Hibbert relaxed and leaned against the wall of the kitchen, watching as Lady Sonia finished the last of the dishes. He looked down her long copper-red hair to the edge of her pink, cotton skirt that ended about three inches beneath her ass. He watched intently when the material swished with her movements. He knew there was nothing under the soft fabric except even softer skin. He could feel his hand itch with his want for her.

Tonight was to be their first “Friday Night Spanking” in the new apartment. They had always wanted a regular spanking night once they finally were together in real life. They had said that setting a day aside, once each week, for erotic spanking would help remind them of their dominance and submission, no matter how busy life became, and keep their love for each other fresh and exciting.

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She had felt Hibbert touch her almost constantly since he had picked her up late one morning at her sister’s home two weeks before. They had enjoyed a first spanking at the hotel, and it had been exciting and wonderful because everything was new. But tonight was different … special. They were more comfortable with each other, and they were finally in their home. Tonight he would make her ass red, her pussy wet, and her tears would flow from her dark eyes in their very own bedroom.

That thought had him shifting his weight and his cock twitching. Lady Sonia must have heard or sensed him behind her, and she turned to smile into his eyes. It was like she saw right into his soul. Her eyes twinkled with what he was thinking. She had already spent the day babbling on about how excited she was and had been teasing him every chance she got.

“Are you finished yet?” Hibbert asked. He walked up behind her tired of trying to resist touching her. His hands glided over her shoulders, down her back and under the skirt to cup her full, round ass cheeks. He had prohibited her from wearing panties without special permission. Lady Sonia giggled and pressed back against his hands as he gave her bottom a firm squeeze. He honestly prayed that this feeling of needing to touch her would never leave him. He also hoped she would never get tired of his hands on her.

“Yes, I’m finished. Did you want something Sir?” She giggled again as his lips bit her on the right ear lobe.

“You know damn well what I want and how I want it,” he growled into her ear turning her giggles into a moan.

He loved being with her, especially as her Dom. The fact that Lady Sonia was as happy as his submissive filled him with a joy and a purpose he had sought for years. He knew that in time they would become Master and slave. He already owned her heart and soul and the training of her body was something he planned to drag out for the rest of his life.

In fact, tonight Hibbert planned to step up the training. He planned on pushing Lady Sonia a little past the limits she thought she had. He wanted to keep her guessing and to help her break down the barriers for her body that kept her from fully giving herself. Until now he had been patient with her and had not caused her humiliation. But he knew if he didn’t push her a little, she would stay where she was and Hibbert couldn’t accept that for either of them.

Lady Sonia dried her hands on the towel next to the sink and turned around to face him. Her arms went around his neck and he held her close for a moment inhaling the scent of her hair and loving the warmth of her body as she snuggled against him. She tilted her face upwards, pursing her lips to kiss him. She was always bold in the way she expressed her love. Sometimes Hibbert thought they could live happily ever after with their lips locked onto one another’s. But, not right now, he thought as he pulled his mouth away from hers and smiled at her small whine of protest.

“If you are finished in here I have some things I would like you to do. I don’t want you to roll your eyes or try to argue what I will tell you.” He paused and drew back to look at her face.

“Is that clear Lady Sonia?” He watched her eyes as she transformed into his good girl.

“Yes Sir, what would you like?”

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “I want you to go take a shower, put on just a little make-up, put your hair in a pony tail, then put on the clothes I have laid out for you on the bed. OK?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. I want you to get into your position next to the chair that I have moved into our room for the night. Wait for me there.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I love you Lady Sonia, I love you very much.”

“I love you, my Hibbert.”

They kissed, and with a swat on her behind, he sent her off to take her shower while he went to into the computer room. He found he couldn’t actually do any work. When he heard the shower, he imagined he could see her naked body, the soap running off her breasts with milky streams of hot water. He knew that when she was done tonight, her delicate bits would be as smooth as satin; she knew her body was going to be the star of their show. Hibbert closed his eyes imagining her across his lap, open and exposed, giving herself to him. The power of the image was arousing and he touched the sensitive bulge in his jeans and impatiently glanced again at the clock.

When he heard Lady Sonia leave the bathroom and go into their bedroom, he half smiled imagining the shock on her face as she saw what he had laid out for her to wear. She would be panicked, but he also knew she would obey. Until now, he had allowed her to be shy about showing off her body. He knew she was self-conscious and didn’t like to be naked. But he knew that if he didn’t push her she would never understand that naked is how he wanted her. He wanted her to submit her body fully to him so she would know and believe that he really did love and accept her just the way she was.

He touched his cock again, as if that would ease the ache that had been there since this morning. God how he wanted her ass under his hand and her pussy wet for him! She was the hottest lover he had ever been with and everyday they were together yielded new layers of lust for them both. She admitted she was proud to be his slut. He thought enough time had passed, and he stood, pulling his shorts so they would drop past his erection. She was waiting for him.

At their bedroom, he turned the doorknob and went into the candlelit room. At the end of the bed near the chair, his throat caught his breath and he felt his cock jumped against his jeans. She was magnificent! He closed the door behind him and moved in front of her. She had done what he had asked. Lady Sonia was only wearing a black leather training collar, black stockings with black lace garter belt and black four-inch stilettos. Her red hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail with the ends hanging loose and brushing against her shoulders. She was in her submissive position with her palms upwards on her thighs and her eyes downcast. She was perfectly still but for the rise and fall of her breasts which told him just how nervous she was. He smiled softly down on her and felt the love for her fill his heart. What a brave girl his Lady Sonia was, and he so wanted her to see what he saw, but he knew that would take time.

“Lady Sonia, look at me.” Hibbert ordered her quietly, hoping he sounded Dom enough to not give away how nervous and excited he was.

Lady Sonia tilted her head up and looked into his eyes, “Yes Sir.”

“You are so beautiful.”

“Thank you Sir.” Lady Sonia smiled softly, and he could see her fight the tears that surfaced at his praise.

“Are you ok Lady Sonia?”

“Yes Sir, I…I just feel … naked,” she blurted out and blushed even more than she already had been. He swallowed his laugh and said.

“You look just like I imagined you would.” Hibbert reached out and stroked the top of her head lovingly. He reached his hand down and motioned for her to take it. Lady Sonia rose to her feet to stand before him. He was so impressed with her courage and her willingness to please him; he knew she would love nothing better then to grab one of his big shirts and cover up.

“Turn around, and let me see all of you.”

She looked like she would panic, but she was in her submissive mode and didn’t hesitate. Slowly, she turned in front of him. She was still not used to wearing such high heels, and one stiletto caught in the carpet and threw her off balance. Hibbert caught her in his arms.

“Well fuck, that was graceful!” Lady Sonia blurted out.

Hibbert busted up, and she laughed with him. She clung to him as they tried to gain composure, but every time she looked up at him, they broke into laughing fits again.

“Ok…ok…stop it!” Hibbert said, as sternly as he could.

“Yes Sir,” Lady Sonia said and bit her lip trying to get a hold on herself.

“God, how I love you little girl, even when you go and ruin a perfectly good moment.”

“Wasn’t me that picked out the shoes.”

“Ok, that is it, Little Miss Smartass!” Hibbert stated in his best Dom voice and sat down in the chair.

“Get over here … now, Lady Sonia,” he growled.

All traces of laughter or sarcasm fell from her face, and he could see her fall into submission and felt such pleasure at how quickly that happened for her. It was never a role with Lady Sonia. She was who she was, and Hibbert felt his heart swell with love and pride that she belonged to him.

Lady Sonia stopped in front of him. Hibbert reached out and ran his fingertips up her stocking-clad legs to the smooth skin of her thighs, stopped, and then slowly stroked back down again. When he went up again, he reached around her to touch her full, smooth ass cheeks. He looked up to see her eyes partially closed and saw the small pink nipples of her breasts already as hard as pebbles.

“I want you to lie across my lap, Lady Sonia.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

She went to the side of the chair and leaned forward. He helped her down, holding her securely. “Don’t

be afraid I won’t let you fall.”

“I know, Sir.” Lady Sonia didn’t sound too convinced, but he could also hear the determination in her voice to not show it.

She lay across his lap. Hibbert told her to hold on to the legs of the chair while he pressed his hand against the small of her back to hold her against him. His eyes feasted on the view. My God what a sight she was! The garters were pulled tight over the backs of her thighs and attached to the black lace of the stockings. He ran his hand over the back of her legs and down her calves. Then back up to the inside of her thigh and back over to tease the strap of the garter. He ran the tips of his fingers higher over the outside of her ass, which he was saving to explore last, to the small of her back. Her skin was so white, like porcelain, cool and as smooth as silk. He touched the back of her neck and then the pony tail hanging almost to the floor. He grabbed it and pulled gently back, lifting Lady Sonia’s head from its hanging position.

“Are you comfortable little girl,” he said. He didn’t expect her to complain now.

“Yes Daddy,” she said softly.

“We have been waiting for this night all week haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have.” Lady Sonia answered breathlessly with anticipation and just a twinge of fear.

“Do you want me to spank you, Lady Sonia? Do you want me to make your ass all hot and red and My pussy wet and wanting?”

“Ohhhhh yes Sir! Please I want that so much.”

She enflamed him. His cock twitched and pressed as if searching. He seemed to always be searching for her. Hibbert laid his palm across her ass. Slowly and lightly he began to caress her. He felt her breathing quicken, and she stiffened.

“Relax, Lady Sonia. You have to trust me.” He felt her body gradually release its tension as she lay over his lap.

His hands moved across her soft, smooth flesh. He moved from one cheek to the other, feeling every twitch she made in his finger tips. He went lower, to the spot where her leg met her ass. Ohhhhh, how he loved that sweet spot! Hibbert ran his forefinger slowly along the crease between leg and butt cheek, and Lady Sonia wiggled as he got close to her pussy.

“Be still, Lady Sonia. Let me touch you without worrying that you will fall off.”

“Yes Sir,” she said and held herself still. Hibbert smiled down at her effort. She was very active when it came to anything sexual, and forcing her to be still increased her tension.

Hibbert’s moved his fingers along the crack of her ass and down to his favorite possession, Pussy. He very lightly brushed against her labia and then back up to her smooth ass cheeks again. He caressed her for a few more moments and then raised his hand and let the slap fall squarely upon her left cheek. Lady Sonia jumped in his lap and he held her tightly as his hand fell again on right cheek. Then back to the left, then the right, then a caress to smooth the skin and to her get used to the sting.

