In the Stable Copyright, by J. Z. Sharpe, April 1999
Author: joanzs@fast.net
All rights reserved copy/duplication prohibited


I know I take a great risk to tell you this story, even now, so many years after it took place. But in the telling, it creates a picture in my mind's eye that cannot be erased, cannot be swept away in the river of time. True, it may change your opinion of Lady Bastia and Lord Franklin, but I invite you to form your own judgment. I am only the observer.

At the time of the incident, I was employed in the stables at Marlington Manor, cleaning stalls and attending to the horses, who have always been my true friends. I find them so much more accepting of my quirks, and easier to communicate with than humans. Around both men and women, my tongue is tangled in my thoughts, my actions foolish and faltering. But with my equine companions, I am where I belong, with beings who do not judge me in any way. As long as I serve them and care for them with an open heart, they will always be my best friends.

It was with these friends that I tarried that evening, filling their bins with oats and giving carrots as treats. Silence hovered in the barn like a protective fog, and except for the sound of frogs outside and the occasional murmurs and shuffling from the horses themselves, I heard nothing -- until someone whooped with laughter, causing all of us to stir.

"Who's there?" I called, thinking that perhaps some of the guests from the manor had come down to the stable, wanting horses for a midnight ride.

But no one replied, not even after I asked a second time. So I went about my business, and was about to hang up my broom and lock up for the night when I heard another giggle, and someone spoke.

"Oh, please, my lord!"

The voices were nearby; in fact, they sounded like they came from the east section of the stable, which opened onto the indoor riding ring. No horses were kept here except for special occasions (for example, when Marlington Manor hosted their annual hunt). On this night, it was dark, and smelled of old hay and raw wood. The floorboards squealed under my steps as I advanced to investigate the source of this mirth.

In the yellow light of a kerosene lamp, I saw the pair. At first I did not recognize them, the light being too dim for me to see well, but then Lord Franklin turned, and I noted his trademark mustache. The laughter was undoubtedly Lady Bastia, high and sweet like a lark's music. "Oh, sir, you grow more handsome by the minute!" she cried.

With the greatest stealth, I removed my stable boots and climbed into the rafters of the barn for a better view. I let out a silent gasp when I realized that they were both as naked as the day the good Creator brought them into the world! And, both being of high birth and excellent ancestry, they were most pleasant in countenance: the Lady with her full breasts and luxurious bush of auburn hair around her womanly treasures, and her companion's broad shoulders, sculpted derriere and -- oh, my! -- glorious wand of masculine power, which already stood at strict attention. He was before Lady Bastia with his arms at his sides, and a gentle smile formed on his fine face as she cupped her breasts in her palms and lifted them so they might be admired to their best advantage.

"So, Lord Franklin, do you find these to your liking?" she cooed.

"Oh, yes, ma'am, absolutely! They are quite -- um -- breathtaking!"

"Yes, they are, aren't they? And I am sure you will find them even more breathtaking when your face is buried between them. Although I will take great care not to suffocate you," she added. Then she pointed at a place on the floor before her. "Kneel and worship, slave. Kneel and give homage to the goddess."

What stirred in my loins when she spoke in this manner! Even though she directed this command to Lord Franklin and not to myself, I would gladly have knelt in his place. I would have admired those shining globes, with their sweet nipples, as hard and dark as the loganberries that grow at the edge of the Manor grounds. I would have allowed her to press her sweet flesh against my temples, close off the light of this world so that I might drown in her loveliness. Would Lord Franklin do the same?

Of course! The man was no fool. He dropped to his knees, the sound of hard bone striking the splintery floor. Raising his face to hers, I almost thought I could see him begin to tremble as she enclosed him in the fleshy valley between her feminine peaks. His muffled moan made me want to weep with longing. But she was true to her word, she did not suffocate him. No, she released him just in time, and ordered him to kiss her feet, an act he performed with the utmost eagerness, lavishing each toe with such affection, I was brought nearly to tears.

Lady Bastia, on the other hand, soon became bored with this game, and ordered him to assume a position on all fours. "Like a common dog," she said to him. "Which is what you are, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am, that is what I am."

"Pardon me? I cannot hear you."

"I am a common animal," Lord Franklin said, in a louder and more forthright voice, filled with confidence and (dare I say it) pride. "I am a lowly beast, and deserve to be treated as such, by your leave, my lady."

"Blast it!" Lady Bastia looked around the room. I ducked even deeper into the shadows, hoping she would not see me. "Here we are in the stables, and you would think I could find a leash of some kind, a harness, anything... ah, well, at least I have this." She took down a riding crop which hung on a nearby wall. "An animal such as yourself must be trained, yes?"

