Angela and Vonda

Chapter Seven

Marge and Dorothy Give Angela Riding Lessons

While Vonda introduced Mary to more details about the plans she had for her sister-in-law, Marge and Dorothy were walking Angela outside. It was beautiful day; sun high in the sky, the grass freshly mowed, flowers all neatly pruned, shrubs trimmed, truly a pristine setting.

As the three young women, two maids and the wife of the owner reached a rearward area Marge pointed to an object set idly beside several box shrubs, "Look Angela! Isn't that a remarkable thing to see?"

Feeling awkward in her slippery shoes; each hand held firmly by a maid she wasn't thinking much about what was being shown to her, and since she wasn't able to talk she couldn't have given an answer anyway. She did recognize what it might be. It looked like some sort of undersized wagon, or maybe a Chinese rickshaw.

Marge dropped Angela's right hand and disappeared in the nearby shed. Dorothy led her over to the mystery object, "Shake your head if you recognize what this is."

Angela shook her head sideways, hating every shake as it prompted additional clamor from the constantly clattering bells on the collar around her neck.

Wrapping her left arm around Angela's shoulders Dorothy took her right hand and slaked it up and down her right breast. She gently flicked at the bells around her mistress's neck causing another little delightful jingle. She asked, "You really don't know what this is?"

Angela again shook her head in the negative. Again the horrid bells jingled and jangled.

Dorothy, rubbing her right hand up and down Angela's left cheek affectionately murmured, "This is a little carriage; your own little chaise. You know the kind someone might ride in while being pulled by a horse or a pony."

It was then that Angela recognized the purpose of the contrivance. She wondered what it had to do with her. But she knew better than to try to ask, even if she could. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be to her advantage.

Marge reappeared trundling along a pile of leather and metal, "Did you show her Vonda's new gift?"

"Sure did." replied Dorothy. "She didn't know what it was at first."

Marge dropped her pile of leather straps on the ground. They dropped with a loud clatter, "Everything was right where Vonda said it would be." She walked over to Angela who was being fondled by Dorothy, "Miss Angela?"

Angela turned to look at her other maid.

Marge smiled sweetly, "Miss Vonda bought you a little buggy so you'd get some exercise."

Angela didn't understand the purpose of the wagon, nor did she fully understand what Marge was talking about. Confusion was written on her face.

The maids looked at each other and giggled.

Marge giggled again and said, "We're supposed to exercise you. Put you through your paces as it were."

Dorothy picked up the pile of straps. To Marge she said, "I'll sort these out. You get her undressed."

Marge walked around and stood in front of her mistress, "Now stand still." She slowly unbuttoned the front of Angela's romper making sure she tickled and fondled each plump pear shaped breast as she did. She pulled her arms through the short sleeves, and then down until the entire outfit was lying around her ankles. Her face and mouth loitered near her mistress's crotch, breathing on it, making as if to kiss her soft nude rounded pubic mound, "Step out please Miss Angela."

Angela stepped from the romper. Other than wearing only her knee socks, shoes, and manacles she stood naked in front of the two women who were paid to wait on her, hired to be her servants. True, they were waiting on her in a twisted sort of way; attending to her, touching her private places, invading the crease between her ass cheeks with manicured nails, softy pushing an index finger against and slightly inside her peach, her anus. This was not what Angela wanted. She wanted to be treated like a person, an adult, not like some cherished pet, someone's toy.

To these two women, her supposed employees, she'd become their cuddly living figurine. It infuriated her, enraged her sense of self, her concept of personal identity. She was becoming a sex toy, a plaything to be used and enjoyed like one would a kitten or puppy. Angela was losing her sense of proportion. She was not a toy, not a pet. She was a person, a human being! Why wouldn't anyone treat her that way?

By then Dorothy had sorted out all the leather straps, buckles, hasps, and snaps, "Angela sweetie look at all the wonderful things you have."

Angela screamed in silent protest. She wasn't a sweetie! She was a person! She looked at the material lying out and around her on the grass. She knew instinctively what everything was for. She turned to run away. They weren't going to dress her up like she was a horse!

As Angela stepped to escape, Marge grabbed her arm, "Oh no, we mustn't try to run away. We have something much more important for you to do."

