GOOD BREEDING

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Copyright 2004

The right of Katherine Forbes to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyright and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

All characters and events depicted are entirely fictitious; any resemblance to anyone living or dead is entirely coincidental

THIS IS FICTION. IN REAL LIFE ALWAYS PRACTISE SAFE SEX

GOOD BREEDING

By

Katherine Forbes

Chapter One

The Seaward
estate.

St Kelmo Island, West Indies.
1830

“I can never decide whether females suffer so beautifully because they are born to it or because we teach them so well.”

Lady Isabelle Stuart looked at her husband, Sir Archibald, with a dry, fond smile.

“Whichever it was, would it make one iota of difference when you are punishing one?”

“Of course not. But it is the kind of thing one thinks of when one sees such perfection in whipped flesh.”

She had to agree. Celia and Hugh Landon’s ponies were amongst the finest in the Caribbean.
Tall, graceful and coal black they could be whipped more or less all day without showing any marks.
Lady Isabelle and Sir Archibald
were currently wa
tching Hugh school a new
team of four
ponies
.
The slaves were arranged two to either side of the main shaft, the crossbar strapped tightly to the fronts of their belts, their arms neatly folded and tied behind them, forearm to wrist. It was a cumbersome arrangement with such a wide crossbar and the carriage took some handling. The girls’ dark skins shone in the sun as they sweated under the whips, their tossing heads waving their plumes prettily as, time and again, the driving team tried to get the four abreast slaves to time their trotting
so as to keep in step
as the reins were pulled to steer right or left.

Hugh jogged beside the ponies and thrashed the outside pair’s legs with a cane to make them speed up while the driver pulled the other
pair
back and his whipman added to the woes of the outer pair by searing their backs with the driving whip. After three or four tries, the coach and four began to be able to describe reasonably tidy curves over the rich grass of the lawn in front of the house.

Hugh came to stand beside them
mopping his forehead.

“They may not speak English but by God they understand the whip!” he said. He had bought the new team in Kingston a few weeks back and was training them
up for the annual
Rosebowl race
meeting and gymkhana in a few
months’ time.

Lady Isabelle pulled her gaze away from the delightful spectacle of the harnessed slaves with their breasts bouncing and their buttocks quivering as they learned to high step in a trot and the whip snapped and hissed across their sweating bodies mercilessly. As yet they could barely keep in step when trotting in a straight line but she supposed Hugh knew what he was doing. It was the cane tapping against Hugh’s booted leg that was distracting her. She flicked her fan open and used it, but was uncomfortably aware that it wasn’t her face that felt hot.

“Archie, we didn’t come just to gape at Hugh’s ponies,” she prompted.

“Ah, no. Quite. I need to borrow a decent cane off you until I can get a replacement shipped out. I’m clean out of good rattan, just can’t get on with the local stuff.”

“He broke his last one across Dorca’s back
,” Lady Isabelle added. “The girl couldn’t work for a week afterwards!”

“Now, now dear,” Archie admonished gently. “At the time I recall you had your entire fist in her cunt and a mouthful of her tit.”

“I’ll give you a couple to try out before you go and you can pay me back when it suits,” Hugh said easily. “Ah! Here comes Celia to take you for a spin.”

Around from behind the house, its wheels clattering on the gravel, came another four in hand with Celia Landon, resplendent in a long ski
rt, tight hacking jacket and riding
hat holding the reins. Beside her sat one of the slave drivers from the estate with the driving whip. Sir Archie and Lady Stuart inspected their ponies before they mounted, admiring the tight crupper straps and the long tails of real horsehair, the high breasts and buttocks and the wide, anxious eyes staring out from between the heavy blinkers. Lady Isabelle ran her hand over one quivering flank and stroked the bulging
, ringed
labia where the strap drove harshly along the slot of the sex.

“I’m so glad that Jacaranda
is back on a firm
footing and we can start
running ponies
,” she said as her husband handed her up into a seat. Jacaranda was their plantation, one which had gone through a shaky patch and was only now recovering.

Once they were settled
Celia joyfully whooped and yelled as she shook the reins and her whipman thrashed the ponies into taking the strain and then slowly getting the carriage rumbling and rasping forwards. Immediately a refreshing breeze played over their faces.

“Once young Adam gets here,” Archie said, “we’ll give him the use of the East house and I’m sure he’ll have a breeding and buying programme up in no time. I want Jacaranda’s name on the Rosebowl as soon as we can manage it.”

“And you really trust him?”

“Oh, yes. Knew his father. Whole family knows their livestock well. If Adam had
stuck to the racecourses and
kept away from the gaming tables he wouldn’t need to leave England now, but their loss is our gain. I think he’s really stumbled across something
and he’s bringing it with him
.”

Lady Isabelle reserved judgement but nothing could really spoil her mood as she watched the fields go by with their teams of sweating black workers. Here and there a dark skinned figure hung from a branch or a whipping frame, either waiting for punishment or waiting to be taken down after it.

Celia yelled again and a fresh flurry of whip strikes cracked onto straining flesh
and sinew. She turned in her seat and smiled at them as the carriage accelerated.

“It’s a grand life, is it not?”

After a delightful half an hour, the carriage wheels scrunched to a halt in the stableyard and Lady Isabelle and Sir Archibald climbed down. The four slaves
were gasping for breath around their bits, strings of saliva trailed down over their chins onto their breasts and mingled with the rivulets of sweat. Sir Archibald stroked some of the heaving and shaking mounds, sporting gold rings through the quivering nipples. His wife trailed her fingers along the soaking crevices of their cunts, making the six rings that each wore, tinkle and chime as she did so.

