Chapter 27
Audrey
The paddock adjacent to the stables was enclosed by a white fence, the grass within lush and green.
As Pierre led me and étoile through the gate, I glanced frantically around, searching for any sign of the Duboises or other observers.
The grounds appeared empty, but the terrace where we’d had lunch was clearly visible from our position.
Anyone standing there would have an unobstructed view of my naked form astride the horse.
“Relax into the saddle,” Pierre instructed, walking étoile in a slow circle around the paddock’s perimeter. “Feel her movement beneath you. Let your body move with hers.”
I tried to focus on his instructions, on the gentle rhythm of étoile’s walk, anything to distract myself from my complete exposure.
The sunshine felt warm on my bare skin, the slight breeze caressing my nipples into hardened peaks.
Even in the midst of my embarrassment, I found myself relaxing incrementally, my muscles loosening as I adjusted to the horse’s gait.
“Very good,” Pierre praised, his voice carrying easily in the quiet afternoon. “Now we’ll try a posting trot. When étoile speeds up, you’ll feel a stronger bounce. Rise slightly in the stirrups with every other beat.”
Before I could protest, he clicked his tongue and étoile obediently increased her pace.
The change in movement was immediate and dramatic—each step sent a jolt through my core, the leather saddle pressing rhythmically against my exposed sex.
I gasped at the sensation, my hands tightening on the reins.
“Up, down, up, down,” Pierre called, setting the rhythm. “Rise and sit with her movement.”
I struggled to comply, my naked body bouncing awkwardly as I attempted to master the unfamiliar motion.
Each time I sat back down, the saddle made contact with my swollen, sensitive flesh, sending jolts of unwanted pleasure up my spine.
My breasts bounced freely with the motion, adding to my mortification.
“Your posture, Audrey,” Pierre reminded me, his voice firm but encouraging. “Back straight, heels down.”
I tried to correct myself, acutely conscious of how the position thrust my breasts forward, displaying them even more prominently.
The combination of physical exertion, exposure, and the rhythmic pressure against my sex was creating a dangerous situation—I could feel myself growing wetter with each passing moment, my arousal building despite my shame.
“That’s better,” Pierre called out, walking alongside as étoile continued her steady trot around the paddock. “Now look ahead, between her ears. A rider must always look where she’s going.”
I forced my gaze forward, which meant I could no longer watch for potential observers.
The vulnerability of this position—naked, exposed, unable to monitor who might be watching—sent another surge of shameful excitement through me.
My pussy throbbed against the leather saddle, each contact sending sparks of pleasure through my core.
“Monsieur,” I gasped, struggling to maintain my composure as étoile’s movement continued to stimulate me. “I… may I stop, please?”
Pierre studied me with knowing eyes, a slight smile playing at his lips. “You’re becoming aroused, aren’t you, ma petite? The saddle against your bare cunt is making you wet.”
His crude observation, spoken loudly enough that anyone nearby could have heard, made me whimper with humiliation. I couldn’t deny it—the evidence of my arousal was likely visible on the saddle beneath me, my inner thighs slick with desire.
“Please,” I whispered.
“Circle once more,” Pierre instructed, ignoring my plea. “Then we’ll try a canter.”
Before I could protest, movement on the terrace caught my eye. My heart nearly stopped as I recognized the distinctive figures of the Duboises, emerging with what appeared to be a tray of refreshments. From their position, they would have a perfect view of my naked form astride étoile.
“Pierre,” I hissed urgently. “The Duboises—they can see me!”
“Of course they can,” he replied calmly. “They’re bringing us lemonade. How thoughtful of them.”
I wanted to die of shame. I could feel Monsieur Dubois’ gaze on me even from this distance, his dignified posture giving nothing away as he observed his employer’s naked American girl receiving her ‘riding lesson.’ Beside him, Madame Dubois set the tray on the terrace table, then turned to watch our progress in the paddock.
“Stop!” I cried out, unable to bear it any longer. “I don’t want to continue the lesson, Pierre. Please!”