She was trapped! There was no escape. They were determined to further debase her, to continue her degradation, her dehumanization.

Dorothy, tickling her ear, whispered, "Angela when we're through today you're going to love us so much."

Angela looked at Dorothy with dread; she was convinced these two would do nothing to make her happy. Their delight was her misery.

Marge ordered, "Now stand still or we'll have to give you a spanking."

Dorothy giggled, "We're giving you a spanking later anyway. You just don't want one right now." Then to Angela's surprise she slapped her hand hard on Angela's left ass cheek. Almost immediately a bright red hand print started to emerge.

Angela, in spite of her inability to talk, yelped.

Dorothy giggled again, "I love this. Angela you have the prettiest red hand mark." She slapped her again, on almost exactly the same place, only harder.

Angela reached for her ass. The bells on her wrists tinkled gaily as she felt where her maid's hand had landed. Already the site of the slaps was warm, and she could feel her flesh tingling as she touched the welt rising at the scene of her mistreatment.

Marge took a large leather belt. It looked to be about three inches wide. She wrapped it around Angela's waist and buckled it in the back, "There! You're first waist cincture."

Angela shuddered at the tightness and discomfort of the wide belt.

Dorothy pulled Angela around and latched two straps to buckles on the front of the waist cincture. Each strap was about three inches to the left and right of her navel, and had about two inches in width. Dorothy pulled each strap up and over Angela's shoulders.

Angela felt Dorothy pull the straps down and buckle them to two other fixtures on the waist cincture in the back. They reminded Angela of suspenders. Each strap stretched out and around the outside of each breast pulling them inward more to the center of her chest but upward and forward as well. Her breasts were being compressed and pushed forward in a manner something like a brassiere would do, but this pressure had a more unnatural affect since there was no visible support, only the pressure of the straps. Even without being told to move, she felt and saw her breasts involuntarily bounce and jiggle. It was all very tight and uncomfortable, but she was helpless to do anything.

Marge took two more straps, each about the same width as those used by Dorothy, and attached them to the waist cincture just inside the places where Dorothy had done her straps. She pulled each down and between Angela's legs so that they straddled her crotch. She pulled the straps up from her crotch and behind making sure the straps spread outward on the outside of each ass cheek. She attached the back of the straps to the rear of the waist cincture, making sure they were pulled tight.

Angela looked down and saw the affect of these two strips of leather. Her outer labia were pushed outward, and her clitoris was being pushed out and up. It looked obscene. Her entire sex was exposed!

Marge said, "Now walk around. Let's see if the straps between your legs chaff your skin."

Angela started walking. She felt the straps between her legs. She looked down in dismay. Each strap was outside a labial lip, and together they worked to press her labia outward, as if in greeting to anyone who watched. It was all so embarrassing. As she moved the straps stayed in place, but her labial lips undulated with each step. There was no chaffing from the straps, only the ever present feeling of their presence, but her labia were in constant motion, pressing and rubbing against each other, causing some nerve wracking titillation. At least the straps didn't scrape her skin, but they were certainly inducing a most profound sense of sexual urgency.

Dorothy asked, "Does it chaff?"

Angela shook her head no.

Marge announced, "Outstanding." She took each of Angela's hands and attached them to the sides of the waist cincture so that they were affixed to her sides. Each hand had perhaps two, maybe three, inches, of tiny chain between the cincture and her wrist manacles. She was thus able to move her hands slightly, enough to enable the gentle harmonies of her bells, but not enough to grant her any real freedom.

Dorothy pronounced, "OK, over to the carriage,"

Her maids walked Angela to the carriage and stood her between two shafts that extended from its base. The maids, one on each side attached her wrists to the shafts. Angela's hands were connected to her waist and to the shafts of the carriage. She was almost totally unable to move her hands; she stood motionless between the shafts.

Marge walked in front of Angela. She was holding what Angela immediately recognized as a horse's bit, except this was smaller and clearly designed for a person. Marge held up the leather bit, and shook it. On each end of the bit clung another tiny bell.

Oh no, thought Angela, not more horrid little bells!

"Open your mouth sugar pie." cooed Marge.

