by Van ©2013
		Chapter 4

Most of an additional hour passed before the torture chamber door opened again.  Corky's butterflies had managed to take a nap—but they were awake now!  And were all aflutter!

Mistress Cressida had arrived!

Her Ladyship's daughter was dressed for riding in black leather knee-boots, creme-colored jodhpurs, a corset-belt of black leather, and a white linen blouse.  The sleeves of the blouse were rolled up and its top three buttons undone, revealing a provocative glimpse of the inner slopes of her firm breasts and a peek of the lace trim of her brassiere.  Mistress' hair was plaited in a single tight braid that trailed down her back and was tied with a black ribbon.  Finally, she was wearing black kid gloves and a riding crop—Down, butterflies!  Down!—dangled by its strap from her right wrist.

Mistress strolled to the rack and smiled down at its helpless, frightened occupant.  "Excellent," she sighed, then took the handle of the crop in hand and used its leaf-shaped tip to toy with Corky's left nipple.

Corky's heart was pounding, and the butterflies in her stomach were beyond panic.  She managed to stifle the begging whine struggling to escape her bit-gagged mouth, but knew her wide, green eyes telegraphed her fear.  Mistress was beautiful... like a hungry tigress is beautiful.  Corky watched as Cressida's gaze traveled over her stretched, naked, freckled body.  Meanwhile, the leaf-shaped tip of the crop traced a slow orbit around her erect nipple.

Cressida's gaze lifted to the giant clockwork machine looming behind Corky's head.  "My great, great grandmother created the first version of our automated rack," she said.  "It has been improved and refined many times over the years.  Mother had it overhauled a while back, but we agree that further enhancements are unwarranted.  Perhaps someday I'll commission a replacement, but if I do I'll probably take the concept in a different direction, more Mad Scientist than Renaissance Evil Genius.  This is the 21st century, after all.  Computer controlled electric motors would be much more efficient."  She lifted the tip of the riding crop, gave Corky's nipple a gentle tap, then let the crop dangle at her side.  "That said," she continued, "the Tydwell family puts great store in tradition.  The automated rack will always have a place of prominence in the castle collection."

Corky lifted her chin, craned her gagged head, and watched Mistress stroll to the machine and gaze down at a set of switches and dials set in a small brass panel.

"Let's see now," Cressida muttered under her breath, "five-feet and..."  She leaned close and turned a dial.  "...three inches."  She smiled at Corky.  "That is the height listed in your personnel file, I believe."  She reached out and threw a lever next to the panel.  There was an ominous groan, a pause... then several of the machine's gears began to turn.  "Your current height, that is," Cressida added.

The craven, traitorous whine finally managed to wiggle free of Corky's control.  "Urrrrrh!"  She noted one of the machine's iron weights was slowly dropping.  Its chain meshed with one of the turning gears.  Corky shivered as a shuddering vibration was transmitted down the chains attached to her wrist cuffs.

Cressida had returned to the side of the rack.  She removed the crop's loop from her wrist and tucked the stiff, leather-wrapped whip down her right boot-top.  "The concept of 'two steps forward, one step back' applies to the rack's operation," she explained.  "The machine will tighten the drum two links, one at a time and over the course of several minutes.  Then, it will back off one link, also over the course of several minutes, there will be another pause, then two more links will be taken up.  It's as much a medical traction device as a torture engine."  She rested her gloved hand on Corky's flat tummy, over her navel.  "Well, not really," she admitted with a smile.

Corky's breasts heaved as she panted through her gag.  It was like before, when Lady Tydwell had stood in Mistress Cressida's place, only worse.  And the wrist chains were definitely vibrating.  So far, she didn't think they'd actually tightened, but they were vibrating.  Eyes locked with Corky, Cressida continued smiling her gloating, beautiful smile.

The machine continued to grind.

Finally, Mistress spoke again.  "Upon reflection, I've decided your most serious character flaw is not disobedience, Little Yank, but a lack of self-control."  She leaned close, turned Corky's head to the side, unbuckled the bit-gag, then released Corky's head and pulled the bit from between her lips.  She'd buckled the strap on its first hole and the gag hung around Corky's throat like a loose collar, a collar with a leather-clad bit wet with her saliva.

