Annoyed, Alice shrank down into the cover of a bush and held still. Why did they have to stop now with only a few furrows to go? She was anxious to get going.
The boar walked towards the bushes and Alice stifled a gasp of fear, thinking he had seen her. But his objective was a bush a few feet away. He pulled out a thick pizzle from the tangle of hair between his thighs and directed a stream of urine into the undergrowth. Alice grinned in relief. He was just answering a call of nature.
Shaking off the last drops and tucking his member away, the boar returned to his plough, uncorked a canteen of water that hung from its handles and had a drink. Then he made his way along the line of harnessed girlings, slipping their muzzles down to allow them to take a few swallows each. Alice saw the muzzles had a rubber bar across their insides, which would act like a bit when it was in place. No doubt it provided something for the girls to bite on as they strained at their task and also served to remind them of their place. As the boar went he patted their heads and murmured words of encouragement that were kindly enough but did not invite a reply. It was the way that one might address dumb animals.
‘Well drawn, soon be finished,’ he said. ‘Then it’s back to the barn for you and a good rub down …’
When he reached the last girling, a sturdy brunette with her hair tied back in a ponytail, a grin split the boar’s great snout. After he had watered her he replaced her muzzle, then lifted her to her feet by her collar. As he clasped and squeezed the girl’s heavy breasts in his large rough hands, he said, ‘Needed a few flicks to keep you going today, didn’t I, Brownie? But nothing you can’t take. I think you enjoy the odd tickle. Did I make that arse of yours red? Let’s have a look.’
He moved round behind the girl and bent her forward so he could inspect her bottom cheeks. He patted and slapped them with evident pleasure. Alice saw his pizzle was rising into something resembling a large red carrot. This he rubbed against the cleft of the girl’s buttocks a few times then said with a chuckle, ‘Open wide, Brownie.’
Alice found she was holding her breath, knowing what was to come. Memories of her time in Topper and Lepus’s training yard came back to her. She had watched girlings casually taken like this dozens of times with a mixture of fascination and apprehension, never sure if it would be her turn next. Her fingers slid between her thighs and found warm slick wetness bedewing her cleft. And when her turn had come she had responded with the same helpless arousal she was feeling now.
Obediently the plough girl spread her legs and pushed her rear out towards him, opening her buttocks and her red-slashed, thickly haired pubic pouch. He clasped her hips firmly and drove his pizzle between her cunt lips. The girl’s face screwed up as he entered her, grunted about her muzzle bit, then relaxed into a faraway expression as she resigned herself to the rough pleasure of his thrusts. The other plough girls looked round at her with mild interest and a couple sniggered behind their muzzles, but otherwise they appeared content to take the opportunity to rest a little longer from their labours.
Yes, she really was back in Underland, Alice thought as she crouched behind her bush and her fingers worked busily in her own cleft. Here it was the normal way of things for animals to use girlings for their pleasure. Evidently, however, she was less jaded than the plough girls. Had she always been potentially so easily turned on or did being back in Underland heighten her responses?
The brunette impaled on the boar’s pizzle was making little quavering noises now. The muscles in her thighs stood out as she braced herself against his thrusts, which sent shivers through her body and set her breasts jiggling. With a growling grunt the boar came, pumping his essence into the girl, who in turn thrust her hips desperately back onto him again and again, trying to bring herself off before he withdrew from her. Suddenly she squeaked in delight and shuddered, her eyes rolling and knees bowing weakly. She had made it.
Pulling his glistening rod from the clinging embrace of her cleft, the boar let the girl sink to the ground. Grasping her ponytail and pulling her lolling head backwards, he used a fistful of hair to wipe clean his pizzle. Releasing her to slump onto her face, the boar took another drink from his canteen, then picked up his whip.
