Named and Shamed (9 page)

Hetty unfastened the leather strap that ran under her sex and made short work of slotting the larger plug home. With a sucking pop and a squelch, her tail was anchored.

The severity of her situation had finally sunk in. These people were completely insane and this place was crazy. She had been effectively turned into a dumb animal and just about every avenue of escape had been taken from her. She could not run, she could not scream for help and without the use of her hands it would be impossible to free herself.

Her ordeal was not over. Another long, impossibly fat plug was being twisted inside her pussy and humiliatingly, this one did not need to be covered in lubricant. Her body was welcoming the intruder inside with all the red carpet treatment it could muster. Even her backside wiggled in excitement through the tremors of arousal and fear. How could it enjoy being treated in this way?

'Those metal rings on your crotch strap will ensure that both plugs cannot escape, no matter how hard you try to push them out,' Agnes informed her. 'They will remain there whether you trot, canter, gallop or swim. The only time they come out is when someone decides to take pity on you, and this will usually be when you're stabled at night.'

'Hey, don't be so hard on the filly,' said Hetty, sporting a wide grin. 'She might get lucky.' Bushy red eyebrows waggled at Agnes in a conspiratorial fashion.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, Jenny had all but forgotten about the sex part. As soon as the thought entered her head a vision of Mark flitted across her brain. She forced it back out again. She hated him. She despised him. He'd be the last man on earth... Hmm, hadn't she said all this before? The lady doth protest too much, methinks. She would have immediately slapped herself for quoting Shakespeare at a time like this, and was somewhat annoyed when her hand didn't follow through with the instinctive reaction.

The chains began to tighten once more as Henrietta pulled at the winch and Jenny's body was once again in a vertical position.

'We've got one more thing to do and then you'll be pleased to know you can get back out in the exercise yard with all the other fillies and have some fun,' said Agnes, rooting around in a plastic ice-cream tub. Bizarrely, she pulled out a small silver disc. 'Got it.'

Jenny could only imagine what torments could be performed with such a benign piece of metal. She could do nothing but wait patiently and find out. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She was currently testing the limits of the leather arm-binder and seeing whether there would be any way of freeing her limbs. If the thread was cotton she stood a chance, but if it was made of something a little bit more robust then the odds were not in her favour. She didn't get to ponder the matter further, as the silver circle was being waved in front of her face.

'This is your nameplate.' She raised the engraved piece of metal to the trainee's eye line so she could read what had been written, and then clipped the disc to the front of her collar, where it would be prominently on display.

Jenny would have recoiled in horror, had that option been available to her. In bold black letters the words
Pretty Pink Petals
stared back at her.

There was a flurry of activity as chains were released and cuffs were unfastened. 'Well, Petal,' said Hetty, having to bite her lip to stop the loud snort that wanted to escape, 'I think it's time you had some fun and games in the exercise yard.'

Jenny moved forward to aim a spiteful kick with her metal hooves, but Hetty was one step ahead of her, neatly sidestepping out of the way and giving her latest charge an almighty slap on the backside for her troubles.

The sting of the slap had not reached its full potential before an almighty ruckus could be heard outside. Both ladies turned with a concerned look towards the closed door.

If Jenny had been able to form a smug grin, she would have. Instead, she settled for an inward sly smile and eyes that gleamed with the promise of retribution. Her rescue had arrived at last.

Breakfast

It was 5 a.m. in the morning and he was already ensconced in his office. Sleep had been a hope even more elusive than that of a two week vacation. Although insomnia wasn't a stranger to his bedroom, it had been getting worse for the past few months. The stress of trying to cram far too much into days far too short was finally beginning to take its toll. He used sex to relieve the pressure, as much as possible, but even that outlet wasn't achieving as much as it normally did. As he flicked through graph after graph of stock performance on his laptop, he wondered why he wasn't exhausted after the activities of yesterday.