His expression changed instantly, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at me. The transformation was startling—from encouraging riding instructor to dominant master in the space of a heartbeat.
“What did you say?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I… I don’t want to continue. Not with them watching.”
Pierre’s lips curved into a cold smile that made my stomach clench.
“I see. You’ve decided to disobey me.” He tugged gently on étoile’s bridle, bringing the horse to a complete stop.
“Very well. For talking back to me in such a manner, you will be caned before dinner tonight. In front of the Duboises.”
My heart stuttered in my chest. “Caned?”
“Yes,” Pierre confirmed, as if he were talking about the weather. “Six strokes, I think. Delivered while you’re bent naked over the whipping block in the library.”
The image flashed in my mind with terrible clarity—myself, stripped bare in the formal library, the distinguished servants watching as Pierre disciplined me with the cane. The thought should have horrified me. Instead, I felt a rush of wetness between my thighs so intense it made me gasp.
Pierre noticed immediately. His hand reached up, sliding between my spread legs and the saddle. His fingers found my slick folds, exploring the evidence of my arousal with a knowing touch.
“As I suspected,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “The thought of your punishment excites you almost as much as your exposure.”
I whimpered as his skilled fingers found my swollen clit, rubbing it firmly, and with maddening precision.
The combination of his touch and the continued pressure of the saddle against my sensitive inner lips was overwhelming.
étoile shifted beneath me, the slight movement adding another layer of stimulation.
“You may come,” Pierre said, his voice low and commanding. “Come for me now, thinking about how the cane will feel striking your bare bottom while the Duboises watch your punishment.”
His permission unleashed something primal within me.
I couldn’t have held back if I tried. The orgasm crashed through me with devastating force, my thighs clenching around étoile’s sides as the thrilling jolts of pleasure radiated outward from my core.
Pierre’s fingers continued their relentless stimulation, drawing out my climax until I was gasping and trembling in the saddle.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes dark with desire as he watched me come apart under his touch. “Such a sweet little slut.”
I slumped forward slightly, my hands clutching étoile’s mane for support as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through me.
The realization of what had just happened—that I had climaxed astride a horse, completely naked, with the Duboises watching from the terrace—crashed over me in a tsunami of mortification.
I couldn’t bring myself to look in their direction, couldn’t bear to see their reaction to my shameless display.
“Pierre,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Please let me down now.”
He gazed up at me, his expression unreadable for a moment.
Then he nodded, reaching up to help me dismount.
My legs felt weak and shaky as I slid from the saddle into his waiting arms. He held me steady until I found my footing on the grass, then released me to stand naked and revealed in the open paddock.
“Your dress is in the stable,” he reminded me, his voice casual, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. “But first, you should thank étoile properly for your pleasure.”
I blinked at him in confusion. “Thank… the horse?”
“A pat on the neck will do,” Pierre said, his lips twitching with amusement. “She carried you well for your first lesson.”
Feeling absurd, but unable to refuse, I stepped toward étoile’s head and gently stroked her sleek neck. “Thank you,” I murmured, feeling a strange connection to the animal who had been an unwitting participant in my degradation and pleasure.
Pierre watched this small ritual with evident satisfaction before leading us back toward the stable.
I walked beside him, acutely aware of my nakedness, of the Duboises’ eyes following our progress across the paddock.
The grass felt cool beneath my bare feet, a pleasant contrast to the warm afternoon sun on my skin.
Once inside the dim interior of the stable, I rushed to where my dress lay folded on the bench.
Pierre made no move to stop me as I pulled it over my head, the fabric sliding down to cover my nakedness.
The simple cotton felt like armor after my exposure, though I knew it did little to restore my dignity after what had just transpired.
“You did very well today,” Pierre said, beginning to unsaddle étoile. “Both with riding and with accepting your natural desires.”
I watched him work, his movements efficient and practiced as he removed the tack from the mare. “I don’t understand myself anymore,” I admitted quietly. “How can I possibly want these things? How can I… enjoy them?”
Pierre paused, turning to face me fully.
“Because they speak to something essential in your nature, Audrey. Something you’ve denied for too long.