Corky licked her lips.  "I-I'm sorry, Mistress," she stammered.  "I'll try and do better and—"  Creeeak.  The wrist chains had tightened one link.  Corky's eyes popped wide.  "Please, Mistress!  Please don't torture me!"

"Oh, you poor thing," Cressida purred.  "A damsel with self-control should never beg for mercy.  Not until she's in significant pain, anyway.  This confirms my hypothesis."

"Please, Mistress," Corky whined.

Cressida smiled.  "Set for your height, the auto-rack will tighten no more than five links, maybe six.  Then it will back off two links and lock.  This will be over the course of an hour, of course."

"B-but it won't... hurt?"

Cressida's smile turned coy.  "Perhaps a slight twinge, right at the apex, but nothing worse, nothing a steam bath and a nice massage won't set right."

Her nostrils flaring and slightly flattened bosom heaving, Corky gazed up at her torturer (lover) and bit her lower lip; but she managed to hold her tongue.

"Adorable," Cressida purred.  "Are you sure you aren't five-foot-four?  You look taller that five-three to me.  Perhaps I should reset the controls to give you more of a stretch, just to be sure."

"Actually, Mistress," Corky answered gravely, "I'm five-foot-two-and-a-half."  She was still frightened, but Mistress had said there wasn't going to be a lot of pain and she believed her.  Mistress wouldn't lie.  Corky had just told a blatant fib, but Mistress wouldn't lie.

Cressida chuckled.  "Disobedient, lazy, but above all, a shocking lack of self-control."  A holster was strapped to the right side of her corset-belt and she opened its flap and produced a white feather.  "I must help you overcome your shortcomings."  She slowly twirled the feather between her gloved fingers  "Noblesse oblige requires nothing less."

Corky's horrified green eyes were on the spinning, tapered feather.  She wouldn't...

Cressida placed the feather behind her right ear, then slowly removed her gloves and tucked them in her corset-belt.  All the while her smiling eyes were locked with Corky's.  She turned and strolled to the foot of the rack.

Corky heard the scrape of wood on stone, then Mistress dropped until only her head and shoulders were visible above the stocks.  Apparently, a stool or bench had been nearby.  Corky debated repeating her plea for mercy.  The butterflies were decidedly pro-begging, but her boobs were too busy rising and falling, her lungs too busy emptying and filling, and her heart too busy pounding to register their opinions.  In any case, her brain vetoed the proposition.  It wouldn't do any good, she'd already begged once, and Mistress would almost certainly be disappointed by an additional show of weakness.  Corky certainly didn't want to disappoint.  "Eeek!"

Something—the feather, obviously—had brushed the sole of Corky's left foot!  She noted the feather was no longer behind Mistress' ear, and—"Ahhh!"  Yes, it was definitely the feather.  Her right sole had just been the recipient of a teasing stroke.

"Shocking lack of self-control," Cressida purred.  She lifted her smiling gaze from Corky's feet to the captive maid's wide eyes and trembling lips.  "Not a sound, Little Yank," she ordered.  "Not a laugh, not a giggle, not so much as a squeak.  This is all about self-control.  Don't disappoint me."

"Perhaps if you g-gave me my g-gag back, Mistress."  The suggestion had come out as a series of tight-lipped squeaks—which Mistress had just forbidden.

Still smiling, Cressida shook her head.  "That would be counterproductive.  When I've finished with your feet, we'll see how well you tolerate the stimulation of your ribs and armpits."

Corky watched as Mistress' gaze returned to her vulnerable feet.  There was a pause—the machine continued to grind, rattle, and clink—and then it happened.  The feather was tickling her right foot in earnest!  Corky managed to stifle a gasp of anguish, but the titillating caresses continued... and continued... and began to include her wiggling toes!  Corky's stretched, freckled body began to shiver, fidget, and shake.

The rack's wrist chains vibrated—Creeeak—and another link was drawn onto the machine's drum.

The tickling continued, as did the futile shivering.  Minutes passed and sweat began glistening on Corky's flushed, freckled skin.