Hibbert noticed his heart pounding hard and felt his hand raining down in the same tempo on Lady Sonia’s ass and thighs. A very nice shade of pink was starting to rise in her white skin. His cock was pressing hard up against her. She moved to press her pelvis down onto it. Hibbert shut his eyes, feeling his cock pulse and throb. It wanted out, but he wouldn’t think of that until he was finished with the spanking.

“Your cock is hard Lady Sonia. Do you feel it?”

“Yes Sir,” her voice breathless.

“Do you want more Lady Sonia?”

“Yes, please, Daddy.”

He loved the way she said “Daddy.” His slut, his little girl! He brought his hand up and this time brought it down hard, in the center of her ass cheek, then on the other side just as hard. He poured blows on her thighs, making them as pink as her ass. Lady Sonia moaned and wiggled, both to meet the sexuality of it and to temper the pain. When she tried to close her thighs around her pussy, Hibbert instead moved his hand down and cupped her sex. Heat radiating from her sex; he pressed a finger into her slit.

“Your pussy is so wet, little girl. Does Daddy turn you on when he spanks you?

“Oh yes Daddy!”

He inserted his finger into her warm, moist cunt, working it in. Her pussy gripped his finger and he could feel her cunt suck him. Lady Sonia pressed back against his hand, moaning and eager for him to continue, or to increase his pace, to make her come. Hibbert slid the finger out, coated in her juices and spread it on her clit. Lady Sonia had the most sensitive, tiniest clit Hibbert had ever felt. He was amazed at how something so tiny could cause her so much pleasure. He circled the little nub while she wiggled with new eagerness.

“Don’t move, Lady Sonia!” It was an order.

She stopped. He took his hand from her pussy and rubbed it over her ass then down her legs again. Whack! He slapped her ass. He went into a steady rhythm, slowly building in speed and intensity. He loved the feel of the heat that was radiating from her soft flesh, her cheeks becoming redder with every slap.

“Ouch!” Lady Sonia cried out suddenly and all but jumped from his lap. Hibbert tightened his grip and looked down at her with concern.

“What is it?” He asked.

“That hurts!”

“It’s supposed to, Lady Sonia,” he said, frowning in confusion

“I know, Sir.”

“Lady Sonia you have to use your safeword if you want me to slow down or stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop Sir. I just needed to say ouch.”

“Oh.” Hibbert frowned down at her and then broke out into a big smile. Of course, she would say ouch. Lady Sonia always said what was on her mind.

“Do you want more, Lady Sonia?”

“Yes Daddy…but?”

“What?” He asked, starting to feel a little perplexed by the woman over his lap with her sex open to him, her head dangling down and her red ponytail dragging on the beige carpet. He looked at her ass, pink from the top of her cheeks down to where the stockings started near the middle of her thighs. His hand caressed the hot skin as he waited for Lady Sonia to say what it is that she wanted.

“Uh…well…can you do it a little harder please?”

“Oh, you are such a naughty slut.”

“Yes Sir!” Lady Sonia giggled and Hibbert slapped her ass hard enough to cause her to flinch and cry out,

“Owwww!”

He began spanking her harder and harder. He could feel the damp oozing from his cock. Lady Sonia’s ass was hot and red. His hand was stinging from the force. Hibbert slipped a finger into her pussy and was amazed at how wet she was. Her pussy juices coated his finger. He rubbed her clit and she moaned and pressed against him. It was difficult now with Lady Sonia writhing against his hand; he could hear sobs mixed in with her moans and knew not much more would be needed to send her over the edge.

“Ohhhhh Daddy!” She cried out, a mixture of tears and lust.

“I want you to come, Lady Sonia.” He fingered her faster, harder, until her body began tensing. Her cunt sucked at his fingers, her clit was swollen and hard.

“Come slut, come now for your Daddy!”

“Ohhhhh God! Ohhhhh Daddy!” Lady Sonia cried out and came against his hand, pressing hard and increasingly wet and slick against his palm and fingers. He rubbed and stroked her until he felt her spasms lessen. He stopped to caress her ass and pussy. He could hear her sobbing harder now and could feel her body tremble with emotion and the need she still felt. She was never finished with one orgasm and the next would be stronger and more intense.

“Lady Sonia, slide off of me please.” His voice was raw with feeling as Lady Sonia slid down his lap to lie at his feet. Her hands wrapped around his legs, and she cried. Her body shook from too many endorphins. He looked down at her for a moment as love and lust for her consumed him. He gently removed her hands from around his leg and helped her up from the floor to her knees. Hibbert took her face into his hands and looked down at her tear-streaked eyes and open mouth as she tried to catch her breath. He thought she had never looked more beautiful. He leaned forward and kissed one eye then the other, moving down to kiss her tear stained cheeks, tasting the saltiness of tears. She sniffed loudly, and he smiled. He reached over to her vanity table and took a tissue, handing it to her so she could blow her nose.

“Are you alright, dear?”

“Yes, Daddy! I feel great,” and with that she burst into tears again, this time mixed with giggles. She was on a high now and he could tell that if he didn’t reign her in she would be off and bubbling. So, he helped her to her feet and gave her another tissue. After drying her eyes, he motioned for her to turn around for him. This time her shyness was gone and she spun around proudly showing off her very bright red ass cheeks.

“Can I see, Daddy?”

“Yes you may,” Hibbert laughed.

Lady Sonia went to the mirror hanging on the wall and looked at herself. She twisted to the left, and then to the right, to get the full view of the damage that had been inflicted on her soft skin. She smiled and reached back to touch one flaming cheek.

“Oooo it’s hot!” She said with a giggle and winced from the pain, and then she giggled again.

“Yes, and pussy is still wet and Daddy’s cock is very tired of being cooped up.”

Lady Sonia looked down to his crotch and licked her lips. In her most seductive walk, which wasn’t much considering how much she wobbled in her shoes, she came forward, looking Hibbert right in the eye. His cock twitched the closer she got.

“What can I do for my Cock?” Lady Sonia asked looking into Hibbert’s eyes with so much love he felt his heart melt.

“Suck me,” he said quietly. Lady Sonia fell to her knees and wasted no time undoing his fly to release the hard cock from its confines. She took it lovingly into her hands and leaned forward to kiss the head. She rubbed the head over her mouth and face, the whole time looking up into his eyes. Hibbert grabbed her ponytail and pulled her face down onto his cock. He wanted to bury himself in her mouth and down her throat. She was so warm and wet, her tongue circling around and around the shaft. He felt his balls tighten and the head of his cock swell. He could hear her slight gags when he thrust against the back of her throat. He thought briefly that he should care if he was being too rough with her, but quickly stopped caring as feelings of pure lust had him pumping himself into her mouth.

His hands pulled out the elastic band from her hair and tossed it to the floor. He weaved his fingers through her long tresses. He loved how silky her hair felt and that sensation, mixed with the wet sucking of her mouth, was almost too much for him to keep control of himself. He knew if let her keep this up he would come soon. Closing his eyes and concentrating for a few more seconds on the delicious sensations, he eased himself out of her mouth and pulled her to her feet.

He kissed her long and deep. Lady Sonia melted into him and kissed him back with as much passion as he gave her. Their tongues each swirled around the other, and Hibbert felt his cock throb violently as Lady Sonia sucked his tongue into her mouth, working it as if she still had her lips around his penis. He ran his hands down her back to her ass where he could still feel the soft heat from the spanking against his palms. He pulled her hard against him as if he could make them one flesh. He ravished her mouth and felt her complete surrender to the kiss and more importantly to him.

He broke off the kiss and pushed her backward onto the bed. Lady Sonia’s legs wantonly opened, eager to receive him. Her eyes shone with lust, and Hibbert knew he was done with spankings and foreplay. He had to have her in the oldest way right now! He climbed onto the bed and between Lady Sonia’s white thighs. He held his own cock to guide himself into her sweet, hot pussy. He felt the wetness open around him and he couldn’t keep from plunging into her; he felt her pussy suck him in deeper, then resist. He pushed and felt her open tightly around the head of his cock. Her hips rose from the bed and her legs came up to wrap around his waist.

Hibbert rose up on his hands and looked down at her. Her red hair fanned out on the sheets, her full breasts rising and falling, ready for attention with eager, pink nipples. He was only too happy to give the girls what they wanted and lowered his head to suck one nipple into his mouth. Lady Sonia stroked his head as he began sucking, and she moved against him, cooing as he began fucking her.

He went from one nipple to the other, but then his cock became too demanding. Hibbert pulled his cock nearly out of Lady Sonia’s pussy, teased her opening for several seconds until she began to breathe harder, and then plunged it back in again. He did this over and over, until he was thrusting hard and fast into her. Her moans grew louder, her eyes shut tight. Hibbert slipped a hand between them and touched her clit causing Lady Sonia to arch her back and let out a loud moan. He rubbed her clit in a firm steady circular motion and continued to drive his cock into her. He could feel his balls drawing tight and knew it wouldn’t be long now.

“Look at me Lady Sonia.” She opened her eyes. “Come with me.”

“Yesssssssssss Daddy!”

They were lost in the passion and each other, their eyes saying what they felt in that moment. Hibbert let out a loud moan that mingled with Lady Sonia’s softer cries as their orgasms ripped through their bodies merging in the sweet release of passion and love. Hibbert closed his eyes for a moment and reveled in the feelings of joy that wash over a man when he comes with the woman he loves, His Lady Sonia, His love and slave. He opened his eyes and smiled down at her. She giggled and hugged him tight against her.

“I love you, my Hibbert!” She whispered.

“I love you, my Lady Sonia.” He whispered back and rolled off her gathering her in his arms and holding her close as they regained their breath.

“Daddy?”

“Yes sweetie?”

“Can we have a Saturday night spanking night too?”

Hibbert laughed and hugged her tighter. That was his Lady Sonia…slut to the core. God how he loved it, and her!

“You see, I want you dressed up nice and fine so I can take before and after shots of you for the web. It is amazing what you can do with an expensive phone these days. You will look directly into my phone and tell the entire world who you are. Wait…I have a better idea. Once you are dressed you will say, Hi, I am Dr. Lady Sonia and I am a hooker. You will give me a cheery smile in your fine clothes. We want everyone to know what a great doctor you were. Then you will take off your clothes and stay in your bra and panties while you tell them you really just wanted to be a hooker all along and pose nicely for me. I am going to send this stuff to my email address and maybe if you are a good girl it won’t go on my ‘Sluts for Femdom’ website. You see it will be like before and after pictures. Now won’t that be fun? Remember, you are in my stable of girls now.” Dr. Sonia began to cry as the realization of what was happening sunk in.