Marianna had been a delightful playmate. Although he didn't consider her beautiful per se, he was well aware he was in the minority. She was a temptress that could rival the beauty of a Siren, and as a femme fatale she had a unique charm that would be the undoing of most of the male population. Mark, sadly, had seen it all before. Call him jaded, but Marianna was just a little 'too pretty', and what's more, she knew it. Oh, he was well aware that she was uncertain of herself around him, as well she should be, but her charm with most of mankind was still intact.

They'd repeated the coffee game. He didn't think she stood a chance, but she managed to surprise him. After his cock had softened in her mouth she diligently went to work cleaning him, and her skill was such that by the end of her tongue-lapping he'd almost been ready for round two, but he'd reined himself in. It was probably best not to scare the girl silly on her first assignment. He decided to let her fetch him another cup of steamy caffeine so they could play out his little number once again. Annoyingly, it entailed getting down on his hands and knees again, and searching out the tiny handcuff key before she could accomplish the feat.

Then he realised he wasn't thinking outside the box. He smiled to himself. Her hands weren't tied in any way, were they? Fetching his magnetic pen he merely asked her to open her mouth and slotted the pen, magnet facing outward, between her teeth. He then relayed the problem that was facing her and made her aware that she would be tackling it. After five minutes of contortionist bending a circus performer would be proud of, he took pity on her.

'I didn't say you couldn't use your hands, Marianna. Do hurry up, sweet-pea, or I might have to call the fire brigade in after all.' He raised an eyebrow to make it clear he was not joking.

Marianna, with the threat of several burly men and public exposure fresh upon her back, used her hands expertly. Not only did she fish the key out, but she also managed to release herself and all in less than two minutes. She then bobbed a courtesy of thanks and strode from the room, with her skirt in tatters around her waist, to deliver him a fresh cup of steaming hot coffee. Mark sat back in his leather chair with the air of a contented man. His evening now had a rosy glow with which to grace its darkness.

When Marianna had returned she set the cup down upon his desk and resumed her submissive pose. She was trying, he'd give her that.

'Thank you. You may now try to accomplish your challenge one last time. Failure to do so will result in your dismissal.'

He had no intention of delivering her P60, but he wanted to know what she'd come up with under pressure. It was no secret that he tested boundaries and damned if he wasn't going to examine each and every one of hers this evening. When she pulled a single black plastic straw out of the waistband of her ruined skirt he knew he had lost the battle. His lips twisted wryly. She was smart, he'd give her that. The good news was that the war had only just commenced and he knew how to fight dirty.

By the end of their session there had been more coffee decorating Marianna's blouse than there was in his stomach, but it hadn't been entirely her fault. She'd been the epitome of submissive professionalism and he'd been the adolescent teenager who couldn't wait to get his pants off. It was unlike him. He was a man of finesse, control and precision and here he was slamming into her with the ferocity of a mountain lion. Deciding to give her the 'wall banger' treatment, he pressed her up against the toughened-glass window panes of his office, her legs wrapped around his waist, while he tested the building's structural integrity. The panes held beautifully, thank God, which was more than could be said for him. Having made a point to focus on nothing more than the theatrical display of tempestuous fireworks outside, he'd exploded inside her and forgotten himself, his vision accidentally dipping to the neon vista below. Feeling the awful fear spiral through him, he whirled around to focus his eyes on something familiar and nearly decapitated Marianna in the process. Taking several deep breaths he brought her face up to his to apologise, but he needn't have worried. She was so caught up in her world of bliss that her head simply lolled back on his shoulders, eyelids closing sleepily in pleasure. His secret was safe.

Giving her a few moments to compose herself he then stuck his head out of the door and enlisted one of her colleagues to help get her presentable enough to be sent home. If he let her out wearing that skirt she'd be arrested for indecent exposure, and that would be a shame. He had plans for the girl...
lots
of plans.

When he'd returned to his apartment later that evening, stepped under a scalding hot shower and sat himself down with a good book, he found he couldn't relax. Miss Redcliff seemed to have imbued his body with a nasty shot of nervous energy that could not be expelled. Or, to put it another way, not until he'd had a chance to discharge some of his energy within her. Then, hopefully, things would go back to normal.