Cressida divided her gaze between Corky's wiggling feet, her stretched, shivering, shining body, and her grimacing, freckled face.  The feather remained locked on the little maid's feet.  The lambent, nightmarish exploration of Corky's soles and toes continued without pause.  "Very good, Miss O'Brien," Cressida purred.  "I guess you have some degree of self-control after all."

"Ah—ah—ah—eek!"  Corky had realized she was whining as she panted and clamped her mouth tightly closed.

"I know it's difficult," Cressida purred, "but do your best.  This is only the first of many such sessions.  Not all will involve tickling, of course, but all will help strengthen your self-discipline."

Finally, Corky could take no more.  "Ah—please, M-mistress!" she gasped.  "I c-can't stand it!"

Cressida sighed and shook her head.  "I spoke too soon.  My Little Yank has hardly any self-control."  She tucked the feather back behind her ear, stood, and walked to the side of the rack.  She then leaned close and eased the bit-gag back between Corky's lips and teeth, then turned her head and tightened and buckled the strap.

Mistress' hands disappeared and Corky turned her head and gazed up into her Mistress' smiling face.

"Let's see if you do better with your armpits," Cressida suggested, "shall we?"

The feather was already approaching her left armpit.  Corky whined through her restored gag, bit down, and shivered in anticipation.

Edna led Morena to what was obviously a basement exercise room, then handed her over to a pair of maids dressed in black exercise togs.  There were several modern, conventional exercise machines in the stone-walled, subterranean chamber—treadmills, step machines, weight machines, etc.  Morena noted that most, if not all, of the stations were festooned with straps and open cuffs dangling from light chains.

Edna made her departure, more or less ignoring Morena as she left the chamber.  The maids removed her leg-irons; however, she was still gagged, the posture-collar was still around her throat, the attached binder still encased her arms, hands, and fingers behind her back, and the steel chastity-belt was still locked through her crotch and around her waist.

The maids—who apparently had been assigned exercise-the-poor-guest duty for the day—made Morena run on a treadmill for a full hour.  They took turns as exercise coach, motivating her by means of pleasantly worded threats involving nipple-clamps, whips, cattle prods, and various parts of her anatomy.  Morena noted an actual pair of nipple-clamps of the spring-loaded clover variety dangling from a pair of light chains that were solidly attached to the treadmill's control panel, so she took the maids' "encouraging remarks" seriously.

Actually, the maids were nice... in a no nonsense, do-as-we-say-or-else sort of way.  One was of mixed African and European heritage and spoke with an English accent.  Her name was Alice.  The second maid was a blond.  Morena was forming the conclusion Her Ladyship employed large numbers of blonds.  The maid was also English and her name was Mary.  They didn't introduce themselves, of course.  That would have been inappropriate.  Morena learned their names while listening to them chat as she ran.  Eavesdropping on their gossip helped relieve the monotony.

The rubber tread rolling under Morena's feet wasn't setting a particularly punishing pace.  That said, keeping said pace while barefoot, bound, and gagged was definitely exercise.  After several minutes of jogging it occurred to Morena that her chastity belt should be rubbing her inner thighs raw as her legs churned, but it wasn't.  Further proof of its cunning design, she mused.  I'll have to pen a testimonial to the manufacturer.

By the time her handlers turned off the treadmill and allowed her to step off the track, Morena's skin was shining with sweat.  Her feet and lower legs were sore from all that barefoot running, but they weren't too bad.  Mary unbuckled the gag, Alice held the attached straw of a plastic bottle to her lips, and she enjoyed several spurts of cold, lemon-lime flavored sports drink; but before she could offer her thanks, the gag's plug was back in her mouth, the panel pressing against her lips, and the straps buckled tight at the nape of her neck and under her chin.

"Mistress Edna ordered us to double her exercise period," Mary said to Alice, smiling at their helpless charge.

"She also ordered us not to remove her restraints until we put her away," Alice noted, "which somewhat limits our options.  We can't double her run on the first day.  She'll get shinsplints."

"Cramps, maybe," Mary responded, shaking her blond head.  "Shinsplints will take longer."  The pair stared at Morena for several seconds.

"What should we do?" Alice finally asked.