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Thighboots, Lingerie, Cock Milking, Uniforms Interracial sex and many more naughty naughty things here at www.freesonia.com – Make sure to bookmark us or subscribe to the RSS feeds so you can be up to date with all the latest Lady Sonia photo and video shoots.

Lady Sonia in Her Bra and Underwear

Fetish Office Members Section

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More Free Pictures Here from www.lady-sonia.com

Want to see me bend over so you can take a nice long stare up at my ass?
I promise I wont be mad. My skirt is just too small to cover my whole bum and you can see it all, my pantyhose dont do much to conceal my pussy either… What to do?

More Pictures Here

Banking for Beginners

Henry Clegg looked nervously around at the departure lounge. Of course he really knew that the armed police, in their flack jackets, carrying their disturbing array of weaponry, were only there to provide security, but he couldn’t help feeling that they were also keeping a close eye on him, personally.

In Henry’s mind the question was which of the forces of law and order would be first through the door of the departure lounge ready to snatch away his ticket and boarding card before he could get to his flight. There was the bank’s inspection department, their auditors, the financial services regulator, the head of consumer finance watch, and of course the police themselves. And that didn’t include the irate parents of his recently pregnant P.A. Lately things just seemed to have piled up and now he was just glad to be getting out. Some bankers might be getting bailed out but it certainly didn’t seem to extend to him.

“Air Kushtia is pleased to announce the departure of flight 003 to Riga, Strigino, Tashkent and Kolin. Passengers should please board now through gate 27.”

Henry felt relieved by the announcement. He picked up the small bag that carried the few things that would sustain him on board and scurried towards the gate. It had been awfully good of Uncle Freddie to arrange this for him, he thought, and at such short notice. He’d certainly needed the chance of a new job somewhere far away from where he had been working. Somewhere far removed from structured funding arrangements linked to the American sub-prime market, the fall out from his deal with Lehman Brothers, from his negotiations with a certain savings bank in the North East of England or indeed the exit strategy for his finances that he had arranged with Landsbanki, Glitnir, and Kaupthing in Iceland.

With his current set of problems, the Kushtian capital of Kolin had sounded attractive at the instant that Freddie had mentioned it; if only because he’d never heard of it before and he could readily imagine that none of the people who were hoping to find him would have heard of it either. At the very least it would allow him to keep his head down for a few months. That way he could wait until the more acrimonious scalp hunting had finished and then he could work out what his options were.

The boarding gate was curiously quiet. Looking around, as far as Henry could tell, he was the only passenger. Airline staff walking back along the pier to the terminal building looked at him with what seemed to Henry like a mixture of astonishment and sympathy. Henry got his first inkling of why when the stewardess came forward to open the gate. He wasn’t sure what sort of ‘plane the flight was using but with her bulk he hoped it was a large one. He’d been used to the idea of wide bodied aircraft, he was surprised to see it applied to cabin crew too. She peered at him through thick lensed, heavy black framed spectacles and beckoned him forward. Henry looked around to make sure it was him she wanted but to his disappointment there was no one else.

As he handed the woman his boarding card, his eyes were drawn to the thick dark moustache that adorned her top lip. She misinterpreted his startled curiosity for some form of flirtatious interest and handed him his boarding card back with a disturbing smile. As Henry got back to his seat he noticed her adjusting her dark brown uniform jacket in some sort of vain attempt to pretend that it had anything to do with the figure of the woman underneath it. When she straightened her jacket, her body appeared to move off in another direction entirely. As far as Henry could tell the uniform had been created by dyeing a khaki Soviet army jacket with cold tea and replacing the badges with the insignia of Air Kushtia. You could still see darker patches where the military badges that had been there before had stopped the fabric from fading.

When the fight attendant pulled back the curtain that closed off the boarding ramp he was only too pleased to slide past her and on towards the plane.

As he walked down the ramp he peered out of the window into the gathering gloom of the evening. The aircraft that was waiting for him was no sleek jet but one of the largest propeller driven aircraft that Henry had ever seen. With its thin fuselage, steeply swept back wings and four large engines each carrying two sets of propellers, the thing looked more like a bomber from the cold war than any sort of airliner that Henry had travelled on. He would have to ask his uncle about it, Henry thought, Freddie knew a lot about aircraft. He emerged from the ramp close to tail of the aircraft. Its fin and rudder stretched up high above him. Henry could see the insignia of Air Kushtia on the fin; it appeared to have been painted over a Soviet red star. Maybe his theories about cold war bombers weren’t so far off the mark.

The bulky, moustachioed, flight attendant was waiting at the head of the stairway as he climbed up to the rear passenger door. Henry was a bit puzzled as to how she might have got there given that she hadn’t passed him on the ramp but he managed to squeeze by her. As he did so he realised that it was not, after all, the same woman as had checked his ticket at the gate. He was depressed by the idea that, in Kushtia, maybe all women looked like this.

He stepped into the cabin and looked around, wondering at how an interior designer could find a use for so many shades of brown. He found his seat and stowed his flight bag in the overhead locker.

The engines coughed into life. He was evidently going to be alone for the first leg of the flight at least. He heard the flight attendant slam the rear door of the aircraft and then, obviously not happy that it had shut properly, slam it again. He was beginning to wonder if Freddie had done him such a favour after all.

The aircraft seemed to lope across the tarmac towards the runway before lurching upward with a whine of engines and staggering into the air. Henry thought the best thing to do would be to get some sleep.

“Henry George Arthur Clegg,” the judge was saying. “You have been responsible for defrauding your employer and the customers of your bank. You have caused distress and hardship. You have been found guilty of fraud and it is the sentence of this court that you will be taken from here to a place of confinement and then to a place of execution where you shall be hanged by the neck until you are dead in twenty minutes.”

“In twenty minutes,” thought Clegg, “what sort of sentence was that? Where’s the time for appeals? That can’t be right.”

“In twenty minutes. Sir, we will be landing in Riga in twenty minutes. Please you must fasten your belt seat.”

Henry looked up with relief, waking up with a jump to find the flight attendant tugging at his arm. He nodded to show understanding, fiddled with the controls of his seat to slide it upright and strapped himself in, ready for what he feared would be a bumpy landing.

At Riga the flight was joined by more passengers, a small group of men in dark suits, dark shirts, dark ties and dark glasses that sat together and spoke not a word for the entire 4 hours of the next leg of the fight to Strigino. They left the fight there and Henry had the opportunity to stretch his legs while the plane refuelled.

The flight took off again heading to Tashkent. An hour out from Strigino, one of the engines coughed and failed, its propellers shuddering to a halt. Clegg waved the stewardess over to show her but she seemed neither surprised nor even very interested. At least that was reassuring, thought Clegg. Certainly it didn’t seem to interfere with the aircraft continuing its flight.

At Tashkent there was much shouting and excitement on the tarmac beneath his window as mechanics debated what if anything could or should be done about the faulty engine. A ladder was brought. Anch argument ensued. There was much banging and thumping from the engine nacelle as shouts of encouragement were offered from the ground. Clegg dozed off again, not anxious to witness exactly how they managed to get the plane airborne again.

By the time he woke again the plane was well into the final leg of the flight. Keen for a drink he decided to risk the attentions of the hirsute cabin staff and reached up for the stewardess call button. It came away as he tugged at it.

Henry, embarrassed, was trying to push it back into place when he realised that a stewardess was beside his seat. “What can I do to help, Sir?” a soft voice asked.

Henry turned to see a vision of loveliness staring down at him. The flight attendant was evidently no relative of the one that had crewed on the earlier parts of the flight. This girl was, Henry judged, barely twenty. She had almond shaped, dark brown eyes and a dark complexion. Her face was modestly veiled but her belly was naked, a jewel sparkling in her navel. Her uniform looked more like something that belonged in a middle eastern harem. Henry thought it a great improvement over the one earlier that had appeared to have been acquired from a T34 tank regiment. She reached across him to push the call button back into the panel. Her breasts were only inches from his face.

“Ah, a, ah, err yes, ah, a scotch please,” Henry stuttered.

“Of course.” The girl disappeared and returned moments later pushing a trolley with a tray carrying three bottles of different malts, a small ice bucket, a small jug of water and a cut glass tumbler. She knelt in the aisle beside his seat holding the tray towards him. “Which would you like sir?” she said.

Henry happy at the improvement in cabin service grinned. “The Laphroaig,” he said, “please.”

The girl smiled again, poured a stiff measure of the drink, offered him ice and water both of which he refused and then handed him the glass before kneeling again beside him to ask if there was anything else he needed.

It was only later, when Henry had learned much more of the compliant and obliging nature of Kushtian women, that he realised that he had missed an opportunity. As it was he settled for a bag of nuts.

© Freddie Clegg 2008

All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.

All characters fictitious

E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/

Chapter 2 : Kolin International

The arrival formalities in Kolin seemed no more or less tedious than at any airport. That was one of the sad things about the development of air travel, Henry thought. After leaving Heathrow he felt there was nothing to choose between a run down, fly-blown, derelict airport with third world catering and the capital of Kushtia. Henry allowed himself a grin. Freddie would be furious if he heard him say that. One thing about his uncle – Freddie could be fiercely patriotic.

He emerged from the baggage claim, surprised that his bag seemed to have had no worse a flight than he had, and headed for customs. As Freddie had suggested, the informal entry visa of a $10 bill left carelessly in his passport speeded his admission to the People’s Democratic Republic of Kushtia.

In the arrivals hall, a short dark man was waiting carrying a cardboard sign with the words “Henly Cregg” scrawled on it. Henry thought that was close enough and presented himself to the man. He pointed to the exit and headed off towards it, barely giving Henry enough time to collect his bags and stagger after him. Henry found him outside sitting in a battered Zil limousine. He tossed his bag into the back and climbed in alongside the driver. As the car pulled away, Henry grasped at once the reason why so many Russian leaders used to be seen scowling so frequently.

It was dark. The complete lack of street lighting meant that Henry’s first impressions of Kushtia would be delayed until the morning. It was probably just as well. The airport road ran into town past a series of factories, cement plants, steel works and chemical refineries. It wasn’t the most attractive of routes.

When Freddie had set things up he’d asked Henry if he’d prefer the Kolin Holiday Inn or the Kolin Centrallum Hotel. Henry had opted for the latter, not wanting to check into yet another impersonal international chain hotel. As Henry climbed out of the Zil in front of the hotel he now realised why Freddie had said, “Well, if you’re sure….”