The leather flicked across the teams’ shoulders and they scrambled to their feet with a clink of chains, even the still trembling and glassy-eyed brunette. ‘Last couple of furrows. Put your backs into it!’ their master commanded. Taking up the strain, the eight girlings, one with sperm beginning to trickle down the inside of her thighs, set the plough blade slicing through the earth once more.
Feeling frustrated, Alice removed sticky fingers from her cleft and watched the team move off to the left. It had been over too quickly for her to come and now there was no more time for self-indulgence.
Picking up her bundle she made her way along the belt of trees in the other direction until she reached the corner of the field. Here she found the lane was of well-compacted gravel but looked little used. Of course, there would no through traffic this close to the edge, Alice thought. The further she got along it before anybody saw her the better she would blend in. She set off.
Despite her load, Alice soon felt the calm of the perfect day overtake her. Along the hedgerows butterflies flitted between violets, foxgloves, startling red poppies and cow parsley that dotted the picturesquely lush verges. The sweet musk of blackberries filled her nostrils. She picked a handful of the rich dark fruits from a tangle of heavy canes that spilled onto the lane and gulped them down with delight. There was nothing like walking naked in the open, as she had discovered on her first trip to Underland, and feeling the warm air caressing her body. It was one of the bonuses of being a girling and made her feel vitally alive.
After half a mile Alice reached the outskirts of the village. She smiled when she saw that its name, displayed on a signpost, was ‘Uffish’. That was one of the nonsense words from the Looking Glass story, so it was not surprising to see it put to practical use. Soon she was walking down its twisting high street past a few small shops. A dozen or so inhabitants, both human and animal, were going about their business at a leisurely pace. Alice kept her eyes low, walked in the gutter and tried to look resigned and slightly bored. She sensed a few eyes on her swaying breasts and rolling buttocks, but otherwise she passed by unnoticed.
The locals were all oversized as she had come to expect, so that by comparison she was about the height of their children, a pair of whom she saw bowling a hoop along down a side road. All the animals she could see were of similar height or smaller than the boar ploughman. There was a familiar mix of species but fewer of what she thought of as the ‘cuddlier’ types, which was perhaps in keeping with the Looking Glass story’s slightly darker mood.
A crossroads marked the village centre, beside which was a pub – The Cross Bells. High up on its outside wall, supported by iron brackets, a heavy black wooden X-shaped cross leaned out over the pavement. Chained to it was a spreadeagled girling. Her mouth was closed by a broad strap gag held in place by narrower straps that ran under her chin and over her nose, joining to cross her head from front to back. Wide resigned eyes stared out from over the gag. She had long blonde hair platted into two braids. These had rings tied into their ends which had been hung over hooks screwed into the side of the upper arms of the cross, pulling her braids tautly up and out from her scalp. Perhaps this was to help keep her head up but it also made it impossible for her to hide her face, should she still harbour any lingering trace of shame about her circumstances.
To represent the rest of the pub name, three golden bells about the size of large pears hung from her body. Two were suspended from rings that pierced her nipples, the firm rotundity of her breasts lifting the bells outwards and allowing them to dangle freely. The third hung between the girls widespread thighs from a ring that pierced both her plump shaven outer sex lips. Alice wasn’t sure how heavy the bells were, but she could see the girl’s nipples were stretched into long points and her labia pulled down in a taut pout.
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Knowing from personal experience how exposed and humiliating yet also desperately exciting it was to be a living sign, Alice felt a fresh stirring in her loins as she wondered what it would be like to swap places with the girl. But she had to keep going.
Not wishing to appear hesitant, Alice boldly took the road leading away from the cross that seemed to be heading in the right direction. After a few minutes the houses and gardens became sparser, merging into another belt of open fields. After a mile or so this cultivation gave way to more open ground with scattered dwellings interspersed by spinneys and clumps of thicker woodland. In the far distance beyond the largest wood, like some vast curtain falling from heaven, was the hazy wall of the edge barrier dividing Uffish’s square from the next.
