‘We might wake more of them up,’ Jane answered.
‘Not if we simply turn the light on,’ Thrift replied.
Kirsty nodded. Jane and Joanna exchanged glances. Thrift went on, suddenly inspired.
‘That is how it must be done. At perhaps midnight, we turn on the light and Sally goes to stand behind the door. Miss Ponderby will come in, and must be quickly gagged, and securely bound. She has keys, I believe, as Mrs Budge always did, and we may use these to let ourselves out at the back in silence. We then go to the river, as before, and scatter.’
‘Next full moon then, if the weather’s clear?’ Kirsty responded.
With five days to wait Thrift found herself more nervous than at any time before. The weather was perfect, the days hot and sunny, with only a touch of breeze and the occasional small cloud drifting lazily across the sky. Her mind moved between the joys of being free and the horrors of pursuit and capture, Mr Ormondroyd and his dogs, the chaperones, the sweat box, the thrashing she would receive. Yet her determination never wavered, and grew stronger each time she found herself spreading her drawers to take six of the strap for some trivial offence.
At the end of the second day she was lying in bed, half awake, listening to the chimes of the clocks and wondering what Elizabeth was doing at that moment. Midnight had just struck, and her thoughts were beginning to wander when light suddenly flooded the dormitory. An instant pang of fear hit her, and she sat up in bed, expecting to find Miss Ponderby at the door, strap in hand. She wasn’t, only Kirsty, grinning, with her fingers still on the light switch.
‘Best to see this works, no?’ Kirsty said, then glanced to Joanna’s bed, her mouth coming open in surprise.
Thrift followed the look, to find a suspiciously large and curiously shaped hump, the thin covers revealing the distinctive shape of a lifted female bottom. Jane’s bed was empty, and the next instant Kirsty had snatched the covers away, revealing the twins, head to tail, looking up in shock from each others’ quims.
The scene held only an instant, and then Jane was scrambling off, spitting curses, and Joanne too, both red faced, both stark naked as they rounded on Kirsty, who gave back, laughing. Jane’s hand lashed out, but Kirsty caught it, twisting immediately, only to let go, desperately defending her face as Joanna snatched at her with clawed hands. Lucy shrieked in alarm, but even as Kirsty went down under the furious twins Sally-Anne was with them, catching both by the hair and hauling them up.
‘Stop it!’ She urged. ‘Ponderby will be here!’
‘Ay, there’s no call for that!’ Kirsty snapped. ‘Do I care? I’d say to give us a show, only Ponderby’ll be here any moment, like Sally says.’
‘We’re going to be strapped!’ Lucy protested as Jane and Joanna stopped struggling.
‘Best to be sure the light makes her come,’ Kirsty answered.
‘The microphone is on, she will come anyway,’ Thrift pointed out. ‘Maybe you should have warned us you intended to make a test?’
Nobody answered, Lucy looking utterly miserable, the others moving back to their beds, all listening. Nothing happened. The clocks began to chime the quarter hour, and still nothing happened. Finally Kirsty spoke.
‘D’you suppose the old hag’s gone to sleep?’
Thrift shrugged.
‘She’d be here, by now, she should,’ Sally said quietly.
‘You’d have thought,’ Kirsty agreed.
‘She’s asleep, must be,’ Jane put in.
‘Useless hag!’ Kirsty spat. ‘Where’s the good in that!’
Again there was silence. The twins had gone to sit on Jane’s bed, still scowling, and with their arms around each other. Lucy was pretending to be asleep, Sally-Anne was peering out into the night, where the waxing moon was rising above the hills. Thrift glanced at Kirsty. Kirsty beckoned, her face set in a familiar grin. Thrift hesitated, but climbed out of bed and padded across, to sit down beside Kirsty, who immediately kissed her.
‘What about Miss Ponderby?’ Thrift whispered.
‘We’ll hear her coming,’ Kirsty answered, ‘and the bolts. I’m no sitting here like a bloody owl waiting, so get your face where it belongs.’
Thrift nodded and allowed herself to be guided down onto the bed. Kirsty mounted her, straddling Thrift’s head and reaching back to open her drawers and show off her bottom, then pull her cheeks wide. Thrift swallowed as the tight pink anus she had become so used to licking was revealed one more time, and then Kirsty’s bottom was in her face and she was doing it yet again. Kirsty gave a pleased sigh as Thrift’s tongue found her ring, then wiggled, spreading her bottom still wider in Thrift’s face. All Thrift could see was the twin curves of Kirsty’s freckly, white bottom, a little copper coloured hair and the ceiling.
She lifted her legs, letting her thighs come open, and her drawers, to show off her quim to the others. Already she was imagining how it would be, made to lick Kirsty, then perhaps Sally or one of the twins, while Lucy was put on her back or knees to service the others. She wanted to come with her tongue up Kirsty’s hole, but took hold of the pale, trim bottom instead of her quim, knowing her climax would be all the better if she held off. There was also the prospect of Miss Ponderby, and strappings all round, which would be so much easier to take if she was excited.
Kirsty began to masturbate, alternately rubbing herself and shifting position on Thrift’s face to have her quim licked. Across the dormitory Thrift could hear the others, Lucy protesting weakly, then silent, the soft, liquid noises of quims being attended to, and sighs. Kirsty chuckled and wiggled her bottom in Thrift’s face, shifting again to get her anus back over Thrift’s mouth. Thrift stuck her tongue deep in, and suddenly the dirty thoughts running through her head were too much.