The hotel front was in complete darkness apart from a feeble bulb glowing over the front door. Henry pushed his way inside, dragging his bag behind him.

The lobby of the hotel was, however, much more welcoming than its exterior. There was light, there were comfortable looking chairs, there was a bar and, most intriguing of all, there was a woman naked apart from a veil that covered the lower half of her face, dancing on a table for the amusement of the guests. Henry though that Kushtia or at least the hotel had something going for it after all.

A loud cough from behind him drew his attention away from the spectacle in the bar. His driver was waiting. Evidently the opportunity to leer at naked flesh wasn’t sufficient recompense for his trip. Henry nodded towards the naked woman, “Not your sort of thing?”

“Ah, maybe. Without the veil, that would be something. With it – well you westerners may find it a novelty, perhaps.” He shrugged. Henry found him another $10 bill. The man flashed Henry a toothy grin and left.

By the time that Henry had registered and been given his room key the almost naked woman had, to his disappointment, gone. In spite of the absence of entertainment Henry made his way back to the bar. He ordered a beer. The barman insisted that he could only serve alcohol to foreign nationals and was then disappointed when Henry showed him his passport, the extra tips for this illegal service obviously making up part of what he considered his rightful payment entitlement. Henry sat down. There had been a message waiting for him at the check in desk. He opened the envelop to read it.

“Good greeting and most welcome to Kolin,” it said in neat handwriting on headed notepaper that proclaimed itself as coming from the People’s Bank of Kushtia. “It is my great pleasure that a brother son of the most excellent Freddie should be here in our country. My many distraughts that I can be not wit you tonight but will join in the morning feed time. Your most extraordinary correspondent. Kerren Kerrish. General Manager and Chief Cashier”

He re-read it and felt he had managed to take from it all the meaning that might be held within. Henry sank another beer and then a third before retiring to bed in anticipation of his meeting the following morning.

++ ++ ++

Kerren Kerrish arrived the following morning in time to interrupt Henry’s breakfast as he sat alone in the hotel restaurant. Henry saw him arrive at the doorway. He wasn’t sure that the man would actually get through it. Kerrish was man with a bushy white beard and a substantial girth. If his complexion had been lighter he might have made some store an ideal festive Santa Claus. “What delights, Mr Clegg, what delights,” he boomed as he stepped across to Henry’s table.

Clegg got to his feet. “Mr Kerrish,” he said, “good morning. It’s very good to see you.”

“Indeed. Indeed. And for me it is very good to see you. The bank needs your expertise. I understand from Mr Freddie Clegg that you have held a very responsible position in your British banking system. It is most good of you to bring those skills to Kushtia.”

Henry was quite happy to accept Mr Kerrish’s plaudits even though he wasn’t sure that his career in banking to date warranted them. It sounded as though Freddie had done a more than effective job in selling his capabilities to the Kushtians. He went on with his breakfast. Kerren Kerrish was offered coffee by Henry’s waiter and gladly took a cup.

“So. We have for you a nice office. We are very advanced here, with computers and everything. You will see. Just like your old lady of needle threading street.” Henry looked puzzled until he realised that Kerren was talking about the Bank of England. He wasn’t sure that he believed Kerren any more than he did his uncle. Kerren Kerrish finished his coffee. “We go to the bank now. You find we work for mornings just. From 10 o’clock to one o’clock. That is enough for work. Then after for pleasure and rest. Better that way than work all times. So we go to the bank now.”

Henry nodded. He could see that the hardest part of the job was likely to be understanding just what his boss was talking about, but then, he thought, that’s hardly the first time.

++ ++ ++

The head office of the People’s Bank of Kushtia turned out to be a short stroll across the square from the hotel. Kerren Kerrish was bulky but surprisingly agile as he bobbed through the crowds, avoiding the clouds of diesel fumes belching from the buses that seemed to take little notice of pedestrians whether they were in the road or on the pavement. Henry followed him, narrowly avoiding being run down on several occasions.

A doorman waved them into the bank with an expansive gesture and a deep bow to Kerrish. Inside, the banking hall was suitably impressive with heavy wooden counters, brass rails and grills for the staff; deep leather chairs and polished tables for the customers. Kerren Kerrish swept through the hall, staff bowing as he passed them, Henry hurrying along behind him. Kerrish led the way into an enormous office with a desk the size of a billiards table. “Head of Business Banking and Credit Services” it said on the door. Henry wondered what the owner of the office was like; it looked like this was going to be his new boss.

“Take a seat,” said Kerrish, gesturing to the chair behind the desk. “You should get used to your new office.” Henry was beginning to worry that Freddie might have oversold his capabilities. “I will have your chief clerk acquaint you with the bank’s procedures. He will be able to take care of most things for you. Trust your staff, Mr Henry, they are capable men. Now you will need a secretary.”

“I suppose so,” Henry was still somewhat bemused by the turn of events that had him disappearing from one bank pursued by the authorities on one day and marching into this enormous office on the next. He wished he knew a bit more about Kushtia than he did. All he had to go on was that it was along way from London, Freddie’s assurance that “they’re a reasonable bunch of chaps” and the fact that Freddie had done business with them for a while

“Do you have a preference?”

Henry thought for a moment. If he had been honest he’d have expressed a wish for someone more like the stewardess on the Tashkent-Kolin leg of his flight out than the one that had welcomed him on board at London but he felt that would probably be seen as politically incorrect. “I’m sure that any of the bank’s secretaries will be well able to fulfil the role, Mr Kerrish,” he said to Kerren. “I will be advised by you.”

Kerren looked puzzled for a moment but then said, “Well, I shall send you one. I hope you find her suitable.”

© Freddie Clegg 2009

All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.

All characters fictitious

E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com

Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/

1. Chapter 3: Suitable Staff

There was a knock on his office door and, once Henry had realised that whoever was outside was waiting to be invited in, a young woman entered. Kerren Kerrish had been as good as his word and based on his first sight of her Henry thought she would be very suitable indeed.

She was, he supposed, about twenty one or twenty two years old and wore a curious combination of western and what he assumed was traditional Kushtian dress. On her head she wore a pill box hat from which draped a scarf that hung across the lower half of her face veiling all of her features apart from a pair of sparkling, dark brown eyes fringed with long lashes. If her headwear was traditional, Kushtian and modest, the rest of her outfit was anything but. She wore a white blouse that fitted tightly across her breasts and her skirt while straight and tailored was slit so that with each step Henry was afforded an excellent view of her legs. He waved her into the office. To his delight Henry realised that the girl was wearing stockings and, from the way she strode across the room, her skirt dividing at each step, she didn’t mind that he knew it.

“Mr Kerrish said I should see to anything at all that you needed,” she said. Henry thought her tone distinctly flirtatious. She was carrying a set of files. As she leant forward to place the files on his desk, Henry had an excellent view of her cleavage. He felt it hadn’t been accidental.

“Well, Miss ..” he began.

“Anchari Astana,” the woman said. “I am called Anchari. But my friends call me Anch, please.”

“Well Anch,” Henry went on. “I hope you will be able to help me. This is all very new to me.”

“I’m sure I can help,” she sat herself on the desk beside him, crossing her nylon sheathed legs. “Mr Kerrish was very keen for me to do all I can. Oh, excuse me.” Henry realised that the top button of her blouse had given up the unequal battle to keep her blouse closed and had become unfastened. Anch refastened it without embarrassment and then turned her attention back to Henry. “So what should I do first of all?”

“Well, why don’t you take off that veil,” Henry said, “I’m sure you don’t need it in here.”

Anch leapt to her feet, startling Henry and shouting. “What do you take me for? Mr Kerrish said I should be nice to you but you treat me like some common huna! I am no huna!” She stormed out of the room, practically knocking over Kerren Kerrish as she pushed passed him in the doorway.

Henry was on his feet calling her to come back but she ignored him. Kerren Kerrish looked at Henry. “What ever has upset Miss Astana? She is one of our most experienced staff. She seemed very distressed.”

“I don’t understand,” Henry said. “She seemed – well – very friendly.”

Kerrish smiled. “Kushtian girls are all very friendly,” he said, “you will have no difficulty finding companionship for your relaxations in the afternoons. Miss Astana would be very suitable. Yes?”

“Well I hadn’t thought of that but yes.” Henry was surprised by Kerrish’s casual suggestion that his secretary would be happy to provide sexual favours. “But I have obviously upset her.”

“I am surprised, good friend. Of course the appetites of the Cleggs are legendary but even so I cannot imagine what you could have said that would have scandalised Miss Astana so.”

“But I made no improper suggestion, I simply suggested that she take off her veil and ….”

“Ah!” Kerrish threw up his hands. “Ah! I understanding. Such a thing is not nice here in Kushtia. For a girl to show her face before her marriage. No! Only the poorest of women in Kushtia would dream of going without a veil. You will find that Kushtian girls are most accommodating in every other respect but they would find such a thing deeply insulting.”

“She said I was treating her like a common – what was the word – huna?”

“Oh yes. A girl dog.”

“Bitch?”

“Yes, bitch. It is an insult to call a woman so in English? Even though you love your dogs?”

“Yes. Look can I apologise to her?”

“No. No. That is not the way.” Kerren’s face had a look of astonished disbelief. “No man can apologise to a Kushtian girl. That would bring great loss of face. Please let me explain to her your misunderstanding. She may forgive you. I will do what I can. This is what friends are for. Leave this to your friend. See.” Kerren excused himself and left the office.

A few minutes later the girl reappeared, knocking politely at the door to the office. Henry beckoned her in. Before he could say anything she spoke. “Mr Kerrish has explained that you do not know our ways and traditions. I should have explained how things are here. Please forgive me.” She lowered her eyes to the floor.

Henry was grateful for the opportunity to repair things. “That is quite all right,” he said. “I have much to learn. I am sure you will be able to help me.”

“So, you would like me to stay?”

“Yes, yes indeed.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you,” Anch said. “I was afraid that you did not like me and that your words were intended to make me go.”

“Not in the least. Now perhaps you could explain these files. I suppose that I should try to understand them.”

“First some coffee though? You would like?”

“I would like very much. Thank you, Anch. What is ‘thank you’ in Kushtian?”

“Thaknarish.”

“Thaknarish,” Henry imitated.

“Very good,” Anch clapped her hands delightedly. “I will get coffee.”

She returned moments later with a large brass jug and two tiny porcelain cups and poured them each some of the thick, black liquid. Henry took a sip. The coffee was warm rather than hot and extremely sweet and strong. “Thaknarish,” said Henry, raising his cup to Anch.

