Mastered | Tamara 10 | bdsm stories

Exactly two weeks after the party, Madame Annaliese sat on the terrace overlooking the paddock where she had first exercised Tamara and Red. The dominatrix had just finished having lunch. It was a slightly cloudy day with a cool breeze, everything peaceful and quiet. With her at the lunch table was an invited guest.

Annaliese picked up the telephone that stood on the table, and rang through to the stables. „Jason, Master Matthew is here and he’d like to go for a drive. Have Big Tits harnessed and brought round to the veranda! Use the yellow gig!“ She hung up the phone and turned to her guest with a smile.

„She won’t be long. Would you like some more coffee while you’re waiting?“

Matthew Ryan smiled appreciatively. „Yes, thanks.“

„You’re very welcome,“ smiled Annaliese, picking up the coffee-pot and beginning to pour.

Matthew Ryan was waiting in the large yard when Jason brought Big Tits over from the stable.

Led by a chain attached to her nose-ring, she was offering no resistance, though Matthew did notice a distinct stiffening of her body when she recognised him. He suppressed a smile as her eyes widened at sight of the thin, long leather carriage-whip. It was four times the length of the more usual quirt and looked extremely vicious.

His eyes roamed over his slave’s melon-like breasts and heavily-ringed nipples, then down to her depilated mound where his initials could be plainly seen burned deep into the flesh. Tamara was trembling visibly and he hid a smile. Revenge was indeed very sweet.

The gig to which Jason had harnessed Tamara was small but comfortable. Made of a light alloy with rich leather upholstery and large, spoked wheels, it weighed very little. The driver’s seat was raised above the wheels and could be covered with a collapsible hood in the event of rain. Within easy reach of the driver was a foot brake which could be left on when the vehicle was unattended.

By the right side of the seat was a convenient holder into which any kind of whip might be placed when not in use. At the back was a tiny boot and foldaway platform for carrying goods if required.

Matthew Ryan studied the trembling ponygirl lazily. He didn’t speak, just casually reached for the reins then climbed up and seated himself carefully on the driver’s seat. Carefully he threaded the thin leather of the reins through the fingers of one hand, holding the carriage-whip casually in the other. Having made himself comfortable, he pulled back slightly on the reins, bringing her on to the bit, head well back and arched slightly.

Matthew finally spoke. „You have already practised the first two paces of a pony,“ he said sternly, „walking and slow trotting. The next two are cantering and galloping which you practised the other day. Remember, the canter is a fast trot without high stepping. This is the normal pace for a pony! Mind you move your legs from the hips and not from the knees. A good long stride is what is required. The same with the gallop, which means exactly that; top speed with the same rhythm and style as the canter. Your bit will tell you which pace is required of you. A sharp pull means increase your pace by one step, from standstill to walking, from walking to slow trot, from slow trot to canter and from canter to gallop! Understand?“

Tamara nodded as best she could with the bit hard in her mouth.

„All right then, now think about this! You may also be required from time to time to miss out one step and go straight from, say, walking to canter. This will be indicated by two sharp pulls immediately following each other. A long steady pull is your order to slow down, dropping your speed through the four styles of moving until stopping. If the pressure is released at any time during the process of slowing down, you continue to run at the speed reached when the pressure was released. Understand?“

Again Tamara nodded as best she was able.

„Naturally, you are not allowed to alter speed unless I order you to do so,“ continued Matthew.

„The pull must be smooth and steady and the effort must not flag at any time, however tired you may feel. The bit will also instruct you which way you are required to go and you will obey this without hesitation, regardless of where you are driven. Provided you perform as required, you will not be whipped unnecessarily. Laziness, raggedness or stumbling, however, will mean punishment on your buttocks, hips, stomach or thighs. Gross failure, disobedience or rebelliousness merits a severe caning with the rattan; to put it coarsely, in terms you will understand, on your tits and cunt.“

Matthew increased the pull on the reins, forcing the bit still further back in Tamara’s gasping mouth as if to emphasise the words. He then flicked the whip sharply across her right flank; at the same time giving a sharp tug on the reins.

