Caged!

by Yolanda Celbridge

  ‘Ah! Ah! Please! Not there!’

  ‘You want it, whore!’

  He began to bugger her, holding her by her hair, which he pulled savagely at each slam of his cock into her squirming arse-shaft.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘Oh! Oh! Please…please…’

  Angarad’s cunt basin jerked at the force of her buggery, spewing droplets of come on to the fire, until her squeals were drowned by the hissing of steam. Her thighs glistened with the juices pouring from her swollen cunt, jerking and jolting as the giant tool impaled her anus, squeezing the cock and bucking to his every thrust.

  Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Oswald’s hips smacked against the reddened bare flans of her quivering buttocks as he buggered the girl. Her bum leapt to meet his tool’s onlslaught, her twitching buttock-meat clutching the ball-sac as the shaft plunged inside her. His grasp on her cunt basin slackened an instant, as his hands left her hips to clamp her soaked pubic bush and the trembling bone beneath, then penetrate her oily wet slit with his fingers. Oswald vigorously masturbated Angarad’s swollen, stiff clitoris as he fucked her anus, getting his whole fist inside the pouring slit, and the girl thrust her cunt up, to squash her nubbin and gash flaps on his knuckles.

  ‘Oh…yes…’ she moaned.

  ‘Yes, what, bitch?’

  ‘Yes! Do me…do me…’ panted Angarad.

  ‘That’s better.’

  ‘I’m going to come…please fuck my arse harder…yes! Oh, God! Yes! Do me!’

  Angarad pissed and the splatter of hissing come-drops on the embers grew to a roar, as a jet of powerful golden pee sprang from her pouch-hole on to the flames, dousing them for a moment. Her belly flattened and heaved; her squeals grew to a sobbing, staccato scream; Oswald grunted and creamy spunk frothed at her anal pucker just as she cried out in her peak of orgasm. Angarad slumped, sobbing, as Oswald buckled his slimed cock back into his breeches.

  ‘I’ll never forgive you…’ she whimpered. ‘Never!’

  ‘Splendid, bitch!’ Oswald cried, slapping her bottom.

  ‘That means you’ll come back for more. I believe that a certain Miss Isobel Coker, whose uniform you have, would herself benefit from a snout run: be so kind as to inform her of the size of a Pollecutt tarse, fit to accommodate ladies with even the largest boxes.’

  ‘Never!’ cried Angarad.

  ‘Good,’ said Oswald. ‘When a slut says no, she means perhaps, and when she says never, she means most certainly. Why, you’ll be thinking on the painful ride home, should my arse suffer, and not hers…?’

  Angarad sobbed.

  ‘You bastard,’ she whimpered, as Oswald grasped her between the thighs and jerked her to her feet.

  ‘Quite so! A proud tradition of the Pollecutts, like our care for our common folk. I myself see to the swiving and spanking of every single beldam in the village…young Misses Race, Shadwell and Cardus, for example, respectable spinsters all, being some of the juicier rumps that squirm under me. Now, miss, to conclude our business…I believe it was six ounces of snout?’

  ‘Yes,’ Angarad said. ‘Yes, please.’

  * * *

  ‘Try and eat something, Miss Stark,’ said Miss Horsfall. ‘It doesn’t do to be whipped on an empty stomach.’

  ‘I…I can’t find the appetite, mum,’ said Angarad, toying with her supper.

  ‘And stop shifting like that. It is unladylike. Your derriere will have ample time to move, I can promise, when you are chastised in the cage.’

  Angarad shuddered.

  ‘Miss Maclaren gave me an enema, mum,’ she murmured, ‘after examining me, to certify me fit for punishment. She said it was so I shouldn’t foul myself when whipped, though she couldn’t guarantee I mightn’t…you know, make water. She pushed the tube right up my rectum and it hurt terribly.’

  ‘Please!’ snapped Miss Horsfall, and beckoned to Ghislaine Bassin at the doorway of the deserted refectory pushing a wheeled cage, supervised by Isobel Coker.

  Isobel blushed and lowered her gaze, seeing the slumped figure of Angarad in her nightshift and barefoot. She carried a leather quirt of nine thongs, folded in two, and a long whip of a single thong, coiled at her waist. The cage trundled to the centre of the hall, where a hook hung from a chain embedded between the rafters.

  ‘It is time,’ said Miss Horsfall.

