Hall of Infamy by Amanita Virosa

distinctly skittish and she just might try to bolt.’
    A firm push in the small of the back propelled the maid towards the saddle. Kitty’s wrists were caught by Davy on the far side of the beam, and she felt strong hands grip her waist and hoist her up. Mr Blackstock lifted her the few inches required and she sprawled belly-down over the saddle, held in place by the stable-boy’s firm grip on her wrists. An even firmer grip grabbed her right ankle.
    â€˜We’ll have these things off, I think. I have no mind to lose an eye!’
    Kitty felt him remove her shoes, and then she gave a little wail of fear as she felt the bridle strap pass under her thighs, against the bare flesh just above her stocking-tops. This was pulled quite tight before another strap secured her ankles together. Kitty gave an alarmed squeak. Mr Blackstock had not strapped her down for her previous visits to the stables, and the procedure provoked a sense of mounting panic in her.
    â€˜Oh, please sir. This really is not nec – Ow!’ There was a resounding smacking sound and Kitty felt pain lance through her left thigh.
    â€˜Keep quiet, or I’ll put a bit on you,’ Mr Blackstock growled. ‘Dick, fetch me a curb chain and a lip-strap. Just in case.’ Then he stepped into Kitty’s field of view, holding a selection of straps. He put most of these down on a nearby work bench, but he retained two. One was a short double strap equipped with two buckles which he secured around her right wrist, threading one of the straps through a loop in the brow-band, a short length of leather with a loop sewn into either end. The groom then took another of the double straps from the bench and buckled it around her left wrist and the other end loop of the brow-band, creating a pair of leather handcuffs.
    A hand on Kitty’s bottom told her that Dick had returned, and she flinched as she waited for the inevitable pinch.
    â€˜Now, Dick, pass the ends of that martingale looped over the thigh strap to me, underneath the saddle,’ Mr Blackstock instructed.
    Below her, Kitty saw a hand holding both ends of a buckled strap emerge, and felt the pressure pulling her thighs forward. The belt was buckled over the strap joining her wrists, and then Mr Blackstock tightened it up.
    Kitty yelped as she found her knees pulled forward and her wrists hauled down and back, forcing her to embrace the saddle. She was quite helpless now and she knew it. Her bare bottom was exposed to the world and she could only move her head. Worst of all, she was deprived of even the illusory feeling of security that having her feet on the ground might have conveyed.
    â€˜Pass me that stirrup-leather.’
    Mr Blackstock doubled up the heavy-looking strap in one hand. With the other, he took a fistful of Kitty’s blonde locks and hauled her head up until she met his eyes. He looked enormous, towering over her, the size of his great biceps and shoulder muscles emphasised by the bareness of his arms.
    He tapped the strap against her cheek. It felt cold and hard, heavy and unyielding. Kitty felt suddenly faint.
    â€˜Now, girl, I mean to leather you good and proper. I shall give you a belting now which you’ll not forget in a hurry. I shall give you something to take to show your mistress when I’m finished. I don’t mind if you squawk, and you can wriggle all you like. It will make no difference to me!’
    Kitty could only listen with bated breath to his heavy-booted tread as he strode across the flags that floored the stable-block. Her arms were hauled down by the strapping, to the point where she could not raise her head and see what was happening behind her. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes tightly, her bottom-cheeks clenching in anticipation.
    There was a low whistle, followed by a sharp crack. The strap caught her right in her most tender groove and a ferocious blaze of pain coursed through her rear. Though she had been