She lifted hers in response, “You say ‘cheers’ in English?”

“That’s right. You speak very good English.”

“Thank you,” said Anch. “We learn at school. It is a difficult language. Much harder than Kushtian. So many words.”

Henry was enjoying the discussion. Anch was an attractive girl. Even if her face was veiled, the rest of her physical attributes more than made up for that. His eyes were drawn to the swell of her breasts and then, as he looked up, he saw that she had noticed his stare and her eyes told him that she was smiling behind her veil. “Ah, err, yes,” Henry stuttered.

“Do not be embarrassed Mr Clegg,” Anch said. “All Kushtian men admire the woman. They all like the breasts. Do you think mine are nice? Sometimes I think they are too small. Perhaps one day I will go to America or London and get new, big breasts.”

“They are lovely, Anch. I don’t think they need to be any bigger.”

“I’m not sure,” she started to unbutton her blouse, obviously anxious for some further reassurance.

Henry was more concerned not to get thrown out of his job on his first morning and was anxious to encourage her to put them away without offending her again. “Err, your medallion,” he said pointing to the disk that hung from a cord around her neck. “That’s very attractive. Is that gold?”

His question distracted Anch from inspecting her breasts although she did nothing to fasten her blouse. She lifted up the bright disk and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “It is my properta. All Kushtian women wear them. I am lucky to have this in gold.”

“Properta? Like the English word ‘property’?”

“Yes that is right. It shows the household that I belong to. Luckily my household is wealthy so my properta is made of gold. With the properta anyone can tell from which household a woman is belonging to. The household is very important in Kushtia. It is the centre of our lives. To wear the properta of a wealthy household is to have high status. I am very lucky. Now please come and tell me what you think of my breasts.”

“Ah, well, surely not here in the office.”

“Of course. This is why we have cubicon.”

“Cubicon?”

Anch gestured to a curtain against one wall. She took Henry by the hand and led him towards it. Pulling back the curtain, she revealed a small recess with a couch littered with large cushions. “Here,” she said leading him to the couch and encouraging him to lie down. “Cubicon is very important for senior managers. Too much stress is very bad for you. Here you can have your stress relieved. Part of my job is to ensure that your stress is least. I feel you are tense and need to have less stress.” Henry gulped. He had to admit feeling stressed but he wasn’t prepared to tell Ann that she was the cause rather than the cure. “All Kushtian men like breasts. Are English men the same?” she said, kneeling astride him, pulling off her blouse and reaching behind her back to unfasten her bra. Her full, dark breasts spilled forward towards him.

“Ah,” said Henry appreciatively. “Yes, ah, yes, English men do like breasts, generally. And these are very nice indeed, err, very nice.”

“But they should be bigger? Yes?”

“No, not at all Anch,” Henry was thinking that if these were any bigger he would be in serious danger if one or other of them hit him. “I don’t think they need to be any bigger. No, not at all.”

“You English men are so polite. It is very nice. I shall play your piscalo.”

“Piscalo?”

“Oh, in Kushtian, it is a musical instrument. Like a – what? – flute. But it also means…” She pointed down to his crotch and in response to his “Oh!” dived for the zip of his trousers and, pushing her veil aside, quickly had her tongue around his prick. Henry decided that he was in no position to argue with Kushtian traditions and leant back to enjoy it.

Anch didn’t pause when Kerren Kerrish put his head around the cubicon curtain. “Ah! Good! You are falling into our ways. That is excellent. Miss Astana is very capable as a secretary is she not?”

“Indeed. Ah!” Henry gasped in between Anch’s enthusiastic sucking and licking. He found it difficult to hold up his part of the conversation while his other end was being kept up so effectively by his secretary.

“Well. Shortly in my office please join me. No needing to hurry. Just when Miss Astana has finished her present tasks.”

Henry nodded and Kerrish left. Anch continued. She was apparently undisturbed by Kerren’s arrival but skilfully and swiftly brought Henry to orgasm, licking him clean of his jism with enthusiasm. She reached down beside the couch and pulled out a small silken cloth with which she wiped and dried Henry’s member. The gentle touch of the cloth, so carefully used, seemed to encourage Henry’s prick back into life. “There,” she said. “Now you will feel much more relaxed. Ready for your meeting with Mr Kerren.”

Henry had to admit that he was feeling significantly improved by his encounter with Anch. He got up from the couch, zipped his fly and headed off towards the office of Kerren Kerrish.

© Freddie Clegg 2009

All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.

All characters fictitious

E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com

Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/

Chapter 4 : Loan Agreement

Kerren Kerrish’s office was even larger than Henry’s. It was hardly surprising, Henry thought, but it did mean you ought to be able to get a taxi from the door to the desk. As he arrived, Kerrish emerged from what Henry took to be his own cubicon, followed a moment later by a leggy dark haired women in her late thirties, Henry guessed. She gathered her wrap around dress about her with a flourish that left Henry uncertain what if anything he had seen of her body and left the pair of them to their discussions.

At Kerren’s suggestion,. Henry took a seat. “I have small project for you,” he said. “No doubt simple after your many triumphs for Bank of England” Henry thought for a moment – he didn’t remember claiming that but maybe Freddie had polished Henry’s CV a little. “One of our best customers has a chance for new business making. An opportunity but – as is always – it needs funding.”

“I guess that’s good news for us,” said Henry.

“Indeed, indeed. With no need for money where would a bank be? But, of course, not all opportunities are as splendid as they seem. Some have greater risk than others, some require more security than others, some will generate a greater return than others. I would like you to talk to our customer, assess the opportunity, advise me on the risk, determine what interest you think we should charge.”

“Fine. I can do that.” Henry wasn’t at all sure that he was qualified. Back in London whenever anyone wanted a loan they just fired up the computer and filled in the forms and the system said yes or no. Nevertheless, Henry thought, how hard could it be? It was probably some farmer looking for a loan to build a barn or something.

“You need to talk to Kushnati Koresh, he is one of our Council Elders. He is not too able to speak English but his wife is American. He has asked for her to deal with this. It is unusual but I suppose we must move with the times in some things.”

Henry didn’t see what was so odd about Koresh’s wife discussing a bank loan but he let Kerren continue.

“Miss Astana will provide you with the files. She will arrange a car for you. Mr Koresh and his wife will be able to see you tomorrow morning. I am sure you will be able to assess their application. Of course as a Council Member Mr Koresh has a preferred status with the Bank, he will be very happy to meet with you.”

Henry wasn’t entirely happy. He felt he might be getting out of his depth in political waters. It sounded like his boss didn’t want to hear that this loan wasn’t a good idea and that, if it did go bad, he’d be the one carrying the can for the bank. Oh well, no change there.

Back in his office, Anch was already waiting for him with the Koresh file. “I have asked for your car to collect you from the hotel in the morning,” she said. “It is one o’clock now so you will go back there, I think. For me it is time to go back to my household too.”

Henry was disappointed, he’d been looking forward to spending some more time with Anch but there would be plenty of other opportunities he thought. “That’s all right, Anch,” he said. “I’ll see you when I get back from talking to Mr Koresh and his wife.”

“His wife? On bank matters? Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mr Kerrish said that she was to be involved in the discussions. Why? Is that odd?”

“Very, Mr Henry, very,” An responded. “In Kushtia a woman is not able to have a bank account. Such things can only be had by a man.”

“But how do you manage? What do you do with your wages? Surely they don’t pay you in cash.”

“No, of course. But I don’t receive wages. The earnings from my work here go to my household. They provide my food and lodging and my clothes and for my care. That is what the properta means, I contribute to my household and they take care of me.”

“I see,” said Henry, not really seeing at all. It sounded very odd.

“Now, I must go, if that is all right, Sir. I have to be back at my household for two o’clock. There are domestic duties to take care of.”

“Yes. Yes. Of course. Well, you must tell me more of your household, Anch. I would be interested to learn more about your life.”

Anch nodded her head and walked across to her desk gathering up a few things for her handbag. She took a magazine from her desk and was about to put it into her bag when she said, “Here is another good Kushtian word for you.” She held out the magazine and pointed to the title. “Yassi!” it said.

“Yassi?” Henry responded, taking the magazine.

“Yes, good,” said Anch. “It means ‘Hello’ or ‘Greetings’.”

Henry nodded and looked again at the magazine’s cover. “Lady Sonia Beckham is as much a celebrity here then?” he said pointing to the cover.

“Oh no. That is not Mr Beckham’s wife. She does look very like her though, I agree. Also called Lady Sonia. That is the chief wife of the son of our Kalinin, our president. She is an English girl.”

“The chief wife? I suppose his others are called Gerri, Emma and Melanie.”

“So you know them? It was very odd, first for a son to marry five wives at once and then for them all to be foreign. He was a big fan of the Spice Girls they say. His wives are all very like them.”

Henry thought the whole thing very odd. “Well, I guess the cult of celebrity extends everywhere these days,” he said. “Well she certainly looks like Posh Spice, or at least the way she looked when last I saw a picture of her. What do people in Kushtia think?”

“She is very scandalous!”

“I see. Because her face is not covered?”

“No, silly. She is a wife, once you are a wife your husband may be happy to display you, if he allows. No, there are rumours about her and other men and that her husband encourages her behaviour. But she has nice breasts, doesn’t she? Should I have my breasts made like those, do you think?”

“Anch, I think your breasts are just fine.”

“Only fine?” In spite of her veil Henry could sense the sulky pout. “But I must go.” She pulled a heavy shawl around her shoulders and then, finally took out a pair of heavy brass bracelets and fastened them on to her wrists. As she stood up to leave Henry saw that the bracelets were linked by a short length of heavy brass chain.

“What are those?” Henry said.

“These?” said Anch turning towards him. “These are manuses.”

“But they’re like handcuffs. Do you walk home wearing those in the street?”

“Yes, of course. Many Kushtian girls wear them. These are very grand. You see how the cuffs are broad and the chain is quite short. That is very much the way they are being worn this year. My household was very good to buy me such fashionable ones. My friend Harana is very jealous. Her’s are not so wide. She tried to hide them under her shawala when she saw mine.” Anch laughed. “I will see you tomorrow Mr Henry,” she said and left him bewildered.

Henry shut up the things in his office and made his way back to the hotel along the empty streets of Kolin. The hotel lobby was deserted he grabbed his key from the rack behind the reception desk and made his way upstairs to his room.

He flicked on the TV. Three channels of TV Kushtia all showed a blank screen with words that said the same thing. “Back at 20:00” he looked at his watch. It was 20:15. There wasn’t anything else. He looked out across the square. It was empty. There didn’t seem much else to do except to sit down and go through the Koresh file. Oh, and maybe introduce himself to the contents of the mini-bar.

