The Dominant Male

lifting a leather-covered chain bit up to her lips. Finch pinched her nose and pulled it back, forcing her to open her mouth. The bit was inserted brusquely and then straps buckled behind her head and under her chin. The whole operation took seconds, accomplished with the deft skill of men who had performed the task innumerable times. Finally, a rope halter was clipped onto one of the steel rings at the side of the bit.
    ‘Look how she’s trembles, Mr Catchpole!’ Finch brushed her pussy with the tips of his fingers and brought them up to show the glistening result. ‘And she is fairly dripping, too. Can’t wait to get this filly back to the stables!’
    ‘About that, Bob,’ Catchpole said in an even voice. ‘You are to stay here for a bit. Her Ladyship has asked to see you.’
    ‘See me ? What about?’ There was a note of incredulity in Finch’s voice, and perhaps a spot of trepidation.
    Catchpole chuckled. ‘I expect you will find out before long, lad!’
    Nothing in Chastity’s short service, not even being flogged naked by her mistress, had prepared her for that walk to the stables. First he led her down the back stairs and through the corridors in the basement. They passed footmen who stared and grinned and many maids scurrying about their business. Some of these smiled to see her but others paled and looked away.
    The stable block adjoined the servants’ quarters in a completely separate building behind the main house, linked to it by a subterranean tunnel. Chastity had walked this tunnel twice a day in her time at the house, flattening herself against the wall to let senior servants pass, for it was narrow. Now she could only dream of such dignity. Naked, her hands secured behind her back, bridled and bitted and led on a rope, she trotted along behind Catchpole’s broad back, praying that they would not run into any more servants, the flagstones freezing on her bare feet.
    Chastity had always turned right at the end of the passageway before but Catchpole led her left, through a doorway, down another lengthy passage, until finally they came to the door that marked the entrance to the stables. The passage continued on beyond, but now stalls, some occupied by horses, lined it on their right.
    ‘Here she is!’ a male voice shouted and a young man, leading a glossy, almost black horse, stopped. ‘Damn me, so it is true. She is a match for Snowflake!’
    Catchpole did not pause to chat but led her on, through some more doors and into another stable. The stalls here were far smaller, though. The first two empty, but then Chastity’s heart missed a beat as they passed the third. A woman, naked except for some leather straps, like some sort of harness, bitted like Chastity herself and with her arms secured behind her, looked at them with mute, imploring eyes. In the next stall stood another nearly-naked young woman, bitted and haltered by a rope tied to the iron bars that went from the wooden stall-walls to the ceiling. Chastity could hear squealing now. There were two girls in the next stall, both tall and curvaceous with long black hair, both haltered and again with their arms secured behind their backs with straps. What was this place? Chastity looked around her with astonishment and not a little panic. What was this mad, perverted place?
    Finally they stopped at the source of the squealing. A middle-aged man with a noticeable paunch was scrubbing a naked girl down with the aid of a brush and a bucket of steaming water. The bristles of this brush were seemingly too coarse for her taste, for she was squirming furiously in his grip as well as letting out a continual flood of yelps, squeals and pleas. At their approach the man looked up, left off scrubbing and released the girl, who stood, cowering and trembling, her bare flesh wet and slick, as far from the brush in his hand as her halter would allow.
    ‘See what happens when we are short-handed,’ the man said. ‘I have to scrub these fillies down myself.’
    ‘Will I finish her off for you, Mr Jackson?’ Catchpole asked, his eyes on the naked, glistening young woman.
    ‘That is all right, Mr Catchpole,’ said Jackson evenly. ‘I don’t mind mucking in now and then.’
    The two men caught each other’s eye for a moment and Mr Jackson’s lip twitched in the merest hint of a smile.
    ‘Right then, let’s see how good a pair this filly will make with Snowflake. Wait here for me, Peony.’ He emphasised his order by giving the girl a sharp