Fifty yards down the paddock, Amanda lifted the coach-whip, “Right, you little b***h. Payback time,” and flicked her wrist sharply.
To her delight, she had judged it perfectly and as the leather landed with a loud “crack” Gabrielle gave a high-pitched squeal and a thin, bright-pink stripe blossomed as if by magic across her right buttock. Encouraged by her success, she repeated her action and as a second line intersected the first, she giggled with cruel pleasure, “How do you like that, pony-girl? Not so full of yourself now, are you?”
With stinging heat raging through her bottom from the two worryingly-expert lashes, Gabrielle was no longer quite so sure that it had been a good idea to make Amanda look bad to her Master, but it was too late to have second thoughts and whether she liked