"We can't wait too long," Mary sighed.  "Her leg muscles will cool off and she will cramp."

Alice nodded in agreement, then smiled.  "We can take her for walkies," she suggested.

"A brisk tour of the grounds?"

Alice nodded, again.  "Agreed."  She snapped a leather lead to the ring in the front of Morena's collar.  Then, Mary eased Morena down on a stool, knelt, and began fitting anklets and a pair of running shoes to her feet.

Great.  Now I get shoes, Morena sighed.  Better late than never.

The maids led Morena from the exercise chamber, down a passageway, up a set of stairs, and through a heavy timber door to a castle courtyard.  They negotiated an even heavier postern gate in the outer wall and Morena found herself on a very narrow dirt path.  It was close against the base of the wall on her left with the broad, deep moat on her right.  With Alice in the lead and Mary behind, Morena followed the trail around the base of the nearest tower.  As promised, Morena's handlers set a brisk pace.

Once past the tower they came to a gatehouse.  A paved road atop a causeway crossed the moat.  The small lorry parked beside the open gate suggested a service entrance, and Morena noted the Tydwell crest painted on the vehicle's side panel.

"Don't worry, Miss," Alice said to Morena, "outside deliveries are made to the service compound just inside the border of Her Ladyship's estate, nearly a mile distant.  The castle's service gatehouse is all staff.  If the driver sees you, he might leer, but he won't blab what he sees over pints with his mates at the Wicked Lady, and he certainly won't rescue you."

"Watch the cheeky banter," Alice chuckled, "or we'll wind up like Malee and Judy."

"I heard they were in trouble," Mary said.  "What did they do?"

"Haven't a clue," Alice shrugged, then nodded at Morena, "but it had something to do with this one.  Anyway, the Dragon Lady sentenced them to a week in the stables."

Mary frowned and a delicate shudder shook her frame.  "Better them than us."  Suddenly, her smiled returned.  "I know.  How about a stroll through the stables followed by a turn around the moat?  Then we'll pop this one back in her cell in time for tea.  We can't get in trouble for that."

"Why not?" Alice grinned, and they were off.

The hour of tickle-torture while being stretched on the clockwork rack had been horrible—and Corky couldn't be happier.

She was off the rack and Mistress was carrying her down the passageway, up the stairs, and towards her bedroom—meaning Mistress' bedroom, not Corky's bedroom, the junior maids' dormitory.  Corky was still naked, and she was being carried from the torture chamber in the same manner Ulfa had carried her to the torture chamber.  Her arms were around Mistress' neck (Sigh!) and Cressida was cradling her in her arms.  Mistress was tall, but she was no Ulfa.  That said, Mistress was strong.  It probably helped that Corky was something of a pixie, of course.

Anyway, Cressida's burden had assumed that once Mistress grew tired of playing connect-the-freckles with that horrible feather, she'd abandon her on the rack.  Eventually one or more of her fellow maids would appear and rescue her, of course, and after a reasonable period of rest and recuperation, it would be back to work as a junior maid.  Instead, Mistress had announced that Corky needed a bath, so they were going up to her (Cressida's) room.

Corky couldn't be happier.

"You had an orgasm at the very end," Cressida purred as they neared her bedroom, "when I was tickling your inner thighs.  Admit it."

"Yes, Mistress," Corky whispered.

"You're a randy little thing, aren't you?"

Corky blushed.  "I...  Yes, Mistress."

Cressida opened the bedroom door, carried Corky across the threshold, then eased her to her bare feet.  "Get clean," she ordered, and Corky scampered to the loo.

Corky started Mistress' shower, waited for the water to warm up... then stepped under the stream.  She'd been wrong, earlier.  Corky could be happier.  The hot water felt glorious!  That said, Corky didn't linger.  Mistress was waiting.  She quickly soaped and scrubbed her body, then turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried herself.  She toweled her hair, as well, but didn't use Mistress' hand dryer or brush and comb set.  Alter all, she was only a maid.

Her red curls a damp, semi-tousled mass—and still naked, of course—Corky reentered the bedroom.  Mistress was just returning the handset of the telephone on her writing desk to its base-station.  "Attend," she ordered, then strolled to her dressing table and began releasing the buttons of her blouse not already open as part of her Sexy Equestrian fashion statement.