Closing the file in front of him, Mark rubbed his eyes. He was relatively pleased with his efforts this morning. Having almost tackled his backlog he had committed himself to returning to Albrecht, purely to set eyes on one particular pony girl. He gritted his teeth even as the thought took shape. He was not supposed to be there today. The auction was going to take place tomorrow and if he showed up today he would be loudly broadcasting his interest in Miss Redcliff, which meant that all and sundry would line up to bid for her. Rushing all the way up to Lincolnshire was a ridiculous idea, but it would give him the chance to look her over in her new pony girl tack. The thought of her body encased in leather strapping had him salivating. This wasn't one of his smartest ideas. It would put even more pressure on his overactive libido, which was why he'd demanded that Marianna come in early today. She could at least take the edge off his desire, which was sure to increase tenfold as the day wore on. He'd have to resort to alcohol this evening, he was sure of it.

Absorbing himself in charts, figures and predictions, he only noticed by accident that 7 a.m. had come and gone. A memo in his diary flashed on screen, bleeped and reminded him to make sure he'd booked his place for the upcoming
Tech of the Future
convention being held in Berlin. He hadn't, so he emailed through a missive for one of his secretary's to find and sort out the relevant details, such as hotels, flights and tickets. And that's when it hit him. It was now 7.10 a.m. Marianna was supposed to be here at 7 a.m. sharp.

Frowning in displeasure he stalked through the door of his office and surveyed the expanse of desks before him. Nothing. There was not a soul to be seen at this early hour and the lighting was still on the dim, soft glow of the default night security setting.

Picking up the telephone nearest to him in a fit of anger, rattling a red lipstick off its precarious perch on top of a computer screen in the process, he immediately dialled Zystrom's twenty-four hour manned reception.

'Please get me Marianna,' he said in a quiet, predatory voice that shouted danger far louder than any alarm could have managed.

'Yes, Mr Matthews. Has she already left your office? She signed in and took the elevator not twenty minutes ago.'

'In that case ignore my request, Corinne.' Mark knew each secretary by name and some considerably more intimately than that. 'Many thanks.' He hung up the receiver with a discreet click and pursed his lips. So, she was here... but where? Going into stealth mode he began to explore. He wondered if she was purposefully trying to avoid him. Had he hurt her last night? Upset her, maybe? The list of possibilities was endless, so he gave up speculating and embarked upon entering the female race's number one favourite hiding spot.

Starting with the ladies toilets he sauntered casually inside, and even though there wasn't a sound to be heard, he inspected each of the vacant cubicles. There was nothing more exciting than the irritating smell of antiseptic and bleach to be discovered. He then checked the kitchenette. There was the smell of freshly brewed coffee and a coffee machine still gurgling, but no sign of Marianna. Looking inside the store cupboard, which was still dark, his illumination of the room gave him no further clues. In desperation he checked the men's toilet, which was rarely used by any other male bar him. No Marianna. He walked back to his office and was further annoyed to find the smell of her perfume on the air and a fresh cup of coffee on his desk. What was she, invisible? In a state of agitation he stormed back out into the open plan workspace and yelled, 'Marianna!'

A single figure shot up at the back of the room, standing to attention and almost completely obscured by a large potted palm tree.

'Yes Sir?'

Mark shook his head and let his eyes roll. 'How long have you been hiding behind there?'

'This is my desk, Sir.' He simply narrowed his eyes at her and waited. An explanation would be forthcoming or he'd find a nice rattan cane with which to induce one.

'Since about 6.30 a.m., Sir.' She stepped awkwardly to the side of the palm, so he could see her.

'That wasn't what I meant. Have you been behind that thing since the beginning of your career with Zystrom?'

'Yes Sir.' She nodded.

Well, didn't that explain a few things? 'Please take a seat in my office, Marianna.' Picking up the telephone once more he dialled reception and asked for a message to be passed along to housekeeping. It involved the removal of one very tall and somewhat leafy houseplant.