Tamara immediately tried to move forward in response, but was not prepared for the weight of gig and driver. Matthew was a good deal heavier than either Madame or Jason and she struggled to get moving. Almost immediately the whip snaked out again, this time painfully biting her flesh on the left of her waving blonde tail. She redoubled her efforts and tried again, this time succeeding in getting the gig to move at a walking pace, throwing her weight against the waist-belt at each step.

The gig naturally jerked slightly each time she moved in this fashion.

„Pull smoothly!“ Matthew shouted impatiently, flicking the whip sharply and rapidly across one side and then the other of the bisected, undulating haunches in front of her. „Use your muscles, not your weight!“

Desperately, Tamara tried to obey, keeping the waist-belt tight by exerting an even pressure between steps. This required nothing less than perfect muscle control and was good deal more difficult than she had expected.

Matthew kept her walking for several minutes, covering half the perimeter of the yard, then gave two sharp pulls on the reins. Tamara understood the message and began slowly and anxiously to increase her speed, trying very hard to avoid jerking forward and earn yet more punishment from the whip.

Suddenly the bit was drawn hard back in her mouth. For a second she tried to collect her bewildered thoughts, only to find the pressure being increased agonisingly. She slowed down and, as the pressure increased she tried to go faster again, then the pressure ceased and she had the sense to keep going at the same pace. Desperately she tried to remember Madame’s instructions.

Matthew’s voice came to her as if from a great distance. „When I order you to increase speed, do it quickly and smoothly. You were far too slow that time.“ Once more the whip flicked out to cut agonisingly into the flesh of her side, the end curling round to bite at her breast.

Tamara strained frantically against her harness the moment Matt again demanded a canter. She quickly reached cantering speed, then settled down to a pattern of long, smooth strides as best she could. Ryan sat back happily, watching his striving slave perform; enjoying the tremendously arousing sight of the lovely thighs and well-marked buttocks weaving smoothly between the shafts.

Breasts heaving mightily as she laboured to draw more air into her lungs, Tamara continued at the canter, frantic to avoid any more lashes; especially across her breasts as her Master had threatened. After four complete circuits of the track at a canter, he decided to bring the bit into play.

In the centre of the yard were a number of poles and obstacles, and it was through this maze that he directed the sweating ponygirl. All the human ponies hated the obstacle course and Tamara soon found out why. The driver could make this a test of control and let the slave weave through the course at a steady safe trot. Conversely, an unfortunate girl might be put through it against the clock, an exercise demanding fierce acceleration after each turn. Sitting comfortably in the driving seat behind the sweating Tamara, Matt decided that, as a test of her training, the latter was to be the case.

Reining her back to a slow trot for the first pole, Matt flicked her sharply on the backs of the thighs to get her knees right up to a horizontal position. A short sharp pull on the bit to the left called for a short left turn, just clearing the pole but losing speed as the sweating girl struggled to obey.

„Keep the pace up, slave!“ ordered Matt, laying the whip hard over Tamara’s left hip. She gave a strangled scream and resumed the slow trot, slavering at the bit, breasts heaving mightily as she gasped for breath. Twenty paces, then a right turn round a barrel, then left again round a pole, reined right back to a walk for the hairpin turn at the end of the course, then immediately instructed to slow trot again for the rest of the curve.

The weight of the carriage and driver was beginning to tell, the bit never still in Tamara’s drooling mouth. She was breathing heavily, the air hissing past the bit causing saliva to form flecks of froth at the corners of her mouth. Beads of sweat soon turned into small rivers running down her spine and between her heaving breasts. Her legs were becoming heavy, her muscles increasingly tired. The constant change of speed and demands for changes in direction meant a maximum effort that was fast debilitating her strength.

Matthew kept a careful eye on her, not wanting to exhaust her too early. He knew that severe physical damage could follow if an untrained girl was driven too far beyond the limit. After another ten minutes of continuous toil, he finally reined the gig to a halt. Dismounting, he gave the shuddering Tamara a full five minutes rest; looking on expressionlessly while she wavered between the shafts on shaking legs, panting and sweating, her lovely breasts flecked with foam from her grotesquely bitted mouth.

