Hot Pursuit (23 page)

‘My fuse is this fucking short,' Ginger insisted. ‘And you don't want to be around when it finally fucking blows.'

If she had been able to speak, or communicate in any way, Anne would have readily agreed that she didn't want to be around when Ginger's fuse finally blew. In all honesty, and regardless of Ginger's short fuse, Anne simply didn't want to be around. She hadn't thought about Sean since the beginning of the week, and had begun to hope that his involvement in her life was now nothing more than a memory, but she would happily have committed herself to time in his company rather than being in the cellar with Ginger. Even better, she thought, and this idea had all the trappings of a hatefully unattainable dream, she wished she was still at Lucy's side.

The rickety chair she had been thrown in was hard and uncomfortable and, although her body felt too numb to be certain, she feared that the splintered seat
was biting and scratching her bare buttocks. Each breath she snatched found the air to be musty and dank. A constant drip in the shadows around them perpetually reminded Anne that she was in the bowels of the hall and that thought brought with it a host of sinister associations. Panic had prevented her from noticing much on their journey but she distinctly remembered their hurried descent down stone stairs. Claustrophobically feeling the weight of the building above them, she tried not to let herself think that she was now Ginger's captive and that they were alone in a dungeon.

Unable to stop herself, she bit back a sob and trembled in her seat.

Ginger snorted with disgust and stepped away. ‘You're not going to tell me, are you?' she growled. ‘You're not going to tell me a fucking thing.'

Eyes wide with apprehension, Anne shook her head from side to side. She didn't know where Lucy was and, given the opportunity, would have told Ginger that they went their separate ways when they parted outside the arched gateway that led from the stable's courtyard. The departure had been unwanted and unexpected, and she still couldn't bring herself to accept that she would never again see her new and exciting friend, but in her heart she believed the split was permanent. However, until Ginger allowed her to remove the bit from between her teeth, Anne knew there was no way she could explain any element of the situation.

Ginger turned her back to Anne. Her shoulders were squared with impatience. The fastenings on the harness framed her magnificent physique and separated the cheeks of her taut, perfect buttocks. She presented such an inviting image that Anne stole her gaze away fearful she would find the woman attractive.

She glanced around the unlit gloom of their surroundings and her body was racked by another involuntary shudder. Her eyes had adjusted to the lack of light with surprising speed and she was unnerved by some of the things she could now see lurking in the shadows. Shapes that looked like chains and restraints were visible in every direction and renewed her fears that the redhead had brought her to some specifically designed punishment room. Considering what Lucy had told her about the baronial halls, and the wayward lifestyles that were enjoyed by the occupants, she didn't think the idea of a torture chamber was so unlikely.

Her racing heartbeat accelerated.

There were other items – enough stacks of picture frames, forgotten packing cases, furniture and empty wine racks – to give Anne hope that they might simply be hiding in some forgotten storage room, but the knowledge that she was at Ginger's mercy wouldn't let her fears abate.

Unable to stifle the sound, even with the bit in her mouth, Anne moaned.

Ginger was either oblivious to her distress or uncaring.

Already attuned to the woman's bilious mood, Anne strongly suspected the latter.

‘I take it you're another of the I-Love-Lucy fan club,' the redhead growled. Slowly, she turned back to face Anne. The contempt in her voice was chilling and the cellar's shadows made her face into a gaunt, eyeless mask. ‘Perhaps you could explain what charms that little bitch has? Perhaps someone should tell me how I could become as wonderful as her, because I'm really puzzled.'

Anne's mouth was held open by the bit but she couldn't bring herself to take it out and offer a reply.
She simply regarded the woman from a position of wordless dread.

Ginger continued, seeming untroubled by the lack of a response. ‘I don't get the big attraction that everyone seems to have for her. And I don't understand why I'm not getting the recognition I deserve.' Her voice was slowly growing more strident, mounting anger forcing spittle to spray with each sibilant. ‘I don't understand why I'm being ignored and she's getting all the attention and praise. It doesn't seem fucking fair.'

