Learning the Ropes by C. P. Mandara Read Free Book Online Page B

barely-there flutters of the feather had been torment, the sharp drag of the quill across her skin was the worst suffering imaginable. Starting at the back of her thighs he wrote, he drew, he doodled and he sketched. With his barb he slowly limned all manner of things into her already enflamed skin. She tried to be stoic and endured his artwork on her arms, calves, back and feet. When he started on her swollen backside, within thirty seconds he had her thrashing and sobbing. The worst of it was that the sobbing was not because of the pain. The pain only served to fuel the furnace burning brightly through her. She was sobbing because she was yet again desperately aroused and her need for release was overwhelming. When he started over, tracing the red lines he'd already drawn in a leisurely fashion, she screamed in frustration. She couldn't even speak; he had made her so insensible with longing. 'Please,' her eyes begged, ' please ,' but he wasn't looking at her face and she knew with certainty that he meant to retrace every single line he'd drawn, before she'd get her chance to plead with him. Jenny didn't think she'd manage to withstand it. When he started to score her ass with the quill for the second time, bubbles of foam escaped from her mouth. Filled with a lust that had no chance of escape unless her captor deemed her worthy, Jenny began sniffing and blubbering as her body squirmed, twisted and struggled under the monstrous feather.
    When a side door swung open she could only be grateful for the pause in Mark's attentions. The room it revealed was small, but brightly lit and her eyes immediately focused on a rectangular wooden frame. It featured two rollers at either end, a ratchet wheel and a series of levers and pulleys. Jenny had seen one such device before. It was called a rack and it was a medieval torture device, one of which was housed in the Tower Of London. She'd visited on a school trip some years before and had actually listened to the tour guide when he described what it was used for. Victims were chained and stretched, bit by bit, until their joints dislocated and eventually separated. Once the muscle fibres had been stretched to such an excessive degree they lost their ability to contract and were rendered useless. Due to the amount of pain it placed its victim in, it had been recorded as one of the most gruesome torture devices of medieval history. Was this what they did to errant trainees here? The blood in her body flooded downwards, and shaking violently, she fainted.
    Seeing Jenny's limp form plastered against the horse, Mark swore. 'Well, there goes your last orgasm for the foreseeable future.' The door which had just opened mysteriously was supposed to be kept locked at all times. The gentleman who owned the Albrecht Stables was a collector in antiquities and the contents of that room were worth a fortune. The origins of the rack dated back to Roman times and it was rather appropriately named Equuleus , or Young Horse . Needless to say it was never actually used. Some trainees might have been terrorised on occasion, but none had ever actually been strapped to the device. It wouldn't have made any difference if they had; the thing was missing several important chains and was so old that any weight upon it would probably send it crashing to the floor.
    'Out!' he bellowed.
    A pony girl, dressed from head to toe in a rubberised French maid outfit, slowly shuffled out. Her head was down and the black feather duster gagging her mouth trembled violently.
    'Between the posts and make sure your back is to me,' he ordered with a touch of menace in his voice. She complied quickly.
    Mark waged a personal war with himself. Admiring the delightful backside of the pony girl in front of him, all glistening black rubber with no exposed flesh bar a cut-out for her ass and pussy, he could quite happily have taught her a lesson or two. His cock needed something tight and wet to sink into, and as her tail wobbled