Matt looked at his shaking ponygirl with a feeling of immense satisfaction. Just to sit there and contemplate the harnessed, whip-marked nakedness of the arrogant bitch who had once betrayed him was pure unadulterated joy.

When the five minutes were up, Matt got back into the driver’s seat and immediately signalled for Tamara to start pulling. Just as before, the weight of the driver and carriage momentarily surprised the anxious girl, a hesitation which cost her several painful strokes of the whip until, once more, she got it right. This time the trip was for real. No more cantering round and round the ring.

A pull on the reins gave her the direction and they went briskly out of the gate with Tamara already performing the canter.

The uneven dirt track down which she and Aimee had been brought so long ago ran for some two and a half miles from the house before it approached a stand of timber overlooking the small country back road. From his conversations with Annaliese, Matt knew the distance might be covered in around twenty minutes by a fully trained and motivated ponygirl, mainly at the canter.

However, because of Tamara’s inexperience, he didn’t want to press too hard; just keeping her at the canter for the first mile to warm her up, then dropping down to the slow trot to enjoy the sight of the high-stepping thighs and weaving buttocks between the shafts.

Tamara pulled steadily and carefully, trying desperately to avoid as much of the whip as she could, yet unable to help wondering where they were going. Suddenly it began spitting with rain and Matt steered her off the road and reined her in under a tree. There was to be no respite for the slave, however and as soon as Matt had raised the hood of the gig, he had her back at the canter with two impatient pulls on the reins.

The light rain was wonderfully cooling on Tamara’s naked body; a sensation for which she was profoundly grateful as she covered the next mile or so. Keeping the various steps required by Matt was hard work and her strength was nearly gone when they finally approached the stand of trees that signalled the end of the run. She gratefully reduced speed at Matthew’s command; even the ludicrous, high-stepping slow trot was better than continuous cantering, which she had endured for so long.

The rain stopped just when as entered the trees and Tamara was sweating profusely as she slow-trotted, breathing hard, breasts swinging and bouncing beautifully. It was then that she saw the group of people in a clearing. Half a dozen well-dressed men and an equal number of young women were seated around a large picnic table laid out with food and drink. Dismayed, she forgot herself for a moment and, without waiting for a signal, came to an abrupt halt.

Matt Ryan was displeased. Applying the brake, he got down swiftly from the gig and released the reins from the bit in Tamara’s mouth. Frowning coldly at the trembling ponygirl, he purposefully clipped them to the rings in her swollen and distended nipples. „Right then,“ he growled angrily. „Maybe this will teach you to wait for my signal.“

Tamara looked round wide-eyed as Matt remounted the gig, well aware of what the reins now hanging slack from her rings would mean in terms of pain. She was not wrong. A sharp pull immediately had her gasping as her breasts were yanked round towards her back, each nipple suddenly stretched as if they might be ripped from her body. Using the whip as well as the reins, Matt guided her to an about turn, away from the trees and, with two more sharp pulls, signalled her to canter. They went perhaps a quarter-of-a-mile back down the road before a steady, agonising pull on the right rein turned them once more back towards the trees.

During this half-mile Tamara really went through her paces with Matthew Ryan using the reins and whip unsparingly, ordering and counter-ordering constantly while she went through all the emotions from agony and terror to submission and, finally, desperate pleading.

When at last they approached the stand of trees once more, she was well and truly crushed. She slow-trotted into the big clearing like a seasoned mare, obeying the slightest demand via her aching glands. Running with sweat, she looked straight ahead with something of that fixed look that could be seen on the faces of far more experienced ponygirls. Right at that moment the last of her spirit had been broken. Another, gentler pull and she drew very slowly to a stop. She was done now, her breasts rising and falling mightily with great gasps as she fought for breath for breath. Her

Master’s voice seemed to come to her from a great distance. „Kneel, Big Tits!“ he ordered, dismounting from the gig to polite applause from the people at the picnic table.