Storming back and forth in front of Anne's chair she angrily kicked an empty wine rack and sent it skittering to one corner of their gloomy hideaway. The wood splintered noisily against a stone wall and Anne flinched as though she had been struck by the shrapnel.

‘Lucy isn't the only one with a special ability,' Ginger proclaimed. ‘I've got the same talent as hers but mine comes with added benefits. My special ability is better.
Would you like me to prove it'

The question was hurled so unexpectedly that Anne didn't know how she should respond. She didn't want to shake her head again – Ginger's vile mood suggested the woman would be infuriated by any refusal – but Anne didn't know what she would be agreeing to if she nodded. Miserably she realised her response was immaterial because Ginger had decided to show what she could do regardless of her victim's assent.

The redhead stood before her, hands on hips and green eyes smouldering. The view she had presented from behind had been exciting but from the front it was even more appealing. The straps of her harness had been fed through the piercings that penetrated her nipples and those ringlets of steel that dangled
from her labia. At some point she had removed the pair of steel bars that had pressed against her breasts and, with her hourglass figure, narrow waist and full hips, Anne thought the woman looked frighteningly desirable.

Daunted, she tried to look away but the unspoken command in Ginger's expression held her gaze. The redhead's pale lips were thin with concentration and her forehead was furrowed. Something about her features reminded Anne of the expression she had occasionally seen on Lucy's face and she was disquieted to think that her friend and most intimate tutor shared any similarities with this bully.

‘You and Lucy have had a lot of fun over the past couple of days, haven't you?'

Anne blushed.

For the first time since Ginger had caught her she felt thankful for the bit because it prevented her from having to answer. In a haze she recalled all those things that she and Lucy had shared together, from their revelatory meeting in the motorway service station, through the wetplay escapade and the question-and-answer game, to this afternoon's introduction to the world of pony-carting. Ginger's suggestion that they had ‘had a lot of fun', was a vast understatement but Anne knew she would never have had the courage to correct the woman. Knowing some response was expected she remained silent and twitched her shoulders in a gruff shrug.

‘Exhibitionism?' Ginger suggested.

Anne remembered the way she had slyly exposed herself to the security guard. Even though she didn't speak she felt sure her blushes had answered Ginger's sharp query. The memory inspired a glowing wire of heat between her legs and she could feel her nipples swelling.

‘Bondage?'

Anne lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning crimson.

She listened as Ginger reeled off a list of sexual activities which, until a few days ago, had only been part of her most sordid fantasies. As the redhead barked each suggestion, Anne was scalded by the memory of each experience. Her stomach was a bubbling cauldron of arousal that spilt its invidious heat slowly between her legs. The recollections were obscenely easy to relive and the dark excitement struck with punishing force. Adamant that Ginger wouldn't force a response, Anne kept her eyes lowered. She invested all her efforts into remaining still, even reluctant to allow her head to shake or nod. She no longer feared that her blushes were giving her away because the crimson heat in her cheeks had become a constant burn. But the worry that she might inadvertently give something away nagged incessantly at the back of her mind.

‘She's gone down on you?' Ginger raised her voice on the last word of each sentence to indicate she was asking a question. ‘You've gone down on her? You've done the watersports thing? I take it she horsewhipped your backside once she had you in the buggy?'

Anne expected her reticence to anger the woman, and felt sure her lack of eye contact would spark Ginger's easy wrath, but the woman acted with a surprising display of compassion. Leaning close, her bare breasts dryly caressing Anne's flesh, she began to unfasten the bridle before slipping the bit from between her teeth.

Anne opened and closed her mouth, quickly banishing the ache that the bit had inspired in her jaw. The worry that she would now have to answer the
woman's questions wasn't lessened by the relief of being free from the gag.

‘Isn't that better?' Ginger breathed.