Her back aching slightly under her load, Alice continued on along the road until it began to bear steadily to the left, looking as though it was going to run parallel to the barrier. It might change its way further on, of course, but how far that might be she had no idea.
Alice paused in the shelter of a tangled hedgerow, shrugged off her bundle and pulled out a few sticks to lighten it. While she considered which way to go she squatted down and peed, delighting in the freedom to perform the act in the open so naturally, then wiped herself off with a handful of soft lush grass.
The road was the easiest route but longer, while the straightest course over the common land might be slower going. If only she had a map to guide her. She began to realise how incredibly unprepared she was for her journey. For all her powers the Red Queen had given Alice nothing to help, even though it was in her best interests that she should succeed. Perhaps the Queen was too involved with the great game to wonder how a naked, ownerless girling was going to cross seven Boardland squares without money, food or detailed directions. Or perhaps, being royalty, such mundane considerations had simply not occurred to her. Alice had been too overawed by her mistress’s presence to wonder if she could be as impractical and single-minded as any other Underlander. Well, it was meant to be a mad place.
But which way to go? Her ‘disguise’ had held up well so far, but perhaps it would not be a bad idea to leave the road and cut across country, where there was less chance of meeting people. So she set off over the rolling meadow towards the far woods.
An hour’s steady progress as best she could estimate without sun or watch, took Alice to the edge of the big wood without encountering any creature larger than a few perfectly ordinary non-talking rabbits. Away from the fields and village the land seemed almost deserted. It was what she had hoped for, but it was also disconcerting. There were few places in her own England where you could walk so far without crossing a road or at the least seeing an aircraft passing overhead. She looked up at the pearly bright sky, wondering how long she had until dark. If she could reach the barrier while it was still light she might scout out the next square before deciding where to make camp. The nights never got very cold so a simple shelter should serve. As for food there was usually something to be found. She would not risk mushrooms, but fruits were usually safe. Nuts and berries from hedgerows would keep her going, though she might begin to miss a proper meal after a few days. Dare she try stealing some if the opportunity arose? No, that did not feel right. Was it possible for an itinerant girling to pay her way as she went in the Boardland? But what would she pay with? she wondered, then smiled to herself. It was obvious what she would pay with. The idea of what she might have to do suddenly excited her. Well, that was being true to her nature, wasn’t it? It would be a challenge to avoid such situations, and even more of one to endure them when inescapable. Though she had to come back to Underland, there was no reason why she should not enjoy the adventure, with all rewards both dark and light.
She had begun well, crossing most of the first square in good time and without mishap. If she could use the same trick again then at this rate, allowing time for rests and finding food one way or another, the whole journey might take less than a week. Of course, as she had seen from the hilltop, some of the squares contained more land than others and so might take longer to cross, but hopefully this would average out.
The wood proper closed about her as she walked between the towering shafts of beach and oak, their canopies merging overhead so that only slivers of the sky remained visible. The leaf-littered ground between the great trunks was broken here and there by the dark glossy greens of holly trees and rhododendrons. Where pools of light did penetrate to the woodland floor, thick clumps of fern sprouted.
A small stream meandered between the trees over a bed of sand and stone. Alice put down her load, took a drink and splashed her face. The water was clear, cool and perfectly pure. Refreshed she continued on. Not far to go now, she told herself.
Then she came upon a distinct path worn into the ground. Beside it somebody had erected a sign crudely knocked together from scrap-wood. There were two boards on the post each pointing in the same direction. The top read, in roughly painted capitals: THIS WAY, and the one below it: NO, THIS WAY.
More Underland madness, she thought. But the path did lead in the direction she wanted to go, so she followed along it cautiously. She passed more signs: TOVES GO THIS WAY and then MOME RATHS A;SO. All pointed in the same direction. She recognised the names as belonging to fictitious creatures from the book, but wondered what purpose they were meant to serve.
