Author Unknown

Illustrations by Robert Bishop

Scanned and Transcribed by guardian46w

CHAPTER EIGHT

Now, standing in front of her, smoking a cigarette as he appreciatively studied her beautiful Amazonian naked body in this lubricious pose, he picked up a little washbowl brush with stiff bristles, and playfully rasped it against her tender, exacerbated hairless pussy.

At the first rasp of the excoriating bristles Myrna lunged and writhed, but with her body contorted and bound and being suspended by the ceiling pulley fitted to her helmet ring, she was able only to sway a bit, but for his eyes the gratifying vision of her convulsive flexions and writhing spasms, especially along her straddled thighs and the angrily reddened cheeks of her well spanked behind, made this ritual especially delicious, and by now he was monstrously virile.

Again, and again, between puffs at his cigarette, he rubbed the brush not only against her gaping pussy, but around the mount of love, and along the tender insides of her distended, shuddering thighs.

At last, tiring of this sport, and seeing that her body was bathed in torment sweat, he declared as he let her down, "Now for half an hour you shall ride the penitence horse and meditate on your arrogance."

First, he fitted a leather cuirass-corset round her waist, leaving her with the helmet and ankle-boots.  The horse, so called, was a tall elevated triangle of wood, reaching to a sharp narrow ridged peak at the top, about six feet in height.  With a ladder set against one side, he carried her shuddering helpless naked body up and straddled her.  The pulley rope was fitted and knotted round the helmet ring to balance her.  Then, descending, he took twenty-pound weights and suspended them by snap-on chain links from the rings at her boots, thus dragging her long beautiful nylon sheathed legs down to their full tractioned length and inevitably forcing her tender hairless and rasped pussy against the infernal ridge of this ingenious horse.

Now, taking a long narrow bamboo pole at one end of which a thick peacock feather was attached, he began to amuse himself by frigging Myrna's jutting, shuddering, panting naked breasts, fleeting the plume over her aureole and nipples till these latter stiffened and darkened with the afflux of erogenous blood to their delicious virgin cores.  At times, he lowered the feather to waft against her navel or her hairless pussy, and her involuntary starts and squirming’s only forced her cruelly chafed pussy against the ridge of the punishment horse the more.  Mewling wails and groans constantly escaped her; by now, Myrna Gentry was beyond words; she desperately prayed for the chance to speak to her tormentor and acknowledge her complete willingness to submit to him yes, even if—even if it meant yielding her prized maidenhead to his male lust!  Thus, masterfully he had gauged her psychic temperament, and Myrna was well on the pathway to complete bondage servitude!

He kept her a full half hour on the horse, and the glistening flesh of her belly and sides showed the torture sweat to evidence her now failing endurance under pitiless ordeals.

"Now, Myrna, the last part of your training," he decreed.  As he lifted her off the horse, she moaned, trying to speak; the gag inside the helmet halted that—but he divined by now her desire.

Only, a slave's desire is never recognized; only the master's, and that was to be Myrna's final lesson!