Continuing to stare straight ahead as she dropped to her knees, Tamara concentrated on not looking at the audience. Consequently, she did not hear her Master approaching, jumping with a sense of real terror as he appeared suddenly at her side. Casually, he unclipped the reins from her throbbing breasts and unharnessed her from the gig. Unconcernedly slipping a finger through one nipple-ring, he jerked her back to her feet. „Come on!“ he ordered briskly. „You’ve got more work to do before we go back.“

Tamara stumbled forward, docilely allowing herself to be led over to a tree stump which had several large staples hammered into it. Evidently, the stump was often used for tethering ponies.

„Kneel!“ he ordered again. His voice seemed a little strained and he accompanied the words with a downward tug on one nipple ring. Cruelly, he tethered her to the stump with cord from both nipple rings tied to a staple. The cord was just long enough to ensure that she remained with her nose close to the stump, breasts dangling, her welted and tailed behind thrust blatantly upwards. A strangled scream escaped her mouth as the carriage-whip laid a blazing line of fire across her already striped buttocks. „Spread those thighs!“ came the order.

Awkwardly, Tamara shuffled her knees as wide apart as she could. The pain in her wounded buttocks and thighs was debilitating, yet she dare not move. Footsteps in the grass and a chorus of lewd remarks heralded the approach of the group of men and girls whose presence in the clearing had so disturbed her composure earlier.

„Fuckin’ Hell, Matt!“ exclaimed a harsh voice. „That was quite somethin’.“

Another man laughed. „Sure was.“

„Oh, it’s mostly Annaliese’s doing,“ said Matt casually. „She does the training.“

„I like the tail, Matt; but what if you want to fuck her in the ass?“

Matt’s reply was cold and emotionless. „No problem. Just yank it out and she’s ready to go.“

Tamara listened to the casual conversation in a state of resigned fatalism. In her own mind, right at that moment, she was no longer a human being; just another animal to be used as her Master wished. What she wanted was of no consequence at all. Her Master’s will was paramount .

„Do you mind if I fuck her, Matt?“ enquired a strange voice. „I might be encouraged to make you a good offer for her.“

Tamara held her breath.

„Sorry, Jacques. I’m just about to fuck her myself.“

Tamara’s heart thumped painfully. Might this refusal mean that he still had some feelings for her? She jumped, suddenly, as his hand slipped between her wounded buttocks and spread the lips of her vagina. His fingers slid purposefully inside, searching for the tiny transfixed nub of flesh that was her clitoris and, finding it, began to caress and massage it into life.

„Stay still!“ warned Matthew gruffly as he hips began to move involuntarily. „I’m going to fuck you now.“ Tamara heard the gruff words and, with a great effort, managed to stay still long enough to allow the head of his penis to lodge inside her opening. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she realised he thought so little of her that he was prepared to take her so casually in front of an audience of grinning strangers.

For a moment or two Matthew seemed to be content to stay just inside her opening. Then, as she began to move her hips back towards him in silent encouragement, he slid slowly further home. He stayed still for long moments, then reached down under her body to squeeze and manipulate her pendulous breasts.

The pleasure pangs were quite exquisite as he moved slowly yet positively inside her. He was taking his time so perhaps he intended her to take pleasure in this joining as well as himself.

Tamara sighed breathlessly and gave herself over to the moment, the audience of leering men and women temporarily forgotten as her libido thickened and swelled.

Inexorably, Matthew’s thick veined shaft forced its way deeper and deeper into her sex before withdrawing and then plunging back in again. Tamara was gasping and drooling around her bit.

Until this moment, she had forgotten how big he was. Unconsciously, she began to make a sound in the back of her throat; not really a scream, but rather a sighing, pleading, keening moan as the plundering of her well-presented sex channel continued.

Again Matthew withdrew and then re-entered, repeating the process in a slow, steady rhythm and feeling the tethered ponygirl beginning to co-operate more fully in her rape.

Tamara could feel her pussy lubricating itself and she began to lose herself in the moment. Over and over, the big cock entered and withdrew, filling her in a way she had never even dreamed was possible. His fingers found her nipples and he began to alternately stretch and squeeze the ringed nubs as, mindlessly, she shook and swung her breasts against the pressure.