Corky hurried forward and began helping her Mistress undress.  Cressida settled on the dressing table's Queen Anne bench and Corky knelt and pulled off her boots, first the left, and then the right.

"You hair is a mess," Cressida chided.

Corky blushed, again.  "I wouldn't be so bold as to use Mistress' brush and comb," she explained.  "I know my place."

A smile curled Cressida's lips as Corky's nimble hands pulled off her boot-socks, then unbuttoned the bottom cuffs of her jodhpurs.  "It simply won't do for my personal handmaiden to have unruly hair," Cressida purred as she stood.  "You will use whatever is available to maintain a presentable appearance at all times, do you understand?  Otherwise, you'll be punished."

The butterflies were thrashing in Corky's tummy, again, but this time they were happy!  'Personal handmaiden!'  "Yes, Mistress."  Corky lowered her head to hide the fact that she was struggling not to giggle in unbridled glee.  She unbuckled and removed Mistress corset-belt, then released the closure of the jodhpurs' waistband.  The already open blouse was next, and Cressida's costume was reduced to knickers and bra—very expensive, skimpy, whisper-thin, and lacy knickers and bra.  The manner in which they hugged Mistress' athletic curves sent a thrill through Corky's undisciplined pussy and up her spine. 

Cressida strolled to the nightstand to the left side of the bed, opened a drawer, and produced what appeared to be a coiled, ribbon-like thong of brown leather.  "To me," she ordered, and Corky hurried forward.  "Turn."

Corky spun on her heels and Mistress pulled her arms behind her back and began tightening the thong around her thumbs, only it wasn't a simple thong.  Corky couldn't see what was happening, of course, but based on feel alone, a thin, narrow strap had tightened around the base of each of her thumbs, then both thumbs together, and now a buckle was being secured.

"On the bed," Mistress ordered, and again, Corky complied.

Mistress rolled Corky onto her stomach, her feet were pulled back until her heels rested atop her buttocks, and the same binding process was repeated, only this time with her big toes.  Loop, loop, double-loop, buckle—and Corky found herself hogtied by the thumbs and toes with about a foot of slack between.  Obviously, the double-ended strap-and-buckle thingie was made for this very purpose, and whatever the details of the design, it worked.  Corky was helpless, again.  She rolled onto her side and her green eyes popped wide (and her pussy shivered, once again).  Mistress was peeling off her knickers!

Cressida piled the bed's pillows against the headboard, climbed onto the bed, and reclined with her back against the pillows and her legs comfortably spread.  She smiled at Corky's open-mouthed expression.  "I know you are trying your best to be a diligent handmaiden, but I'm afraid you require additional training.  Issues of self-control and randiness aside, you are trying, Mistress can tell."  Cressida reached behind her back, released the catch of her bra, then shrugged it off her shoulders, pulled her arms free, and tossed it away.  "Not to worry," she continued.  "Mistress is patient, and I know Mother's House Mistress will be able to bring you up to snuff."

Corky swallowed nervously.  Her tummy butterflies were also anxious.  The prospect of "additional training" at the hands of the Dragon Lady (the junior maids' secret nickname for Mistress Edna) did not bode well.  The House Mistress was a stern disciplinarian.  Corky's eyes were drawn to Mistress' firm thighs—and dark, curly pubic bush—and the flushed, pink, crinkled folds of her labia.  Anything!  she promised herself.  I can take anything Edna can dish out if it means I get to stay at Mistress' side!

Cressida smiled.  "Well?" she chuckled, "what are you waiting for?"

Corky licked her lips, another shudder rippled through her pussy, and she began squirming towards her obvious goal.

Sandwiched between her two handlers, Morena trudged down a path branching off the service road.  It led through a copse of ancient oaks and towards a stone structure that was unmistakably Tydwell Castle's stables and carriage house.  Its architecture was Gothic or Gothic Revival, and the horses in its fenced paddocks, a row of wide-double doors, and especially the small carriage parked before one set of doors bespoke its purpose.