"Yes, my lady, absolutely!"

"My heavens, what enthusiasm! Come over here, beast." Lord Franklin tried to rise to his feet, but Lady Bastia cracked the crop, which made a sharp snap that startled both of us. "On all fours. Like a dog. Come close." She spread her legs, put her weight on her heels and pushed her mons into his eager face. "Eat your mistress, my slave. From now on, you will live only on my sacred juices, and you will be grateful for every drop." He stared up at her, a look on his face that caused me to wonder what he truly saw -- whether he saw Lady Bastia herself, or some supernatural goddess. The lady let out an exasperated sigh. "What are you gawking at, man? Eat, I said!" She pushed herself into his drooling mouth to make her point.

I must tell you that I have endured great hardship in my life. Hunger has been no stranger to me or to my family. And I have known the sweet pleasure of tasting food after a long famine -- which is, I am sure, how Lord Franklin experienced his lady's offering. He nuzzled his face in her crotch until it nearly disappeared, and he licked and lapped and moaned and swallowed, literally gorging himself on her beauty. How I envied them both!

Lady Bastia rotated her hips, grinding her muff into his mouth. She brought both hands down upon his head to hold him fast, although he did not seem in danger of escaping his duties. "Eat me, you dog. Yes, that's it. Harder! What's wrong with you, you are not hungry? Perhaps I need to starve you some more!" And then, just to make her point, she grabbed the riding crop and gave him a swift reminder to the rear.

"My lady!" he gasped.

"You eat like I am a mere snack to you."

"No, no, ma'am! You are sweet, delicious, I could eat you all day. Please, I want to put my tongue inside you, so deep, I know I could go deeper than you have ever known, my lady, if you would only give me a chance."

"A chance?" Lady Bastia cracked the whip again. "You are my slave. I do not give out 'chances'. I deliver commands, and you must obey them." She pushed his head away. "Turn around."

"But -- "

"Turn around! My God, do I have to say everything to you twice, slave?"

He swung around on his knees, so his rear end was exposed to her cold and calculating gaze. Now what would she do to poor Lord Franklin? I felt sorry for the man, but at the same time, I envied him. Sweat shone on his back, and a silvery line of drool ran from his mouth. With his eyes partially rolled back into his head, he looked like a madman, worthy of a place of honor in Bedlam.

"As pale as the moon herself. What a pathetic sight." Lady Bastia shook her head. "We'll remedy that straight away."

I clutched the rafter as the first blow of the crop landed across his buttocks. Lord Franklin screamed, which made Lady Bastia smile.

"What do you say, my slave?"

"I -- I --"

"What do you say when you are whipped?!" She gave him another resounding whack. "What have I taught you to say?"

"Th -- thank you, my lady! Thank you so much!"

Crack! "You don't sound very sincere."

"Oh, but I am, my lady! I mean it from the bottom of my miserable slave's heart! I thank you for your fine treatment of me, and I beg you to treat me in this way again."

"You beg?" Crack! "What is the most important word for a beggar?"

"Puh -- puh -- please!"

"Yes?" She paused with the crop in the air, ready to meet his flesh again in a most painfully delicious way.

"Whip me again, my lady. Please! Leave your mark on my miserable skin."

"With pleasure!" She struck again, and again, and once again, more times than I could count. By the time the blows subsided, at last, angry crimson marks criscrossed Lord Franklin's buttocks and thighs, a sight so beautiful, I was nearly delirious with envy. Surely she would stop now, surely her perverted desires were sated?

But no. Lady Bastia chuckled, and with the most evil of smiles, turned the crop around. She spat upon the handle, once, twice, three times, until it gleamed with her spittle. Then, grinning wickedly, she placed its end against Lord Franklin's rectum.

He groaned. "Oh, my lady, what delight have you planned for me now?"

"A most exquisite one, my slave. I am going to fuck you. Can you beg me for that?"

"Yes! Yes! Fuck me, please!"

"You do not speak loud enough for me to hear you, my slave."

"Fuck me! Please!"

She teased him, running the leather handle up and down along his rectal opening. "If you are going to beg, I at least want to hear the words pronounced in the right way. I want to hear the hard 'k' in that beautiful word that I know you love to say."

"Fuck me, my lady! Fuck me! I beg you, fuck me!" Each time he spoke the magical word, the "k" nearly exploded at the back of his throat. And each time that "k" snapped from his lips, his mistress worked the handle of the crop a little deeper up his quivering orifice. I stared, my mouth as dry as the desert at noon. Did this not hurt the man? Yet he seemed to crave the pain, and do all he could to be deserving of more. At that moment, Lord Franklin truly became my hero, and remains in this exalted position to this day.