By the time it came to think about dinner he’d formed a good view of the nature of Mr. Koresh’s finances. The mini bar had been a disappointment. In a country where you had to show your passport to get hold of alcohol it shouldn’t have surprised him that the small fridge contained only fruit juice. He was glad to toss the file aside and go in search of food and a drink to go with it.

© Freddie Clegg 2009

All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.

All characters fictitious

E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com

Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/

1. Chapter 5 : The Household of Kushnati Koresh

Henry’s car bounced its way across the potholes on the road leading out of Kolin. They crossed the bridge across the almost dry river bed of the Kolin River and headed out through scrubby rocky countryside.

The car stopped outside a large, low, seemingly derelict building. A honk of the car’s horn brought someone to the tall door that filled a high archway halfway along the front wall. Henry peered out of the car. This didn’t look very impressive for someone that was supposedly a Kushtian Council Elder. He climbed out and headed to the door.

As he entered, his opinion changed. The doorway gave onto a courtyard that, in contrast to the barren land outside, was filled with luxuriant foliage. Water played from fountains in the corners of the courtyard. Two veiled women sat chatting on a bench to one side; two others were carrying large baskets of fruit across the courtyard. Henry’s bemusement at the extraordinary difference between the courtyard inside and the countryside outside the walls of the building was interrupted by the muscular young Kushtian man that had opened the door. “For Mr Koresh? From the bank?” he said.

Henry nodded and the young man led the way further into the building. The verdant greens of the courtyard gave way to opulent gold silk and purple velvet wall hangings and finely knotted silk carpets inside. Henry was astonished by the sheer luxury of the surroundings. His mouth was still hanging open when he was shown into a large room furnished in even greater splendour. At one end of the room an old wizened man sat in a wheel chair, gazing vacantly across the room. To the side, on two large padded leather couches, two women reclined, talking to one another in animated fashion. Henry recognised one of them immediately as the woman he had seen earlier on the cover of Yassi! Magazine. The other, much younger, he took to be Koresh’s wife. She got up and approached him, her long skirt brushing across the floor.

Henry offered his hand. “Henry Clegg,” he said. “from the People’s Bank.”

Koresh’s wife and the woman from Yassi! exchanged puzzled glances but then waved him towards their couch. “Hi,” the woman said in a sharp Brooklyn accent, “I’m Lauren – wife of Kushnati Koresh. My friend here is the wife of the eldest son of the Kalinin. He calls her Lady Sonia.”

“I can see why,” Henry said, conscious that she was watching him closely. “I understand that your husband wishes to discuss some financial matters.” Henry looked across to where Kushnati Koresh was sitting in his wheelchair. He didn’t look as if he was up to discussing anything much.

“Of course,” said Lauren. “I will bring him over. I shall need to translate for you.” She walked across to where Kushnati sat, unlocked the brake on his chair and wheeled him back to where Henry was sitting. He stood up and offered his hand. Kushnati Koresh continued to stare straight ahead giving no sign that he had any awareness of Henry’s presence. “I will explain things,” said Lauren. “but first, tell me, Clegg isn’t a very common English name is it? Do you know a Freddie Clegg? A dark haired man with a wiry moustache.”

“Well yes. It’s not a common name. Freddie Clegg is my uncle. That sounds exactly like him. How do you know him?”

“Ah – both Lady Sonia and I had some involvement with one of his companies before we came to Kushtia.”

“I’ll mention it when I talk to him next,” said Henry sociably.

“Oh, I shouldn’t think he’d remember us,” Lady Sonia said acidly.

Henry blinked, puzzled by her response. He knew Freddie had some dealings with the Kushtian’s but why these two women should have been involved he couldn’t imagine. Lauren interrupted. “Can we get on?” Henry nodded. “OK, here’s the pitch. Mr Koresh here has very good contacts with the elders of the tribes in the northern hills. For many years they chose their wives from Russian stock. Recently they have found it difficult to find wives. Through my father in the Trade Ministry I have found how I can solve that. What is need is funding to allow us to satisfy that need; finance for the initial expenses until we can recoup them from our fees.”

Henry was bemused. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m not sure if I’ve got this straight. These elders will pay you to find them wives? Oh, I’m sorry I should be talking to your husband, shouldn’t I?”

“Of course,” said Lauren, “everyone knows that a Kushtian woman cannot borrow money.” Even so Kushnati Koresh showed little sign of understanding what was going on. “But yes, you’re right. They’ll pay a premium because of my husband. He is well respected. They will feel his choice guarantees a good wife.”

“A premium brand?”

“Precisely.”

“So you’d be running a sort of marriage brokers.”

“Sort of.”

“And is it easy to persuade Russian girls that there is a good life to be had in Kushtia?”

“Easy enough. But that will be what we’re doing.” She pointed to herself and Lady Sonia. Henry wasn’t at all sure how Kushnati could contribute anything to the business. He was lolling limply in his chair, dribbling from one corner of his mouth.

Henry quizzed Lauren on the funding required. She made a pretence of consulting her apparently unhearing husband on several occasions but gave Henry all the data he needed. The costs appeared to have been well thought out with substantial sums allocated to the recruitment of potential brides. The girls were very confident of the level of fees that the business could charge. They explained how they needed cash to support it although there was sufficient collateral with Kushnati’s assets.

Well, it was hardly the Dragon’s Den, thought Henry, but, apart from the fact that Kushnati Koresh looked to be pretty much a sleeping partner in the enterprise, there seemed to be no reason why the bank shouldn’t advance the money. “If you can have your husband sign the necessary documents, I am sure that the bank will support this,” Henry said.

Lady Sonia raised an eyebrow at Lauren but she simply said, “Leave the forms with me, I’ll get him to sign them when he’s feeling better. Won’t you darling?” This time at least Kushnati managed a flick of an eyelid, though whether of agreement or not Henry could hardly say.

Henry got up to leave. Lauren rang a bell and a muscular man appeared. He gave Lauren a lascivious leer. “Our overseer will take you back to your car,” Lauren said. The man looked disappointed but turned to Henry to indicate the way he should go.

As Henry began to walk towards the door, the overseer stepped between Lauren and her husband and, ignoring the old man in the wheel chair, gripped Lauren in a tight embrace, locking his mouth onto hers and pawing at her breasts.

Lady Sonia looked on with an air of amused tolerance. “He’s too eager,” she said. “Lauren, you really should tell him to control himself.”

Lauren disentangled herself from the overseer’s grasp and shooed him away. With a disappointed air he gestured for Henry to follow him towards the door. Henry felt grateful to get back to his car.

Chapter 6: Financial Evaluation

In the office, Anch was in shocked disbelief. “You actually met Lady Sonia? The wife of the Kalinin’s eldest son?” Henry had hardly got through the door, Anch hadn’t even removed her manuses but she was anxious to hear the slightest bit of gossip and was bombarding him with questions. “There are really shocking rumours about her now. Some say that she has men that she treats as her doenyes – her servants. That she has made her own properta for them to wear in secret. That she makes them wear manuses for her or even the chanoosh! Can you imagine a man doing such a thing?”

Henry didn’t know what to say. Lady Sonia had just seemed like one of many pushy women entrepreneurs he had come across. He wouldn’t have been surprised by anything that she got up to in the bedroom if she felt it would help whatever scheme she was involved it.

Anch was still chattering on. “Is she as beautiful as she looks in the magazine? What was she wearing? Are her breasts really like they look in the photographs?”

“You shouldn’t worry about your breasts so much,” Henry chided, enjoying the fact that Anch was wearing an exceptionally tight sweater that provided him with all the information he needed to reassure her.

“We shall have to go in the cubicon later,” she flirted, “so you can be sure.”

“Well, Miss Astana” Henry responded playfully. “I am most anxious to be certain. We shall most definitely find some time to review the matter. For now though I would like some coffee.”

Anch nodded her head and got up to go in search of the brass pot and tiny cups. They had only time for a single cup before Kerren Kerrish summoned Henry to his office.

“So, Mr English Banker, your assessment of this project, please. Should we advance money?” Kerren was in expansive mood.

Henry was keen to tread carefully. “Well, Mr Kerrish, the business proposal seems sound and the sums involved are not large. Of course the credentials of Mr Koresh are beyond reproach and in any case there is sufficient security.”

“I am hearing an unspoken ‘But’ in your assessment, I fear.”

“It is only my concern regarding his wife, Mr Kerrish. It seemed to me that this was more her scheme than his, if you understand me.”

“Indeed I do, Indeed I do. Many of those who take westerners as wives or concubines discover that their women find it hard to give up their traditions of independence. Fortunately we need not worry. In Kushtian law no woman can make a contract. So the husband is always responsible for the actions of his wife.”

“But in this case – with Mr Koresh so unwell – I suspect he is much less able than his wife pretends.”

“You are right to be concerned. I think we should proceed as you suggest but we should also protect our interests. I think you should keep a close eye on this business enterprise. It would be most unfortunate if anything were to embarrass a council member or, worse still, the Kalinin.”

“Oh good,” thought Henry. “No pressure.” What he said was, “Absolutely, Mr Kerrish, you can rely on me. I will arrange review meetings with Mr Koresh’s wife, so that she can keep me up to date with progress.”

“Very good. I will inform Mr Koresh that the bank will approve the loan.”

When Henry returned to his office, Anch was waiting for him. “Your ten o’clock appointment is here, Mr Henry,” she said. “Mrs Hallanan wishes to discuss with you a loan application.”

“Anch, I’m puzzled,” Henry replied “I did not think that the bank could lend to a woman. This is not more of the Koresh business is it?”

“No, not at all. The loan is for her husband but she has come here to plead his case.”

Henry was beginning to wonder if any Kushtian man handled his own financial affairs. “Well,” he said, “I suppose that I had better see her.”

Henry’s reluctance was immediately overcome by the appearance of the woman. Although veiled, of course, she was dressed for the rest in the most elegant of western fashions, with a conspicuous display of expensive finery. Henry wondered how much of a loan her husband was looking for. It had to be substantial, otherwise he could just pawn his wife’s designer clothes. ”

The woman spoke out in a stream of a guttural dialect of Kushtian. Henry had to apologise. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t understand. Do you speak English?”

His question brought forth a similarly unintelligible response. Henry called Anch across. “This is no good,” he said, “you’ll have to translate for us.”

Anch looked slightly embarrassed. “She says she has been sent by her husband to do anything that you need in order that the loan is approved.”