It was a very nice day, sunny and warm with birds singing, bees buzzing, butterflies flitting from flower to flower, etc., etc.; but Morena would just as soon be in her Practice Room cell taking a nap on her crude but comfortable bed.  An hour on the treadmill had been enough exercise for the day.

The parade of three entered a side door and Morena found herself in a wing of the main stables.  Packed dirt was underfoot, but the floor was swept clean.  In fact, it was immaculate.  Directly ahead was a large, barn-style door and to either side were twelve divided doors, six on the left and six on the right.  The lower halves of the doors were secured by hefty iron bolts, and smaller bolts secured the top halves.  Morena had been horseback riding since she was a small girl and recognized horse stalls when she saw them.

"Now," Alice said, gazing around the room.  "Where do you suppose—ah!"  She pointed to one of the doors and made a beeline with Morena in tow.  Mary followed.

Morena noticed an additional detail.  Each of the stalls had a small rectangular board painted black and nailed to the lower door, centered above the iron bolt at a convenient height for reading.  The name "Judy" had been scrawled on the board of this particular stall with white chalk.

Mary stepped forward, pulled back the bolt of the upper door, and swung it open.

Immediately beyond was a set of vertical, closely spaced iron bars, and Morena now realized that the upper door, lower door, and bars shared a common frame.  That wasn't normal for a horse stall—and what she saw beyond the bars was anything but normal!  Her blue eyes popped wide above her gag.

"Hey, Judy," Mary chuckled.

"Sorry we didn't bring any sugar lumps," Alice purred.

"Or apples," Mary added.

Standing in the stall was a naked blond—naked but for the harness of black leather straps and gleaming steel buckles that dimpled her tan flesh from throat to thighs, that is.  The blond, who was obviously Judy, stared daggers at her gloating audience, including Morena, although Morena wasn't gloating.  It's the honey-blond tomboy from this morning! Morena realized, the maid who was caught almost touching my breast by Mistress Edna!

Judy growled through the combination steel bit and black rubber ball-gag in her grimacing mouth.  A headstall of thin straps, with blinders, caged her head and anchored the bit and ball.  A collar similar to Morena's was strapped around her neck, her arms were folded behind her back and encased in a pouch-like leather binder, and she was laced into knee boots with elevated heels and hoof-like soles that kept her up on her toes.  Rope leads were clipped to rings on the ends of the bit and hitched through eye-bolts set in the walls on either side, centering Judy in the stall.

She's a ponygirl! Morena realized.  She'd read of such things, of course, but Judy was the first actual ponygirl she'd ever seen.  She examined the unhappy blond's costume—her tack—in more detail.  Judy's breasts were bare, like most of the rest of her, and jingle bells attached to clamps dangled from her nipples.  Her crotch was completely bare, without clamps or bells; however, attached to the front of the harness, against her lower tummy, below her navel, and above her dark blond pubic bush, was an empty buckle.  There was no sign of a strap dangling between her thighs and waiting to be threaded through the buckle to cleave her crotch.

Mary was opening the upper door of the stall immediately to their right.  "I've found Malee," she announced.  Alice gave Morena's leash a tug and led her to Mary's side.  Morena noted that "Malee" was, indeed, chalked on the small blackboard of the door's lower half.

"She's beautiful," Alice sighed.

Morena had to agree.  Malee was the second maid from this morning, the Malaysian.  Her smooth skin was a rich brown, her hair straight and black, and her bit/ball-gagged and leather-caged features exquisitely beautiful.  A second ponygirl, her tack was identical to Judy's, right down to the nipple-clamp jingle bells and empty crotch-strap buckle.

Mary grinned and gave Alice's upper arm a playful punch.  "You've always carried a torch for Malee," she whispered.

"And you don't?" Alice whispered back.  "We all don't?"

She's gorgeous, Morena sighed, her eyes on the magnificent, brown-skinned ponygirl.  Simply gorgeous.  "Mrrfh?"  Alice and Mary were embracing Morena from either side, and were running their hands over her breasts, tummy, and steel-clad crotch!  The ponygirls' plight had already rekindled her smouldering sexual frustration, and Mary and Alice's roving hands were not helping!