The two lovers began a rhythm, with Lord Franklin moving toward her, resulting in a deeper thrust of the lady's tool. At one point, she even stood so the crop was wedged in her crotch, between her steaming thighs, and she buggered him much in the way a man might bugger one of his fellows. She threw her head back and groaned, lost in her pleasure. I watched her every move, and his -- until I realized that with her head held back like that, Lady Bastia would be sure to see me if she opened her eyes. I hid in the shadows like a common night-creature, wishing this wonderful

performance to go on until dawn.

But alas, all that is good in this world must eventually draw to a close, and I fear that this includes the punishment and ravishing of the great Lord Franklin. His utterance of that common Anglo-Saxon term deteriorated rapidly, the "k" sound lost for good, so that all I heard was a rhythmic "fuh, fuh!" -- and then, even the "f" was gone, and his words became animalistic grunts. Lady Bastia smiled down upon him with such wickedness, digging her nails into the raw flesh of his buttocks, hanging on for dear life. Indeed, such a tight hold was necessary, because the good man began to buck and spasm, throwing his head back with the most miserable grimace of pleasure. His enormous tool began to spray jism everywhere -- on the poor old wooden floors, the half-rotten hay, even the walls. The mere quantity of his cum was beyond my comprehension; just as I thought he was about to stop, another ribbon of silvery liquid would sail into the air. I wondered if perhaps Lady Bastia had forced him earlier to conserve his energies, so they might be expended all at once on this very special night. Needless to say, the mere witness of these activities caused me to break into a nervous sweat, and as Lady Bastia withdrew the handle of the crop from her partner's rectum for the final time, I could feel my grip on the rafters slipping dangerously. Last minute flailing did me no good, and I succumbed to the cruelty of gravity, traveling down to the stable floor ten feet below me, where I landed in a pile of old musty tarpaulins and riding blankets. Both Lady Bastia and Lord Franklin looked up, their eyes wide and startled. "What was that?" Lady Bastia cried.

Fortunately, I did not land on my head, only on my left arm and hip. With my mental faculties still intact, I was able to roll under the blankets before being seen, and I peeked from below with one eye, watching the two lovers search the stables for the cause of such a sudden noise. Lady Bastia seemed more determined to ferret out the culprit than Lord Franklin was, although he joined in the game like a good sportsman and peeked around corners and inside boxes. At last he said, "Good lady, barns like these are filled with unexplained sounds. It was probably a bag of feed dropping from its storage place in the loft. I would not let it worry you, ma'am."

"Well, I don't want anyone to see us here. My God! If they only knew..."

She looked around one last time, then turned her attentions again to the poor Franklin, who still panted from his prurient activities. "On your knees, you miserable wretch. I didn't say you could stand again."

"I am so sorry, ma'am!" He dropped to all fours and looked up at her adoringly.

"Let us take our leave of this place, which you will do in your present position." She tapped his rump lightly with the crop, still clutched tightly in her pale little hand. "Go, go! Or must I punish you?"

"No, please, ma'am!" Lord Franklin scurried outside on his hands and knees, Lady Bastia directly behind him. My final memory of the good man on that evening is seeing him from behind, scampering across the barnyard like a dog, his enormous cock dangling so that it nearly scraped the ground.

*****

The next morning, Lord Franklin arrived right after breakfast, demanding his stallion be made ready for an afternoon tour of the neighboring countryside. I could scarcely believe it was the same man I'd seen treated with such cruel pleasure the night before. He stood tall and proud, dressed in black wool, his mustache freshly combed and curled, his boots newly polished. "Right away, sir," I muttered in reply to his request.

But as I handed him the reins, I could not help but see the same glimmer of helplessness I had observed the night before. Our eyes met, our gaze locked for a little longer than might be considered socially acceptable for two people of our differing classes. "Are you all right?" he asked me. "You're limping."

"Just some bruises from stable work last night," I replied. "Nothing of consequence, sir."

"Well, see to it that you consult a physician if your condition does not improve." He turned away suddenly and climbed aboard his horse, and we did not make eye contact again. I watched him ride off in an enormous cloud of gravel and dust.

I have not seen Lady Bastia since the fateful night; it has been rumored that she went overseas in search of a better climate. Occasionally, however, Lord Franklin is invited to the Manor for a weekend, and when we encounter each other, our eyes meet briefly, his containing a quick glimmer of conspiratorial recognition before he turns away. To this day, I wonder if he knows what we have shared, he and I.