Suddenly, she felt his movements become more urgent and his cock seemed to swell even more.

The battering at her sex increased until she felt as if she was being split in two, yet the discomfort only seemed to intensify her own climactic approach to fulfilment. Mewling her joy, she skirted, approached and then finally crossed the threshold that was her goal, at the same time as his copious spend flooded into her depths.

Dimly, as she climaxed, Tamara heard loud cheers and applause from those watching and a few comments like: „Great show, Matthew,“ and: „Mon Dieu, Matt, where you get that little beauty?

How much you take for her?“

Tamara waited with bated breath.

His answer was casual. „Sorry Jacques. She’s not for sale. Come see me later, though! I have a redhead you can have.“

Tamara’s heart was pounding and not only from her exertions. So this was the infamous Jacques; the man from Marseilles; the man with the brothels to whom Matthew Ryan had once considered selling her. If her Master only knew how many nights she had wakened from a nightmare about this very same man. It didn’t matter now. It would be Aimee and not she, who would go to Marseilles to serve in the brothels. Tamara felt sorry for her, yet was relieved at the same time that it would not be her. She thought about her future and the price she would probably have to pay for Matthew Ryan’s pleasure and shivered with fear, yet even then, she could feel her treacherous sex oiling itself all over again. Sex and pain! Pain and sex! The two were indivisible. She craved one as much as the other. Her past life was a distant memory and she knew in her heart of hearts that, so long as she remained Matthew Ryan’s slave, she would be content.

Matthew’s deep voice broke into her reverie. „Time to go back to work, Big Tits! I want to see those knees right up on the way back down to the house, or I’ll take the skin off that backside of yours. You hear me?“

Shivering a little from a mixture of exhaustion and raw emotion, Tamara nodded her head, submissively allowing herself to be hoisted to her feet and led over to the gig. Matt came to her side and, looking deep into her eyes, smiled approvingly at her. Without saying a word, he clipped the reins once more to her nipple rings.

Tamara took a deep breath. The trip back to the house was going to be torture; yet she had no choice but to bear it.

„I want you to understand something, slave,“ said Matthew quietly. „Just because I fuck you from time to time, doesn’t mean your life is going to get easier. You belong to me now, body and soul ...,“ he stopped for a moment and looked her over, „... and you always will,“ he finished.

„Now then,“ he continued, „I want a fast trot back to the house, then it’s tea and sandwiches for me and a good rub-down and polish for you. Tonight, though, you will serve me in my bed up at the house.“ He smiled at the suddenly tense expression on her face. „No point in having a slave and letting her go to waste in a barn.“ He chuckled. „You might as well know; from now on I intend to keep you as my body slave.“ He looked her straight in the eye. „That’s not to say that I won’t want to use you as a ponygirl from time to time as well. Any objections?“

Tamara looked up at the handsome, yet uncompromising face and shook her head as best she could. In truth, she had no objections. Her future was plain; a prospect she both feared and welcomed. Matthew Ryan meant exactly what he said. For Big Tits, formerly the arrogant Tamara Heys-Grant, life as Matthew Ryan’s slave really did mean life. There would be no parole for her.

Epilogue

A New Male Slave Arrives for Training

Sir Richard Grant was naked. Tied hand and foot in the back of the Land Rover as it bumped its way along the rutted track, he fought to stop himself being thrown against the sharp metal corners of the vehicle.

He was still dazed and confused. He remembered arriving at his house late at night after a particularly hard business meeting to find a man waiting for him in the shadows. Then nothing.

Nothing, that is, until he came round lying in the cabin of a small boat.

His cock and balls ached under the pressure of the thin leather straps confining and separating them so tightly and he was drooling around the large ballgag that ensured his silence.

The Land Rover stopped suddenly and the driver came round to the back and, taking him under the armpits, dragged him out to drop him face-down on the gravel. Sir Richard lifted his head painfully, looking up at the beautiful, Amazon-like woman standing straddle-legged at the top of a stone staircase leading up to the main door of what was obviously a very large house.

„Welcome slave,“ rasped the Amazon.

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