  Angarad took a last sip of tea before standing and meekly raising her arms with lowered head. Isobel grasped the bottom of her nightie and pulled it up, making her breasts quiver as she drew it off the girl’s body. Nude, Angarad stepped into the cage, with her back and buttocks facing out through the opened door. She made a cross of her body, gripping the holds at top and bottom of the cage corners with her toes and fingers, and the centre bar with her teeth. Her nightie was folded and placed on the cage floor, beneath her pubis, for modesty Miss Horsfall explained, and in case she wetted herself. She was hoisted thus, to hover over the dining tables. Ghislaine fetched a ladder, which she raised beside the cage at a three-foot distance, propping its head on the rafters and securing its foot beneath a table. Angarad’s naked body tensed, as she clung, unstrapped, to her prison bars.

  ‘You have chosen the cage, miss, and a public whipping on back and buttocks, rather than a simpler, but longer, bare-bottom caning,’ said Miss Horsfall. ‘Do you stand by your choice?’

  ‘Yes, mum,’ said Angarad, from her perch.

  ‘I have warned that you risk pain just as severe from Miss Coker’s bullwhip as from the stoutest cane,’ Miss Horsfall added.

  ‘I’ll take the whipping, mum, if you please,’ Angarad replied.

  ‘You understand the purpose of the cage. Without the aid of restraints, normal in a public caning, taken bent over a flogging-horse, the caged miscreant must hold herself in position, by exercising her will.’

  ‘I understand, mum,’ said Angarad.

  ‘Then let the tea bell be rung,’ commanded Miss Horsfall, as Isobel ascended the whipper’s ladder.

  The slags, in their uniforms, and stinkers, in blankets or bra and panties, rushed into the hall, urged on by the warden’s drawn canes. There was a breathless hush as Miss Horsfall announced teatime would be accompanied by a public whipping of the detainee Angarad Stark, for gross insolence. Her tariff was twenty-one strokes of the quirt, on the back, and twenty-one with the bullwhip, on the buttocks; punishments to be taken consecutively and both on the bare. Slags and strokes alike craned to see the figures of Isobel and Angarad aloft.

  ‘Remember, Angarad, it’s not me who’s whipping you,’ Isobel whispered. ‘Just…some warden.’

  ‘I’d rather it was you, Isobel,’ said Angarad, glancing down through the bars of her cage.

  ‘I’ll have to go hard on you,’ said Isobel.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Miss Horsfall…well, she said she’d judge me by my standard of punishment today. I’m not out of the woods in this affair.’

  ‘Whip me as hard as you can,’ said Angarad tonelessly.

  ‘See the welts on my bum? Those were with a riding crop, from Oswald, at the shop, before he practically split my arse in two with a terribly hard bumming. Next time, do the snout run yourself, Isobel, because if you can persuade the brute to do you in the cunt, you’ll be well pleased. He’s your size and more.’

  ‘Oh…’ said Isobel, with a blush, clutching the ladder’s side and smoothing down her skirt. ‘Well, try to crouch with your bum cheeks as far as possible apart. It sounds nasty, but it’ll help you squirm and clench more freely, to dissipate the pain. For your back, I’m afraid nothing much will help. I’ll do your back first, close up, then take you on the bum from a couple of rungs further down to accommodate the longer whip. I’m afraid both sets will smart horribly.’

  Angarad looked down at the murmuring ranks of girls, eyes sparkling as they gazed, and their teas untouched.

  ‘Give them a good show, Isobel,’ said Angarad, her lips twisted in a smile on the left side only. ‘Remember, I
’ma ticketed pervert…I want to smart.’

  Isobel bit her lip.

  ‘Don’t make it hard for me,’ she whispered.

  ‘Do your duty, you fucking whore!’ Angarad spat.

  Her face crimson, Isobel lifted the quirt over Angarad’s back.

  ‘You cheeky bitch,’ she hissed.

  Thwap!

  The thongs bit the girl’s bare shoulders, jolting her against the cage bars, and the crowd below cheered, while Miss Horsfall, standing with arms folded, smiled thinly.

  ‘One,’ she said.

  The quirt left an angry row of weals, sliced on Angarad’s bare back-flesh. Isobel paused for ten seconds, until Angarad’s quivering had subsided.

  Thwap!

  Ten seconds’ pause, and Angarad was still shaking.

  ‘Two…’

  Thwap!

  ‘Three…’

  Tears streamed from the flogged girl’s eyes and her teeth bit hard on the restraining bar; her limbs strained, shivering violently as her back was striped, but she made no sound.

  Thwap!