Angela was determined not to let them put that horrid thing in her mouth. She closed her mouth and lips biting down tightly.

Marge smiled, "Oh come darling, that won't work." She took the fingers of her left hand and squeezed Angela's nostrils shut. She smiled at her mistress, and quietly waited.

Angela held out as long as she could, but inevitably she had to take a breath. As she opened her mouth Marge pushed in the bit. In an instant the object was deep inside her mouth. Marge pushed it back as far as it would go. Since four of her molars had been shaved down there was space for the bit to rest with minimal discomfort. Marge nudged and wiggled the bit until it rested firmly in the spaces provided by the shaved molars. Then she tightly buckled it to the back of her head.

The bit felt horrible. A thin piece of metal crossed over her tongue, depressing it against the bottom of her mouth. It was terribly uncomfortable, and she could tell it would make it harder to swallow. She shook her head hoping to dislodge it, or perhaps at least find a way to relocate it in some manner that might ameliorate the worst of the discomfort. Nothing she did helped! In fact her twists and turns only served to delight her 'would be' servants, as each movement only resulted in a cacophony of sonorous little jingles.

Marge grinned, "This is the simpler of your two head harnesses. We have another; a full head harness. When we use that it will fit over the top of your head. That one has blinders, and an adorable feathered crest."

Angela cringed.

The two maids each took a length of leather and clipped them to the outer edges of the bit. Marge slipped back behind Angela and sat on the seat of the carriage. She yanked on the piece of leather attached to the left side of Angela's mouth, pulling her head to the left, "When I pull this way you turn to the left. Then she yanked on the right rein, "And when I pull on the right you go to the right."

Dorothy, who was standing in front of their mistress said, "Shake your head up and down if you understand."

Angela shook her head.

"Excellent." said Dorothy. "Now you're our little pony girl." Smiling she added, "Are you ready to start pulling Marge around in your carriage?"

Angela didn't know what to do.

"Come on shake you head up and down, so we know you're ready."

Angela was trapped, harnessed, and strapped between the shafts of a carriage, a bit in her mouth, and one of her maids seated behind her on a carriage seat with two reins in her hands. She shook her head up and down.

Marge happily called out, "Giddy up Angela!"

Angela didn't move. From behind she felt a crisp sharp swat on her bare ass! She had been smacked with a whip!

Marge joyously called out again, "Giddy up Angela!"

Angela didn't need a second swipe. She started to walk forward. As she walked she felt the slap of the whip again.

Marge yelled, "Faster!" She snapped the reins, pulling Angela's mouth and face to the right.

Angela reacted in surprise. The snatching of the reins hurt! She started to trot toward the right, toward the house.

The whip slapped her ass again, "Faster!" She snapped the reins again.

Angela ran along. She still had her tight leather shoes on, and they hurt. As she ran the bells on her collar, wrists, ankles, and now her bit all resonated a merry little tune. She was mortified, humiliated, and embarrassed beyond all measure.

Trotting along toward the house she saw the servants all watching from the windows. She was being humiliated in front of all the other people who were there to wait on her.

Marge ran her around and around while Dorothy watched gleefully. They continued their little party for nearly an hour. Every few minutes the maids stopped her and exchanged places. Marge had one type of whip. Dorothy had an entirely different kind. Dorothy's was smaller, and Angela felt that it had some type of hard tip on the end. Wherever it struck she knew instinctively it left a tiny open wound. Dorothy's whip was ten times as painful as Marge's.

The two maids kept Angela at it for more than an hour. By the end of the time Angela was exhausted.

Dorothy, being the last to ride, pulled the reins back forcing her to stop. She shouted, "Kneel."

Angela knelt almost gratefully on the grass, glad for even this brief reprieve.

Marge looked at her mistress, "Now you know what can happen if you misbehave." She started to dismantle the leather harness that confined Angela to the carriage.

Dorothy smiled sweetly at Angela, the woman she worked for, "We're going to take you inside and teach you some more new tricks. The tricks you're going to get inside will be a lot nicer. In fact, if you always behave, you'll learn to love what we're going to teach you next."

Angela, unable to talk, listened in silence. She very seriously doubted these two had anything nice for her.

