
“Why was it lovely?” I asked, mutely fascinated. I was trying to picture him, his long black hair, the hair of the horsetail, and the slender elegant figure of my Master walking beside him. All that lovely white hair in the sun, my Master’s lean thoughtful face, those deep blue eyes.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not much with words. I’m always proud when I am trotting. But I was all alone with him. We came out of the village for a twilight walk in the country. All the women were out at their gates to bid him good evening. And gentlemen passed, returning from a day of inspection at their farms to their lodgings in the village.
“Every now and then your Master would lift my hair off the back of my neck and smooth it out. He’d tethered the rein good and high so my head was way back, and he gave me many a crack on the calves I didn’t need just because he liked it. It was the most exhilarating feeling, trotting on the road, and hearing the crunch of his boots beside me. I didn’t care if I ever saw the castle again. Or ever left the Kingdom. He always asks for me, your Master. The other ponies are terrified of him. They come back to the stables with their buttocks raw and they say he whips them twice as much as does anyone else, but I revere him. He does what he does well. And so do I. And so will you now that he’s your Master.”
I couldn’t answer.
He didn’t say any more after that. He soon fell asleep, and I squatted very still, my thighs aching, my cock as miserable as before, thinking of his little descriptions. It sent chills through me to listen to what he said, and yet I understood what he was saying.
It unnerved me. But I understood it.
When they released us and drove us out to the coach, it was almost dark, and I felt myself fascinated by the harness and the nipple clamps and the reins and the lacings and the phallus as they were all refitted. Of course they hurt and frightened me. But I was thinking of Jerard’s words. I could see him harnessed in front of me. I stared at the way he tossed his head, stamped his feet in the boots as if to improve the fit. And I stared forward at nothing with wide, baffled eyes as the