“Well,” said Henry, misunderstanding comprehensively, “I’d better look at the file, make sure that all the forms are here and so on.”

Anch blushed. “No, Mr Henry,” she said.” She says she must go to the cubicon with you for discussions. Her husband insists. This is how things are done.”

Henry looked at the dark almond eyes of the woman as she stared intently at him over her veil. He took in the way that her well cut suit fitted what was evidently a trim figure and how the shortness of her skirt showed off the shapeliest of thighs. It would, he decided, be rude to refuse to discuss matters further and gestured to the cubicon. The woman took him by the hand and led him to the curtained couch.

Almost as soon as he had spread himself out on the couch the woman was kneeling beside him, gabbling away. “Anch,” Henry called, “You must come and translate. And bring your pad, there may be things we need to keep a note of.”

Anch looked embarrassed but joined Henry behind the cubicon’s curtain as the woman started to fumble with Henry’s fly zip. She chattered on, apparently unconcerned by the presence of Anch who was translating as best she could to keep up with the woman’s constant stream of talk. “The loan details should be all that the bank requires,” Anch translated, “”There is quite sufficient security to meet the bank’s requirements and there should be every reason to grant the loan. Of course it is recognised that first families get priority in these matters but surely the bank recognises the importance of the stimulus to the economy… “ by this stage the woman had pushed Henry’s trousers and underpants down and had knelt astride him, pushing her skirt, with some difficulty, up over her hips.

Henry, somewhat nonplussed by the turn of events still managed to turn to Anch and ask “What is this about first families?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Lady Sonia Tits

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Yes, I have ridden the pony.

Some have asked that I relate my experience here, and at my husband’s approval and request, I shall. I have ridden more than once, though not often. I shall relate my first experience, when we tried it for the first time, not knowing exactly what to expect.

We were sitting at dinner, and had been talking about work, politics, whatever… when Jason suggested, “I think we should try a wooden pony ride.”

I knew what he was talking about. Anyone truly into a BDSM relationship does, but I had never applied the concept of riding the pony to myself. It struck me completely unexpectedly, and I stopped eating for a moment and just looked at him.

“Um…. really?”

“Yes,” he responded casually. “It is something I have always been fascinated with, and I know you have thought about it as well. Jim has done it, Erin told me. I just think it is worth a try…”

I thought about this. New forms of bondage or pain always intrigue me, though they also scare me, not knowing exactly what to expect. I suppose that is one reason I try them – I have this perverse need to try new things to see what my limits are, what the sensations are like. This one made me nervous though – my appetite left me as I considered it.

“Well. I suppose they would be rather expensive, and not easy to get a hold of. You weren’t thinking of making one, were you?” Jason is handy with tools and likes to do some basic woodworking.

“No, see I read a little about it. A simple saw horse will do. I have one already, it could be made ready very easily.”

“Oh…” I realized I had been hoping that it could be postponed. “Well. I guess so. Do you really want me to?”

“Yes.” He sounded decided. Definitive. “I have thought about it, and think it would be a great experiment for both of us. It turns me on, the thought of you slowly suffering on the pony. The whole idea of reenacting the tortures of the past is kind of intriguing as well.”

The tortures of the past. This was an inquisition torture, though historically it had been around a lot longer in various forms. The nerves in my stomach were pronounced. I knew now that it would happen, it had been decided. Something new to look forward too… something new to fear.

It was scheduled for Saturday. 8pm. I had suggested we start slow, with a 20 minute session. He had suggested three hours. We negotiated, and compromised on three hours. (He is my master, after all).

Part of the sweetness of this kind of situation is the anticipation. Rituals, scheduling punishments, examination and preparation, all create a sort of suspense and heighten fear. This is especially accute when the experience is to be new, and the pain unknown. That week, during the day and at work, I was fine. But in the evening, the looming image of the scene scheduled for Saturday began to work on my nerves.

I found myself going out to the garage, to look at the saw horse. It was so innocuous. It was just a piece of wood with some legs. He had two of them, stacked in the corner. Running my fingers over the wood 2×4, I realized that it wasn’t pointed. It was flat on the top. I wondered if this would make the ride more bearable.

I pressed my hand down on the top, trying to imagine this hard, narrow seat driving its way into my pussy. It was impossible, I could not imagine what it would feel like. Hopes began to swirl in my mind that it would not be too bad. But then I would be reminded… this was an ancient torture, used because it was effective. It was going to hurt, I knew that. It was designed to.

Friday night. Jason and I were going out to a dinner near the beach, and we got dressed up nicely. One day left, and I stood before the mirror in our bathroom and looked at my naked body. I played idly with the jeweled collar on my neck, and assessed my body. I was thin, not extremely so but at or slightly below my ideal weight. I worked hard to keep my body looking good. Spreading my legs slightly, I surveyed my pussy, the slight protrusion of my mound, the softer flesh between my legs. I felt where my bones were, placed them all and wondered how they would be pressed upon during the ride. My weight was low enough I would at least be spared the pain of a heavier frame pressing down on my groin and pussy flesh. Still, I weight over 100 lbs, and it was all going to be pressing in that one small spot.

Saturday was surreal. I awoke with butterflies in my stomach. Nervousness, fear, anticipation, like the day of a big test, or going in for an operation. I tried to spend it as normally as possible, serving Jason, doing laundry, even going out with Sue from across the street for lunch. Behaving normally was difficult. I kept getting rushes, alternating between shuddering anxiety, and a rush of arousal.

I screwed up the laundry, using the wrong amount of bleach. One of Jason’s shirts ended up with stripes of white on it. For this error he took spanked me, not unkindly, but enough to sting. When it was over but I was still spread with my ass on his lap, he caressed me between my legs, his fingers gently exploring my wetness, and sliding into my vagina slightly. I knew he was thinking about what would be happening down there in just another couple of hours. So was I.

As the hour approached, I found that I could no longer pretend to be normal. I watched some TV, sitting on the couch as the sting of the spanking faded. I can’t recall a thing that was on, I was thinking of nothing but the saw horse in the garage.

At 7:30 it began.

Jason rose, and went into the garage. I knew that he was preparing things. I sat on the couch and whimpered to myself, feeling my pussy every few seconds, amazed that I was wet and engorged even when I was afraid.

At 7:45 Jason returned, and ordered me to strip. I removed my clothes, my top, jeans, bra, panties, everything. He stood for a moment and approved of my body. He does this frequently, especially when he is about to apply punishment. His approval made me flush, and I bowed my head to hide my pleasure.

My wrists were pulled behind my back, and tied together with cotton bondage rope.

He led me to the garage. The center had been cleared, and a saw horse was in the center of the clearing. It was almost exactly as I had seen before, except for a couple of small eyelets he had screwed in to the wood.

My heart was beating wildly and I was shaking slightly as I positioned myself next to the pony and waited for his instructions. Jason came over and helped me swing one leg over the pony, so that I was standing over the central 2×4 beam. I could feel the wood slightly brushing the protruding flesh of my labia.

Jason knelt below the pony. He tied each ankle with a rope, and then loosely threaded the rope to a metal eyelet that he had screwed into the wood on each side of the pony, behind where I was sitting. I wasn’t sitting on it yet, not riding, but I could feel the solid feeling of the pony below me. I gratefully noticed he had sanded the wood to prevent splinters, something I would never have thought of. Nevertheless, the beam retained its sharp corners, which I now clearly felt.

My tied wrists were attached to another rope, which extended to an eyelet on the pony behind me. It lifted my wrists slightly away from my back.

There was a large wall clock on the garage wall, which I could see clearly. It said 7:55. I stood over the pony, knowing my ride would begin at any moment. I shivered a little, the garage was cool and I was naked.

“Thank you for sanding the wood,” I said simply. My voice sounded shaky.

“You are welcome. I think you will be in enough discomfort.” Jason smiled and kissed me. I kissed back, remembering that I was doing this for him, as well as myself. I felt more confident. I needed to remember I was going to suffer for him, it was part of my purpose, my role.

At 8:oopm exactly, Jason pulled my feet out from under me. With a smooth pull, he lifted my feet backwards, so my knees bent and my legs pointed toward the back of the pony. He tied me right ankle up to the side of the pony, and then did the same to the left. No longer able to stand, I sat down hard on the narrow strip of wood.

My ride had begun.

The first sensations were unremarkable. I was immediately calmed, I felt better than I had in hours. It was uncomfortable, yes… but not terribly painful. The edges of the wood dug into soft flesh a little. The pain was endurable.

The angle of my legs, pulled back as they were under the pony, had thrust my weight forward just a bit. I was sitting with more of my weight on my pubic bone than I had anticipated. I shifted back, moving my weight to my perineum. This helped a little. The softer flesh with less bone underneath took the weight a little better, and I settled in for a long ride.

Jason had been checking my ties, positioning and the like, making sure all was well. The clock read 8:05, and he left the garage for a moment. I sat on the pony alone, wondering if he intended to leave me here to suffer alone. It was his choice, but I was a little surprised.

I need not have worried. He returned after a few minutes with a chair, a beer and a few other items. He was settling in for the ride as well. The chair was placed directly in front of me, about 10 feet away, so he could observe. He sat down and took a drink of his beer.

My softer perineum flesh was becoming numb, with a dull ache. I pushed down on my legs, using the ankles where they were tied to the pony to help lift me. It helped a little but my legs were at such an odd angle, it was hard to stay up for long at all; it tended to push me forward more than up. When I relaxed and came back down my pubic bone pressed against the thin wood beam once again, this time more painfully. I must have made a noise, because Jason commented, “it must be beginning to hurt a little, I image. How are you doing?”

“I’m OK. It hurts some, it is hard to find a comfortable position. But it is bearable.”

He took another swig of beer as I leaned back again, trying to take the weight off my pubic bone. The aching pain shifted with my weight to my vagina, then back to my perineum once again.

Jason laughed, “This is great. It almost looks like you are trying to hump the thing.” He grinned at my discomfort and movements trying to find the best way to ride.

The clock said 8:10. Time was not passing quickly. I knew Jason had placed the clock there, where I could see it, as part of the torture. I could look and see the seconds tick by, and it would make the mental agony more severe. In fact, there was very little to see there except for Jason and the clock.

I pushed up on my legs again, trying to lift some of the weight off my groin. I succeeded but my muscles gave out after about 60 seconds. With my legs bent back and tied up to the pony it was too awkward a position to keep up for long. I was only able to get my pussy about a half inch off the pony but that was enough to provide some relief if even for a moment. I settled back down and rotated my hips forward, so that the pressure would concentrate more in my ass. At the same time I started to tip to the side and quickly regained my balance. My ankles secured to the side of the pony allowed me to keep myself upright, but it took a little effort.