Once she was completely free of the carriage and harness Marge took a six foot length of leather and hooked it to Angela's collar. Using the length of leather as a leash she walked her mistress back to the house, tugging on it every now and then almost causing the poor woman to stumble and fall. Her legs were tired and sore, and her ass felt like it was on fire from the many snaps of the whips.

They didn't wait. They walked her all the way through the house, in front of all the other servants, upstairs to her bedroom. Angela glimpsed the looks of her other servants. She knew none of these people. They didn't know her. She saw their looks, looks of pity, as though she were some dumb animal, a retard. It was mind numbing, crushing, for she was certain that was exactly what Vonda wanted all of them to believe. They were being programmed to look upon her as some sort of subhuman creature, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to change it.

Angela Gets a Special Set of Lessons in Her Bedroom:

Inside the bedroom, Angela completely nude, was told to lie down on her stomach on her bed. Dorothy took a bottle of ointment and started rubbing a cleansing soothing balm all over her body. She was particularly careful to get all the little whip marks on her back and rear end. None of them were especially deep or long, but she bet they all hurt. Dorothy delighted at the sight of the little welts all across her mistress's ass. She reflected on how her ass had quivered as she walked and ran, and how her muscles flexed with each bite of the whip.

The salve felt good on Angela's tired and aching muscles. It had an especially soothing effect on her poor posterior where Marge and Dorothy had been so merciless. Angela had never been so humiliated. She'd seen how all the servants in the house looked out the windows as Dorothy and Marge pitilessly flipped those nasty whips. She must have looked ridiculous; harness straps pushing her breasts forward bouncing rhythmically as they made her dash around the yard, her pussy out, wet and shiny from perspiration, and all the while those dreaded bells jingling rhythmically.

While Dorothy massaged her aching body Marge asked, "Angela did you ever hear of a man named Doctor Grafenberg?"

Angela, still unable to talk, shook her head no.

Marge added, "We have a special surprise for you. Dr. Grafenberg has done research on womens' bodies, and he's made some very interesting discoveries. Dorothy and I are going to share his discoveries with you. In fact, we're not only going to share some remarkable new things with you, we think we'll be able to show you how you'll be able to talk without needing that awful syrup Vonda gives you."

Dorothy, still gently rubbing added, "Would you like that Angela?"

Angela shook her head in the affirmative. Her inability to talk was weighing on her heavily. Because she couldn't talk, people treated her like she wasn't around, like she was invisible, or worse, like she was some kind of dog or young child. If these two could help her it would go along way in helping restore some of her lost self esteem.

Marge looked down on her harassed mistress, "I want you to roll over on your back. I want you to relax. Don't think about anything. Imagine you're at the beach. You hear the sea gulls, the pounding of the surf. You feel the cool ocean breeze as it wafts over your naked body and through your freely hanging hair. You're completely at peace with the world."

Marge lay down beside her mistress. Knowing that Mary had been taking extensive freedoms with Angela's body already, Marge did the same. She took her right hand and gently stroked each soft fulsome beautiful breast. Softly kissing her ear she whispered, "You're a harem girl resting on soft pillows and silken sheets. You're surrounded by slaves all nearby only to do your bidding, to caress your skin with fragrant unguents, to swath your delicate skin with the intimate kisses of slave's fingertips wandering over your dark aureoles, extruding nipples, and into the moist canyon between your labia, a slave slowly waves a feathered fan overhead.

Dorothy watched Marge a little jealously, "I bet her boobies would look even nicer of they were pierced. We could put little rings through each nipple, and then attach a bell to each ring. Then she could make music by just shaking her upper body."

Marge admired Angela's almost magnificent body; her perfect breasts, all rounded and firm, her beautiful heart shaped ass, now deliciously marked by the whip. She especially admired the delicacy and purity of her pubis, so completely denuded of hair it was truly perfection.

She added, "We could pierce her nipples, and her pussy too. We could put a ring though her two outer labial lips, and attach a ring to that."

Angela was mortified. The overheard remarks of having her nipples and pussy pierced awakened her from her reverie. Those were the kinds of things done to women of the lowest status, whores and Middle Eastern slaves. Having her nipples and pussy pierced was the last thing she wanted to have happen.