Greta loved the sheer nerve of the girl and forced her stand at the side
of the horse ready to mount. Soon her widely parted bottom would be well
presented for the martinet, the instrument she planned to use on Amy’s
already sensitive skin.
The punishment tools were arranged on the wall, all sorts of instruments
made of leather, wood and bamboo, to open her, mark and hurt her. The
sheer choice took Greta’s breath from her. Each one brought dark and
wonderful new visions in her mind, things she’d never considered
possible, now available for her exclusive entertainment.
“If you want me to go easy on you, then you will masturbate for me before
your whipping,” Greta breathed.
Still weeping, Amy shuffled her thighs apart and pushed her hand under
herself, her little nail bitten fingers curving to push into her puffy
cunt and work the fleshy folds back and forth the way she sometimes did
when no one was watching.
“Oh yes,” Greta gasped, a new rush of excitement sweeping over her.
“Go on, push those fingers in further,” she panted, breathless with
desire.
Amy did as she was told, anything to ward off the whip that her mistress
had taken down from the wall. She winced as she scored her tender flesh,
pushing a finger inwards before she’d moistened enough.
“Place your thighs further apart!” Greta screamed.
Amy flexed her legs and whimpered as her thigh muscles complained. She
panted with the effort of trying to do both things at the same time,
whimpering with the threat of a whipping hanging over her. Struggling,
Amy lost her balance and ended up in a heap on the floor.
“You just don’t listen, do you?” Greta said, calming herself, pushing
down the heat in her loins and denying it the release it craved.
“Now mount the horse!” Greta shouted.
Helping Amy to mount the horse, Greta left her wrists unattached so she
could continue to masturbate and placed her feet in the stirrups.
Satisfied that the child was suitably mounted, Greta walked around the
little rider, enjoying the view now presented between Amy’s widely parted
bottom and hardly listening to herself, took a firmer grip on the leather
martinet whip she had selected.
“Masturbate yourself!” Greta shouted.
Sweeping the martinet down in a long arc that was brought up short by the
impact on Amy’s pert little bottom, Greta inhaled as the child wailed,
her eyes bright as she squirmed on the horse, fingers unknowingly
flattened to frantically rub her little pink cunt, flattening her rounded
vulva as she fought to minimize the soaring pain sweeping through her
bottom.
Licking her dry lips, Greta swung the whip again, listening and watching
the girl scream and cry, jerk and squirm, she swung it again, and then
again. After every sharp landing, she admired the new bright lines it had
made, and how much brighter the flesh was where the lines crossed, and
how urgently Amy was rubbing herself, even as she cried and sobbed and
squirmed in pain.
“Like it, don’t you?” she asked breathlessly, spitefully aiming to cross
as many previous whip marks as possible to then feel the surge of
pleasure as the child bounced on the horse, squealing and rubbing herself
madly as she tried absorbing the lancing pain.
“Yes, you’re loving it,” Greta murmured, her corset now hurting her as
she tried to breathe past its constraint.
“Obviously you need something harder,” she said, her hand shaking as she
drew down the studded paddle and admired the craftsmanship of it.
No larger than her hand, the supple leather had been riveted with little
metal spikes, none looking exceptionally wicked in themselves, but as a
whole, a tool that was going to land with some force against flesh
already made tender, it would bite in, score and mark. It would be
deliciously painful.
Amy looked particularly lovely, looking back over her shoulder to stare
at the punishment tool that had been selected for her. Her expression
told Greta she knew what the innocuous little paddle could do to her, how
the supple leather could even be brought up between her legs, scoring her
thighs or even her full lipped cunt.
With a feral grin, Greta raised the paddle and swung it down to land
painfully on one of her little bottom cheeks and the young girl squealed
and thrashed, tossing too and fro as the hot pain lanced deep into her
withers.
Before she’d had a chance to settle, the second one had landed,
distorting Amy’s little bottom and leaving puncture marks that swelled
with points of blood. Amy screamed through her tears and frantically
lifted herself in the stirrups. Her fingers pulled madly on the apex of
her smooth cleft, violently stimulating her clitoris in an effort to
escape the fire shooting deep into her bottom.
Greta stopped to stroke the child’s bottom, her breath shortening as she
felt the little indents left by the rivets and drew the blood into little
smears across the tight curve of the girl’s rear. She put down the paddle
and pulled Amy’s cheeks apart, sobbing with delight as she spread the
pink and tender flesh that protected her little anus and cunt.
Both little holes exposed, one quickly clenched and knotted in worry
while the other pouted and gleamed, burning hot when they were touched.
“So, you like it then?” Greta breathed. She was wetting herself with
excitement, shaking on her legs as she suffered one orgasm after another.
“No, no, no!” Amy screamed, thrashing about in an attempt to evade
whatever punishment her mistress had dreamt of next.
Greta found the restraints hanging from each of the wooden legs and took
the time to fasten and tighten them, her breath quickening as she used
them to pull Amy’s slender thighs wide apart.
She also took her time to stroke the crying girl’s little body,
delighting in the dampness of her skin, in the way it trembled and shook,
tensing the closer she got to stroking her privates.
“Please, I’ll be good, I promise,” Amy wept as her hand was drawn from
between her legs and fastened so her little body was pulled further over
the crown of the horse’s back. Greta hummed as she placed her face closer
to the child’s pretty cunt, inhaling her special fragrance and devouring
the pretty little folds with her eyes.
“You’ve been a very naughty little girl,” she whispered, her eyes and
fingers rising to her bottom again, drinking in the savage indented
holes, the coloured stripes and the small, slender cheeks.
There was only one way to teach girls like Amy Jennings, Greta reflected,
rising to stretch for the highest of the instruments hanging on the wall;
a willow rod some three feet long and only a quarter of an inch thick. It
would raise and cut the flesh of anyone’s bottom, scoring it for days to
come.
Yet Miss Foulds didn’t intend to use it on Amy’s bottom. Amy had shown
herself very capable of taking punishment on her bottom. No, Greta was
going to use it where the girl would feel it most, on her cunt.
Greta strode to the dungeon door, checked the bolt then turned and stared
at the weeping girl again, so beautifully presented astride the horse for
a whipping.