Her nearness was disquieting and the subtle arousal she inflicted was surprising and unwanted. A clean musk of perspiration emanated from the woman's flesh and Anne willed herself not to be touched by the excitement that came from drinking that perfume. The scent came with a tang of feminine arousal and Anne knew she didn't want to acknowledge that particular flavour.

‘Lucy's shown you quite a lot,' Ginger conceded good-naturedly. Her tone had fallen from an angry bark to an amicable whisper of understanding. ‘Lucy's shown you so much I'm surprised she didn't show you the best aspect of pony-carting.'

The words startled Anne and caused her to look up. She raised her head in time to see Ginger's mouth inch closer. Her lips were enveloped by the unexpected kiss and she only had the briefest moment to realise what was happening. It had seemed unimaginably exciting when Lucy first took her to the motorway service station's motel and, after all that she had seen and experienced since, Anne was surprised to find the simple act could still thrill her so deeply. Ginger's foreboding embrace wasn't something she had courted, yet she was happy to revel in the thrill of having the woman's lips against her own.

Ginger's tongue slipped into her mouth: exploring, invading and arousing.

Anne's nipples stiffened and the heat between her legs became fluid and demanding. She waited until the woman had moved her mouth away before regarding her meekly and asking, ‘What is the best aspect of pony-carting?'

Her voice sounded like a sultry invitation in the gloom of their hiding place. Ginger continued to frighten her but that fear had become a secondary consideration next to the growing need that swelled between her legs. The promise of Ginger's kiss had filled her with a desire to experience more and, when the redhead began to unfasten the straps at the back of her harness, Anne raised no objection.

She told herself that the harness had been obscenely revealing, and that she was not exposing any more of herself than had already been on display, but that didn't stop her flesh from prickling with a familiar thrill as the straps of leather were removed. Ginger's casual caress innocently brushed her skin, inspiring a greedy tingle that rippled through to her sex, and she briefly fought against the urge to surrender. A tight band of anticipation laboured her every breath and she knew that any resistance she did show would be short-lived.

‘The best part of pony-carting is the after-care,' Ginger said knowledgeably.

Anne didn't understand what the words meant but the woman's tone offered so much reassurance she couldn't contemplate another question. Relishing the pleasure that came when the straps were peeled away, languishing in the joy of being revealed to the daunting stranger, she remained rigid in the chair as she was fully undressed and exposed.

‘Pony-girls put a lot of effort into their work,' Ginger said earnestly.

When she wasn't growling with bitter fury her voice had a husky timbre that was featherlight and melodic. Anne could have basked in the balm of her sweet words for hours and knew her arousal would only continue to grow. The consideration that Ginger might be unstable didn't hamper her desire for what was being offered.

‘After a pony-girl has provided a good show on the field, she needs to be rewarded for her efforts,' Ginger continued. She dropped the harnesses to the floor and placed her mouth back over Anne's.

This time the kiss was more demanding. The pressure of the woman's lips bruised Anne's mouth and added fuel to her urgent need. As though she was aware of that demand, as though she was responding to some unspoken greed that radiated from Anne's aching body, she placed a hand over her breast.

Anne gasped.

She couldn't decide if the touch was expected, or simply hoped for, but she knew it was the exact stimulation her body craved. The stiff bud of her nipple was brushed and its shape was traced by Ginger's smooth fingertips. She had been undecided as to whether or not she should allow such an intimacy but, as soon as the pleasure began to flow through her, Anne was powerless to resist. Ginger cupped the orb, squeezing the tip of Anne's breast as she kneaded the plump flesh. Her fingers stroked back and forth invoking a wealth of responses that Anne hadn't dared to expect.

‘Do you think you deserve a reward?' Ginger murmured.

She spoke without breaking the kiss and Anne was thrilled by the movement against her mouth. Not sure where the daring had come from, and not caring about any consequences that the action might entail, she pushed herself into Ginger's embrace. The fingers against her breast squeezed harder, the tip of her nipple was caught in the punishing grip between a finger and thumb, and her pleasure reached another plateau of joy.