"You got caught playing with Her Ladyship's guest," Alice teased the watching ponygirl, "didn't you, Malee?"

"Did you do something like this?" Mary chuckled, giving Morena's right nipple a playful tweak.

"Actually," a new and very familiar voice intoned, "all Malee and Judy did was behave as if they might wish to play with Her Ladyship's guest."

Morena and her startled handlers turned to find two figures silhouetted against the open door leading back to the castle.  The newcomers were House Mistress Edna— !!! —and a short young woman, possibly a girl!

Mary and Alice released Morena as if the Dutch beauty was suddenly glowing red hot.  They were too late, of course.  They were far too late.

Edna and her diminutive companion stepped forward.

Morena could now see that the companion in question was under five feet in height, something like four-foot eight or nine.  It was easy to see why she'd taken her silhouette for that of a girl.  She had straight, pale blond hair cut in a boyish pixie, gorgeous blue eyes, a dimpled smile, and a dusting of freckles across rosy cheeks and button nose.  She was young, in her late teens, and was dressed in brown riding boots, tan jodhpurs, and a sleeveless, white cotton tank-top that hugged her trim, fit body—including her perky breasts—and showcased her tan, freckled shoulders and toned arms.  She quite obviously was not wearing a bra.

Edna addressed Morena's handlers.  "Did I not tell you to exercise Miss Velzen—"  She indicated Morena with a waving gesture.  "—for a period double her daily schedule?"

I have a schedule? Morena thought.

Alice and Mary exchanged sad, sheepish expressions.  "Uh, yes, House Mistress," Alice responded.

"We're taking her for a walk," Mary added, "so her legs don't cramp."

"I take it you were also groping Miss Velzen's breasts so they don't cramp?" Edna inquired dryly.

"No, House Mistress," Alice and Mary responded.

"Do you feel up to training four ponies at one time, Pippa?"  Edna asked.

The little blond's smile widened.  "Of course, House Mistress."

"A full week," Edna continued.  "Seven days."

The short blond—who apparently was named Pippa—continued smiling her dimpled, heartbreakingly cute (and evil) smile.  "With these two plus Malee and Judy I can finally try a four-in-hand rig with the two-wheel calash.  But I'll need more than a week to train a team of four."

Edna nodded.  "A month, then."

Pippa leaned close, when up on her booted toes, and whispered in Edna's ear (just loud enough to be heard by all).  "Two weeks should be enough, House Mistress."

Edna gazed at the two very contrite handlers who, at the moment, were very much NOT handling Morena.  "Very well.  Two weeks it is."

Unless Morena was mistaken, a "calash" was a type of carriage.  And while it was nice of Pippa to take the risk of asking Mistress Edna to shorten the new ponygirls' sentences from a month to two weeks, it was Pippa who'd caused their original sentences to be lengthened in the first place.  She'd only known the little blond pixie for something like a minute, but Morena suspected Pippa was a trickster and a scamp, and she very much hoped an extended stay in the stables wasn't on that schedule Mistress Edna had just mentioned.

Just then, Morena noticed a pair of leather straps dangling from Pippa's left hand and her eyes popped wide, again.  The straps were the same width, weight, and finish as Judy and Malee's ponygirl harnesses, and each had a pair of rubber attachments in the form of a conical plug with a tapered base and a larger, decidedly phallus-like shaft with a rounded tip.  Morena realized she was staring at the missing crotch-straps, with anal and vaginal intruders!  This was another element of the BDSM scene of which Morena only had theoretical knowledge.  Wow!

Mistress Edna stepped forward and took the end of Morena's leash from Alice's hand.  "I'm very disappointed in both of you," she muttered.  Obviously, she was addressing the wayward maids.

Alice and Mary curtsied.  "Sorry, House Mistress," they mumbled in unison.

Edna turned and walked towards the open outer door.  Morena's leash snapped taut and she stumbled in the House Mistress' wake.  She twisted her body and looked back when she heard Pippa addressing her new charges.  "All right, you lot," the little blond was saying, "strip off, then make for the tack room.  You know the way."

Alice and Mary began pulling their tops up and over their heads, then Morena was out the door and could see no more.  Edna was leading her back to the castle.