Ahead of her the path wound between a holly bush and a large mass of rhododendrons. Between them something brightly coloured was lying on the ground. As she got closer Alice saw it was an old-fashioned painted wooden baby rattle. Somebody must have dropped it. Since it was right in the middle of the narrow path she stooped to pick it up …
It was only as she touched it that she felt the ground giving way under her with a snap and swish of dry sticks and leaves. She made a desperate sideways leap, clawed at a crumbling edge of earth, which came away in clods in her hands, and then slithered into a concealed pit.
Alice landed on her back in a shower of dirt and leaves on the remains of the pit cover, her own bundle snapping and gouging her painfully. For a few seconds she lay there, shocked and winded and hardly daring to move in case she found she had injured herself badly. But apart from the scrapes in her back she seemed to be in one piece. Slipping off her bundle she cautiously got to her feet and looked around her.
Though it had proved an effective trap, the pit was in fact not very large. She reached up and found she could just get her hand over its edge. It should not be too difficult to climb out. Perhaps it had been intended to trap some sort of animal rather than a person. A tove or mome rath, possibly? She saw the rattle lying in the debris and picked it up ruefully, only to find it was trailing a length of string with a freshly broken end, which had apparently snapped during the fall. Looking round she saw the other end dangling from a small pipe protruding from the side of the pit. Since it had not triggered the collapse, what was its purpose? Then it came to her. It must be part of an alarm system; presumably to alert whoever had dug it that the trap had been sprung. And how long would it be before they came to see what they had caught?
Anxiously she began to scrabble her way out of the pit. If she could just get a firm hold of the edge … But the earth was too soft to provide enough grip to pull herself out and kept breaking away in her hands. It was so frustrating. If only she had something to give her a leg up. Her bundle of sticks! She picked it up and wedged it against one corner of the pit, using it as a crude step. The broken ends jabbed into the sole of her foot but she gritted her teeth, lunged upwards, hauled the top half of her body over the pit edge, gave a final kick with her legs and slithered onto firm ground … only to find herself staring at two pairs of black leather shoes.
She raised her head, looking up the length of cream-coloured trousers that swelled out to encompass ample waists, short tight brown jackets with double rows of buttons, large shirt collars and finally two plump, young/old faces with wide mouths, snub noses and round, slightly bulging eyes. These peered suspicio
usly down at her from under the brims of small striped peaked caps.
Alice sighed. She recognised the pair, of course. As with her first adventure, it looked like she was going to encounter characters from the book as she went. That, apparently, was the way what passed for chance operated in Underland.
‘I thought we’d caught a tove, Dee,’ one of the pair said petulantly.
‘Contrariwise, I thought it was a mome rath, Dum,’ his twin replied. ‘But it’s just a silly girling.’
This description of herself annoyed Alice. She climbed painfully to her feet and said angrily, ‘Did you dig that trap? I could have broken my neck falling into that. Can’t you play your games somewhere else?’
The pair did not appear in the least repentant. Ignoring her protest, Dee looked her up and down and then said calculatingly, ‘Maybe there’ll be a reward for rescuing her.’
‘But you didn’t rescue me,’ Alice said.
‘We did if we say so,’ Dee snapped. ‘You’re just a girling, nobody’ll believe what you say. Who do you belong to?’
Alice took a deep breath, quelling her anger. She was trying to pass through the country as unobtrusively as possible and arguing with the locals, even these wizened boys, was no way to go about it. ‘I’m from over there,’ she said, pointing vaguely. ‘Nobody you’d know. I was collecting wood. Now I’ve lost it down your hole. I’ll have to find some more. Goodbye.’
‘She’s very rude for a girling,’ Dum observed.
‘And she hasn’t got an owner’s name on her collar,’ Dee pointed out. ‘Very contrary.’
Why did they have to have such sharp eyes? Alice thought. Trying to sound a little humbler, she said: ‘Sorry … young masters. It must have been the fall. Made me forget my manners. Do excuse me.’
Alice In Chains Page 5