” He stepped closer, his presence commanding even in this mundane setting.
“The submissive desire for exposure, for discipline, for surrender—these aren’t weaknesses.
They’re powerful expressions of who you truly are. ”
I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling oddly cold despite the warmth of the stable. “And tonight? The caning? Do I… do I have to go through with it?”
Pierre’s expression softened slightly. “You earned your punishment by disobeying me. But if you truly wish to refuse, you may. I won’t force it on you.”
I felt my forehead crease as I chewed my lower lip, contemplating it. Pierre smiled slightly, and stepped forward to take me in his arms. He held me for long moments, until I felt the tension go out of my limbs, and I melted into his strong form.
“You may decide later, when the time comes to prepare yourself for punishment.”
I swallowed hard at the very words—prepare yourself for punishment—but I nodded into his shoulder, grateful for the respite.
“Yes, Monsieur,” I murmured. Then, as strange as the rational part of my brain found it, I whispered, “Thank you.”
Two hours later, I waited nervously in the Lavender Suite.
After a long bath where I’d tried to calm myself, I sat on the edge of the bed in the plush robe Madame Dubois had left for me, my hair still damp, my stomach a knot of anticipation.
I’d been unable to decide what to wear for the evening—for my punishment—and found myself paralyzed by indecision.
A soft knock at the door made me jump.
“Entrez,” I called, my voice catching slightly.
To my surprise, it was Madame Dubois who entered, carrying a garment draped carefully over her arm. Her silver-streaked hair was impeccably styled as always, her posture perfect as she regarded me with those knowing eyes.
“Mademoiselle,” she greeted me with a slight nod. “I thought you might appreciate some assistance preparing for this evening.”
My face burned hot. Of course she knew exactly what was planned for me. She’d watched me come atop étoile that afternoon, had seen my naked shame and pleasure in the paddock. And now she was here to help me dress for my caning.
“I… thank you,” I managed, unable to meet her gaze directly.
Madame Dubois approached, laying the garment on the bed beside me. It was a beautiful blue dress, simple yet elegant, with thin straps and a flowing skirt.
“Monsieur thought this would suit you,” she said, her voice carefully neutral though I detected a hint of… was it sympathy?
I ran my fingers over the soft fabric, wondering how many other girls had worn dresses chosen by Pierre before being punished in front of the Duboises.
“You’re not the first, you know,” Madame Dubois said quietly, as if reading my thoughts. “But you are different from the others.”
I looked up at her, startled by her directness. “Different? How?”
She studied me for a moment, her expression softening almost imperceptibly. “Monsieur has never looked at any of them the way he looks at you. I’ve served the Lemieux family for thirty years, Mademoiselle. I know when a man is merely playing and when he is… shall we say… invested.”
Her words sent a strange flutter through my chest that had nothing to do with the anxiety about my impending punishment. Pierre loved me. He’d said so, and I believed him. But hearing Madame Dubois confirm that I was somehow special to him made it more real.
“I’m frightened,” I admitted, the confession slipping out before I could stop it.
Madame Dubois nodded, her expression understanding rather than judgmental. “Of course you are. It’s natural to fear pain, to fear exposure.” She folded her hands neatly in front of her apron. “But may I speak frankly, Mademoiselle?”
I nodded, curious even in my mortification.
“I’ve seen how discipline can transform a young woman,” she continued, her voice gentle, but matter-of-fact.
“I know how frightening it can be when a girl is just learning to submit, but you are very lucky that Monsieur found you. He can be hard on his young ladies, but he is truly thoughtful and kind.”
I felt my cheeks flush hotter at her words. There was something in her tone that suggested she knew more about submission than merely observing it in others. I wondered briefly about her relationship with Monsieur Dubois, but pushed the thought away as too intrusive.
“Has he… has he caned many women?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Madame Dubois’ lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. “Monsieur is quite skilled with all instruments of correction. You needn’t fear excessive harm—only the pain necessary for your lesson.” She gestured to the dress. “Shall we prepare you? It’s nearly time.”