  ‘Four…’

  The heavy quirt was as much a bludgeon as a flogging device, sending Angarad’s bare breasts cannoning against the bars of her cage at each stroke, delivered on the ten seconds. By the fifteenth stroke, her mottled shoulder welts were a deep, puffy crimson and her breath came in harsh gasps. Yet her nightie beneath her moistened steadily, as drops of come seeped from her gash.

  Thwap!

  ‘Sixteen…’

  Angarad moaned, her wail wracking her whole body, as a jet of piss erupted from her cunt, splattering her nightie, but the stream so strong that drops fell on the tea-tables; her piss, mingled with her oozed cunt slime, was so copious that the garment was soaked through and the fluid continued to drip steadily. Stealthy winks and murmurs of approval were exchanged, as the girls saw Angarad pressing her clearly enlarged clitoris against the bars of the cage, and rubbing her slit on the come-slimed metal, as her body thrust forward at each lash.

  ‘Wanking off!’ said Amy Patel, her own fingers busy at her soaked panties’ gusset.

  ‘A real pervert,’ said Belinda Garce, as she, too, masturbated under the table, skirt up and fingers wanking her naked cunt.

  After the twenty-first and final stroke of her first set, Angarad, eyes closed tight, continued to rub her gushing slit up and down against the cage bars, as though still being whipped. Isobel paused for five minutes, allowing the sobbing victim to calm herself, before descending to a lower rung of the whipping ladder and uncoiling her bullwhip. Isobel’s skirt was only a few feet above the tea tables and, since her knee was bent with her feet two rungs apart, her knickers, sussies and stockings were clearly visible. The girls giggled; Isobel’s panties were wet with come. After the pause, Miss Horsfall signalled the start of the bum-flogging and Isobel’s whip snaked upwards, aslant, to take Angarad hard across the bare buttocks.

  Vap!

  Angarad shook, but the whip did not carry the same slamming force of the heavy rubber thongs. Nevertheless, her fesses at once clenched and began to squirm, as a thick red weal darkened the naked arse-globes.

  ‘One…’ Miss Horsfall intoned, her eyes fixed on Angarad’s quivering bare buttocks and oblivious of the teacup Amy Patel held, slyly placed below Isobel’s own crotch and knickers.

  Vap!

  Angarad’s toes clutched her cage bars, as her long legs shuddered, kicking, under the leather’s sting on her bare.

  Vap!

  ‘Three…’

  By the time the twenty-first stroke was laid, Angarad’s back and buttocks were a mass of welts, and the girls had managed to consume their tea in its entirety, with not a teacup full, nor crumb of bread or spoonful of jam left. Amy Patel, though, held on to her teacup as the tea things were cleared and Ghislaine Bassin winched the cage down. Isobel, panting hard, descended from her whipper’s ladder.

  ‘Not bad, miss,’ said Miss Horsfall.

  ‘Thank you, mum,’ said Isobel.

  As Angarad stumbled, panting, from her cage, Miss Horsfall brushed a square of pink brocade across her come-soaked pubic bush and stuck the cloth to her arse-cleft, poking it as a pennant into her anus. Amy advanced.

  ‘I’ve saved you a cupful, Miss Coker,’ she said.

  ‘Why, thanks,’ said Isobel, smiling and sipping from the cup, only to spit out the oily fluid at once. ‘What…’

  ‘It’s your come, miss,’ said Amy. ‘I thought you’d like to have it back.’

  ‘Amy!’ cried Miss Horsfall. ‘This is carrying drollery a little far!’

  She took the cup, brimful of Isobel’s come, then stared balefully at the red-faced whipper.

  ‘If this is really your…exudation, Miss Coker,’ she said icily, ‘then it appears that Angarad Stark is not the only newcomer who merits a pervert’s ticket. Report to my office, if you please, after your tea.’

  The bottom strokes tittered and made victory signs.

  ‘And, Miss Coker —’

  ‘Yes, mum?’

  ‘Don’t bother to wear your knickers.’

  * * *

  ‘Mistress?’ said Joss Gaunt.

  ‘What is it, worm?’ snapped Habren.

  She lay nude, on her belly, her divan shaded by silk from the afternoon glare of the sun. Sipping clear liquid from a wine glass, she smacked her lips. Truud, her silken harem pants at her ankles and her naked breasts bobbing with nipples erect, had her face between Habren’s parted thighs and was tonguing her, at the same time masturbating to fill a new wine glass with her come. Her twin Jan buggered the reclining mistress, his rigid cock glistening with arse-grease, as it slid, slowly, dreamily, in and out of her rectum. The perfume of incense filled the air; Aggar stood, fanning the trio with ostrich plumes.