“We shall have ours ringed as well,” she told Celia. “Gold on black is simply enchanting.”

“They may not all be black, my dear,” Sir Archibald reminded her.

Hugh and Celia specialised in training up and buying in pure bred African stock. Other estates preferred mixed race ponies, maintaining that they had greater
endurance. Quadroons or Oct
roons
– slaves with some white ancestry were considered excellent long distance hackers while Spanish and Mexican ‘breeds’ were fancied by some for more decorative events such as dressage. But the Seaward estate swore by its string of pure black thoroughbreds. They were tall, graceful creatures with skin so dark it was nearly true black.

It was both their blessing and their curse that they didn’t show how much whip they had tak
en until they bled and i
t took a highly trained
whipman to judge when the skin was about to lacerate and to transfer his attentions to elsewhere on their bodies.

While Sir Arc
hibald talked breeding with Brad
, the Seaward head groom, Celia and Lady Isabelle passed a happy time in the stalls. A new purchase was being ringed and given her daily beating by one of the ‘boys’ a tall, heavily built black man. The slave was spreadeagled on her back against a grid of stout timbers that was propped up against one wall of the tack room. Her nipples had already been dealt with and her cunt lips were resplendent with shiny new gold. At her navel a gold ‘S’ dangled – it was pointless branding such dark skin
.
.

The boy
gave Celia a quizzical look as he finished piercing her and stood back.

“Of course, William, carry on,” she told him and both women enjoyed the frantic writhings and screams that followed as he took a crop to her breasts, stomach and thighs.

“They all take thirty lashes a day as a matter of course,” Celia told Isabelle as the slave slumped, exhausted in the wake of her thrashing. William stepped forwards again
and undid the lace at the top of his short, ragged trousers, his only garment, freeing an impressively thick cock. With no hesitation he rammed a hand between the slave
girl
’s legs and worked his fingers for a while, forcing groans of a rather more sensual nature from her, then he leaned against her body and thrust up into her, his muscular buttocks hollowing with each thrust.

Celia stepped forwards with her own crop and swung it hard against his bottom.

“Go to it man!” she cried, striking him hard and repeatedly as he fucked the writhing slavegirl. “Fuck the little bitch hard! Don’t pet her!”

Grabbing hold of the sides of the grid, William did his best, fetching cry after cry from the slavegirl as she was slammed against the wood and his cock speared up into her depths. By the time he ejaculated, Celia was flushed and out of breath and William’s buttocks, dark though they were, were clearly welted.

“You can never whip them enough, Isabelle! Remember that and you’ll run a good stable!” she said triumphantly as the two strolled back out into the sun.

I
n the library,
back at the house,
Hugh presented Archie with a choice of canes, all imported from the Eastern colonies. Lady Isabelle watched her husband’s strong arm flex as he swished one after the other.

“Isabelle my dear, I need to test these out. I want to make sure I have the right one for when our guests arrive.”

Isabelle and Celia exchanged rueful smiles, causing Hugh to frown and suggest that if Celia found a man wanting to be sure he had the right instrument of chastisement amusing, then he would damn well wipe the smile off her face.

Ensuring the door was locked, the two men looked on as their women fussed and fumbled with their skirts until their arses were properly bared and they were both bent over with their hands on the seat of a chaise longue. Both women were in t
heir late thirties and made
a
perfect
picture of mature
,
healthy womanhood.
Their thighs were firm fleshed and long above their garter-ribboned stockings, their buttocks were broad
and pale – a welcome change for men who spent their days disciplining dark skinned bodies – but still tight and smooth.
Snuggling close beneath
the buttocks were two dusky-lipped pouches with their inner lips just peeking out shyly at the prospect of discipline from their lords and masters.

Archie swung in the first stroke with an exceptionally long, slender length of cane. Isabelle let out a strange mewing noise that was familiar to those who punished her regularly but which always startled a first time flagellator. A thick line of pink appeared across the skin as Archie examin
ed the rod and bent it speculat
ively between his hands. Hugh flicked
two
hard
strokes across his wife’s arse and both men appreciated the sway and ripple of flesh in the wake. Celia yelped.

“Try that one, Archie. It’s got a little more bite to it,” Hugh suggested.

Archie took a few experimental swings, noticing Isabelle’s buttocks cringe and clench as she waited for the inevitable.

“Relax
the
m my girl, o
r I’ll really lay into you!” he told her sternly and smiled at the alacrity with which the cheeks were allowed to resume their natural shape. Then he beat her with three hard, quick strikes. She nearly jerked upright and he turned to Hugh in delight.

“That’s perfect! If I may borrow this one I would be most grateful
.
”

Hugh Landon was quite happy and
Sir Archibald cemented his
acquaintance with this particular rod by carving ten deep stripes across the underswell of his wife’s buttocks. It was a long and bumpy ride home and he wanted her hot and willing
from the discomfort
at the end of it.

Hugh kept his guest company out of good manners and beat Celia just as hard but his mind was on the Rosebowl and his newly bought slaves.

As the pair drove away, Lady Isabelle looking flushed and sitting rather
awkwardly, Celia waving with one hand and rubbing her rump with the other, he was already heading for the slave compounds.