Jason saw that I was struggling to stay upright. There was nothing too keep my upright, really, except for my own efforts and they were hampered by having my hands secured behind me. My legs were tied securely on either side of the pony, which allowed me to balance, but it was a constant struggle, my legs constantly twitching and pushing to keep upright. I think that Jason enjoyed this part of the show. Not only was I slowly moving my weight back and forth to displace the pressure between my legs, my legs were straining to lift myself and to keep my body from tipping over.

It was dawning on me that there were aspects to this torture that I had never envisioned. Depending on the position and the restraints, I was forced to shift, wriggle, strain and pull myself in various directions. By spending more and more effort to simply stay upright, my legs were losing the strength to lift me and relieve the pressure on my pussy.

The clock read 8:15. I had been riding for 15 minutes. The pain wasn’t bad, but it was getting very persistent. I noticed that there were so many more aspects to the discomfort than I had ever imagined. It wasn’t just the pressure against my flesh, it was the constant strain to stay upright, the constant strain to lift myself to relieve the pressure, the pain in my legs from the muscles constantly working, the shifting of the discomfort from one part of my crotch to the other…

I had some control within a 4 or 5 inch area; I could move the center of the pressure, but it was becoming clear this tactic was false relief. I was beginning to shift faster, moving forward, feeling the discomfort of my bone smashing my clit against the wood, then back, and feeling my ass/hip bones pressing my perineum and ass against the outside of the pony.

To my horror, I discovered that the wood, which was perhaps an inch and a half wide, was spreading my pussy lips wide, and driving deeper into my cunt. When I shifted back, my ass cheeks spread wide, and the thin board felt like it was trying to spread my anus as well.The firm unrelenting pressure was slowly wedging my body wider apart.

A gasp escaped my lips as I shifted forward again, and the pony spread my labia wide and pinched the lips against my legs, a new kind of discomfort resulting from the increasing penetration of my vaginal area.

It was beginning to throb now, pulsing and modulating. I think it was actually beginning to really hurt. It took on a sort of fire to it, not hot, but burning nonetheless. I leaned forward as far as I could, accepting the crunching pain of my pubic bone pressing my clit and flesh, smashing them and deforming them. I grunted, and moaned, a long, low moan of pain. But I had to stay there, accept the pain of that position in order to give my vagina and labia rest from the pinching and stretching.

Leaning forward like that, further and further each time, stretched my arms behind my back. My wrists were tied to the back of the pony. I was prevented from laying down, and moving too far forward simply stretched my arms out in back.

I remember thinking about this time, that this experiment was rapidly turning into a remarkable experience. The nuances of the pain were beginning and were unusual, the way it morphed and moved with me, how I could avoid one pain simply to invoke another… and each new pain was worse, was more, but if I shifted back to the lesser pain it would revitalize as a new level of agony…

The pain, which had begun in earnest now, was somewhat under my control. But the really evil, insidious part of this torture was how I had control over where it went. I could lean forward or backward, I could try shifting slightly left and right. Each shift gave relief to one area but resulting in discomfort in another.

Riding the pony was truly an ordeal of endurance.

The clock said 8:45.

It was hurting. Really hurting now. I realized I had not paid attention to Jason for some time, I had been concentrating on techniques to help shift and spread the pressure and discomfort. Now I sat, simply enduring the pain in my cunt, the board jammed between my labia, spreading them apart and hurting. I looked at Jason.

He had his pants down and his cock out. His hand idly slid up and down as he masturbated. Precum had lubricated his shaft, and his hand slid easily up and down. He looked really large and hard.

I rocked back a bit and felt the blood flood back into my clit. It made the pain worse there. I grunted a little and moaned, as Jason stroked his cock, enjoying my discomfort.

This went on for some time, until the clock said 9:00. I had been riding an hour, and Jason was still stroking his cock. I was in real pain now, with the sharp corners of the wood digging in, tearing my sensitive flesh slightly. I couldn’t see, but I wondered if I might be bleeding. The pain had swathed the entire area of my hips.

My legs could hardly lift me now, it was all I could do to stay upright. My breasts felt heavy in front of me, urging me to lay down, pulling me to rest by laying on the pony in front of me. It seemed almost possible until I moved forward and felt the ropes which held my wrists pull taught. Damn.

Jason rose, and examined my pussy. “You aren’t bleeding. I can see some bruising though. It must be pretty painful.”

“Fuck,” was all I could say.

“Can I help you a bit? Perhaps you would like me to stimulate you a bit?” Jason reached down, and as I leaned back slightly, his finger pressed under my pussy and found my clit. He moved it slowly in a circular motion which flooded my body and mind in new sensations.

“Yes… please… that is good.”

I couldn’t help it. I was a pain slut, I knew it. I was his pain slut, and I wanted to cum on that pony. He continued for a while. As my excitement grew, my hip movements began to thrust ever so slightly, my nipples hard. I was getting close to orgasm.

And he stopped.

“Fuck! You asshole!” I was frustrated beyond belief, not only trapped on this horrible device but he stopped before I orgasmed.

“That language is unbecoming someone in your… position,” Jason said with a smile. “Perhaps we need some other way to help distract you during your ride.”

He went over to his chair and picked something up. Nipple clamps. The kind with the pretty chain between them.

Standing next to me, he stroked my breasts, feeling their shape and lifting them slightly. Eventually, he concentrated on my nipples, which grew erect in spite of myself. He was in control of my body. As my left nipple was fully erect he took the first clamp and applied it.

“Ooowwww…. fuck, fuck, fuck… that fucking hurts…” I couldn’t help it. I howled when the clamp closed on my sensitive flesh.

He stroked my right nipple to life in the same way. When it was ready for him, the clamp went on there, as well. I howled again.

Nipple clamps hurt like hell when they first go on, and then the pain slides into a numb ache. I have to admit, the clamps did actually distract me from the pain between my legs for a while. After he sat down, and started playing with his balls, it took a few minutes for me to concentrate on the pain between my legs once again.

The clock read 9:30.

Half way. It felt like it had been a lot longer. There is nothing, absolutely nothing to do while riding the pony except endure. I kept reminding myself that the pain was not as bad as other situations I had experienced. There had been a few canings that had hurt worse. There was a time when muscle cramps from a strappado had been agonizing.

The problem was, that riding the pony I knew that this pain was going to simply continue, constantly, for the next hour and a half. It was scheduled. It was to be endured, unceasing, unrelenting.

I realized after a bit that I was crying. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. I wasn’t sobbing, I had not lost that much control, but the pain was wearing on me. My leg muscles burned, my groin ached all the way through my hips, my shoulders even hurt a little from my wrists being tied behind me. I wanted this to be over, and I didn’t want to wait.

Slime was leaking from my nose. My tears had dried on my cheeks and breasts, but snot was descending over my lip and into my mouth. There was nothing I could do about it. Uncontrolled body fluid emmision is one of the things I had learned to accept in periods of prolonged bondage.

I leaned as far forward as I could. Screw my arms, they hurt from being pulled back, but I had to shift the weight on my groin. Try as I might, I could not get myself far enough down for my breasts to touch the pony. I stayed in that position for a while before pulling on my wrists to straighten myself.

Jason was stroking himself faster. His cock was convulsing a little. I watched as he watched me, his eyes on my painful position, my tears, moans, and he came. He jerked and thrust his hips, and I saw his white cum spurt out and all over his stomach. It kept coming, urged on by his hand which continued sliding up and down as he stared at me, grunting and moaning from the effort of his orgasm.

It had happened before, but it always struck me as the most humiliating and degrading thing – to be reduced to a pain toy, to be bound and subjected to agony. My pain was a stimulant to him, something which brought him pleasure, and he took advantage of it, revelled in it, and used it to bring himself orgasms. I felt like a piece of meat. Meat in pain.

It was 10:15 when he came the second time. His stomach was still sticky from the first time, and my snot and tears had pooled on the wood of the pony before me, dripping down the sides and onto the floor. I had asked him to release me at 10:00. He had kissed me, and returned to his chair, explaining he knew I could do it.

The pain wasn’t terrible. It felt pretty bad at the time, there was a lot of numbness and aching, but it was not pure agony. It was simply… wearing. Constant. Pain. It hurt. I wanted it to stop. The clock ticking, the slow shifting of pressure from my ass to my pussy… I wanted it to stop.

I peed as some point. While I had made sure I had emptied my bladder before starting the ride, it had been well over 2 hours and I was losing control of my body functions from tiredness and strain. I remember realizing I was peeing when it happened. There had been no decision to release my bladder, it just happened. The urine soaked the wood and pooled below me on the concrete floor of the garage.

It was cool in the garage, but I had been sweating. Sweat can really be irritating in bondage, because it trickles – it can cause itching, or tickling. And of course, there is nothing to do about it. Except endure. The wetness on the concrete below me was a collection of sweat, urine, snot and tears.

At 10:45, Jason came over, stroking my hair and praising me. Urging me on. I felt braver at that point, knowing it was almost over. And kindly, Jason reached down and began fondling my clit again. This time, he kept the circular movement going, pushing, sliding, gently but consistently, until I cried out and shuddered from a full, mind blowing orgasm.

When the clock hit 11:00, Jason untied the ropes which held my ankles up. I yelped just a bit, because my legs had been cramping and the cramps were suddenly worse when I extended them. My feet hit the floor, and lifted me off the damn pony. There was no immediate relief. The pain was still with me, haunting and embedded inside my damaged groin and ass.

My wrists were untied, and I put my arms around Jason, allowing him to help me swing my leg over the pony and stand next to it. I was shaky, and had to be helped to his chair, where I sipped his beer. It tasted so damn good.

In all of this, I had completely forgotted my nipple clamps. They hurt, but then when your whole body hurts, what’s a little nipple clamp? Until you take it off, of course. It was the worst single moment of the evening, the screaming pain when the clamps were removed. Fortunately, it only lasted a few moments.

I bled slightly from the ordeal, my flesh having been stretched and torn slightly from my shifting and wriggling in place. There was bruising, some of it deep. My cunt hurt for several days after, deep down inside as well as the outside.

Jason rewarded me for the pony ride with a set of gorgeous diamond stud earrings. I wear them proudly.

I have since ridden the pony several more times since then, experiments using different equipment and positions. It is never pleasant, frequently agonizing. And yes, I really would rather not ride. It hurts.