  ‘The bid for the franchise of Wrigley Scrubs prison has been accepted.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘One of us shall have to go to England to complete the paperwork, my darling.’

  ‘Mm! Yes, Truud, that’s so good. Jan — when you’ve spunked in me, you may remove her pantaloons and cane her fifteen on the bare.’

  ‘Shall I go, darling?’ Joss quavered.

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘It’s just that, since your new friends’ arrival, the film is, ah, rather behind schedule.’

  ‘You dare…! Truud, after your caning, you shall give my husband fifteen strokes on the bare. Joss, assume position.’

  Joss obeyed, baring his arse and bending over.

  ‘Must I, Mistress?’ said Truud.

  ‘Of course. Jan, are you going to spunk?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Aggar can take over when you’ve done me. Mmm…Lick harder, Truud, and make sure you swallow every drop. After you’ve beaten my husband, I want you to continue wanking yourself off and clean the floor in come with your titties.’

  ‘Thank you, Mistress,’ said the Frisian girl, her voice muffled as she gulped Habren’s come.

  ‘The girls are beginning to murmur,’ said Jan, quickening his buggery, until his back arched and his loins slammed Habren’s gently writhing bare arse-globes.

  ‘Let them,’ gasped Habren. ‘Dirty little subs, all.’

  ‘Idleness is not good for them,’ Jan panted. ‘They loll at the pool, masturbating each other and intriguing. I have seen Edwige and Susan caning other girls.’

  ‘Impossible!’ Habren snorted. ‘If you won’t spunk in me, take your twin’s pants off and cane her while Aggar attends my hole. I’ll have to bring myself off with my fingers.’

  ‘Mistress,’ said Truud, as Jan ripped off her pantaloons, exposing her scarred bare moons, ‘may I polish the floor before my caning? My bum still smarts from my lunchtime dozen.’

  ‘You disobedient slut!’ Habren said, then, ‘Ahh…’ as Aggar’s stiff black cock penetrated her slime-greased anus.

  ‘You’ll take a double caning for that…! Yes, Aggar…ohh…fuck me…deep!’

  Habren began to wri
the, as she wanked her clitoris under the giant cock’s buggery.

  ‘Perhaps you are too harsh on my twin,’ said Jan stiffly.

  ‘It is, after all, not a month since you — we — initiated her into the joys of submission. Don’t you remember your own initiation, Habren? Your arse must have taken ample weals, to learn to inflict them so well.’

  ‘I, bare my bum as a filthy sub? Certainly not! You insolent! Now, cane your sister, as I commanded! Ah…yes, Aggar, don’t stop…bugger me harder…’

  ‘Perhaps Edwige and the others are right,’ murmured Jan. ‘It is you whom the desert sun has made insolent.’

  He opened the door and Edwige entered, followed by Susan Race. Both wore only white loinstrings and carried canes. They grinned, teeth sparkling in tan faces and bare breasts bobbing with nipples erect. Edwige barked a command in Berber dialect. Aggar placed his forearms around Habren’s breasts and pressed her to his chest, then lifted her, helplessly impaled and writhing on his cock, with her legs jerking furiously.

  ‘Stop, you sluts!’ Habren screamed.

  ‘I say,’ bleated Joss, ‘you can’t just —’

  Vip!

  ‘Oh!’

  Susan’s cane cracked across his own bare bum.

  ‘This is outrageous!’ Habren screamed.

  ‘We thought it would be good cinema,’ said Jan.

  Followed by the girl invaders and the twins, with Joss protesting feebly, Aggar carried the kicking, squealing Habren outside to Truud’s womancart, with her body helplessly impaled on his tool; he lifted her from his cock with a plopping sound and threw her sprawling in the dirt. A knot of giggling girls lifted her, squealing and sobbing, and helped truss her in harness, with her feet hobbled. Aggar thrust his cock between her lips and a flurry of canestrokes on her bare bum made her jump, as Edwige told her to suck his arse-greased tool to orgasm; gasping, Habren tongued the glans and shaft of the giant black cock, as it slid in and out of her mouth, powerfully fucking the back of her throat and, as she sobbed, spunk spurted from her lips, dribbling down her chin on to her quivering titties.

  Vip! Vip!

  ‘Oh!’

  Edwige and Susan each lashed Habren on the naked flank. Her mouth gaped in a scream, drooling Aggar’s spunk.