Her tongue was up another girl’s bottom, a working class girl, and a prostitute as well, but she, Thrift Moncrieff had been made the girl’s plaything. Again and again she’d been made to lick quim and bottom hole. Her own quim had been spread for inspection. Her bottom had been spanked, bare in front of a gloating, giggling audience. Her face had been pushed in a used potty. Yet the moment she was told her tongue was back up the girl’s bottom hole, her face used to masturbate on, while she rubbed at her own quim in wanton surrender.
As she gave in to her feelings Thrift’s hands went to her quim. Kirsty started to come, squirming her bottom in Thrift’s face and moaning in ecstasy. Her ring started to pulse on Thrift’s tongue, allowing it deeper. Thrift’s mouth filled with a thick, earthy taste and she had rolled her legs up, to show off her own bottom hole as well as her quim. She put a finger to it, and in, revelling in her own filthy behaviour in front of the others. Kirsty gave a last, shuddering gasp and for a moment her weight was in Thrift’s face, making it impossible to breathe.
Smothered in bottom, her tongue forced as deep as it would go up Kirsty’s open, slippery hole, her finger up her own and rubbing at her bump, Thrift almost came, only for Kirsty to dismount. Thrift pulled her head up, meaning to beg for Kirsty’s bottom back in her face, and she had stopped, and was staring.
As she had expected, Lucy was licking quim, on her knees with her chemise open to bare her plump little breasts, and her drawers right off, with her round, pale behind thrust out behind to show her bottom hole and the rear lips of her quim. She was licking Sally-Anne, and she was playing with herself, which was surprising, but not as surprising as the twins, who were not waiting their turn, but as they had been before, head to tail on Joanna’s bed, their tongues busy in each others quims.
‘Some view?’ Kirsty giggled. ‘Go on with you, give Jane’s arse a lick while her sister does the cunt, why don’t you?’
Thrift hesitated, her eyes fixed to Jane’s well spread bottom, the puckered hole wet and inviting. Joanna was busy with her sister’s quim, but she said nothing, licking eagerly as she cuddled Jane to her face, with her own l
egs rolled up to trap her sister’s head in place.
‘May... may I, please?’ Thrift asked, and Joanna gave a quick nod.
As Thrift rose to go to the girls, Kirsty gave her a firm slap on her bottom and Sally-Anne a drowsy smile. Thrift sat down, blushing and eager, on the end of the bed, and leant forward, poking her tongue out as she opened her thighs. Jane’s bottom hole was starting to twitch in excitement, and Thrift knew her climax would not be far away. She moved the last few inches, and her tongue was on Jane’s bottom hole, licking at the little star of flesh. Her own thighs were wide, her quim on show to Sally-Anne, and to Kirsty, who had moved to get a better view.
Delighted by the thought of being watched as she tongued Jane’s bottom hole and masturbated, Thrift began to rub herself. It felt good, as good as ever, giving tongue service to a working class girl’s well spread bottom. She began to rub harder, and stuck her tongue deeper up Jane’s now pulsing bottom hole, as both twins reached orgasm at once. Sally-Anne moaned as she too came, and Thrift had buried her face in Jane’s bottom, revelling in the way the little muscular ring tightened over and over on her tongue as she began to come herself.
Her thighs tightened, fluid squirted from her pee hole into her busy hand, and she was forcing her tongue as deep as it would go up Jane’s bottom, and wishing it was deeper, that she could put it right up, with Kirsty and Sally-Anne and Lucy all watching; and Joanna, watching Thrift service her sister’s bottom hole the way she had so often done herself.
She never heard the rasp of bolts, but she heard Kirsty’s curse and warning yell, too late. Thrift was still coming, her whole body jerking in uncontrolled spasms as she tongued Jane’s bottom hole, aware of nothing else, until Miss Ponderby’s angry yell cut through the warm fog of her ecstasy. At that she jerked back, Jane twisting aside at the same instant, even as Miss Ponderby stamped forward, to grab Thrift by the hair and wrench her backwards.
Thrift screamed in shock and pain, sprawling on the floor with the fluid still squirting from her open quim. Lucy scrambled hastily away, and Kirsty, and the chaperone began to lash indiscriminately at Joanna and Jane, the thick leather smacking into bottoms and thighs and bellies and breasts, until both had managed to throw themselves off the far side of the bed. Miss Ponderby was still screeching.
‘Filthy! Filthy! Filthy! All we’ve done for you, and you’re still at your vile habits! But by God I know what to do. You’ll sleep chained to your beds from now, you will, just as soon as I’ve leathered your backsides until you bleed, you filthy wantons, you... Get over your beds!’
Thrift moved further away, scrambling frantically to her feet, her stomach knotting itself in terror. Yet there was nothing for it, and for all her fear she went to her own bed end. The twins moved too, scowling, pouting, but obedient as Miss Ponderby continued to scream at them.
‘Dirty wantons! Dirty, filthy, Godless, loveless wanton...’
‘Not loveless,’ Joanna answered her suddenly, ‘I love her as... as you could never understand.’
She had taken Jane in her arms. Miss Ponderby had gone silent, her face the colour of a beetroot, her hand slowly clenching and unclenching on the handle of her strap. Thrift, half bent across her bed end with her bottom already stuck out for punishment, turned back, to stare, and find Kirsty making frantic signals at Sally-Anne from behind the chaperone’s back.
Sally-Anne moved, fast for once, snatching at Lucy’s discarded drawers and cramming them into Miss Ponderby’s face even as the chaperone opened her mouth for a fresh tirade. Kirsty had moved too, in behind Miss Ponderby to grab her arms, but she was shaken off instantly, sprawling backwards on the floor. Sally-Anne wasn’t. Her huge arms had come around the chaperone, trapping her in a bear hug, even as Joanna snatched forward to keep Lucy’s drawers in place. Jane reacted, grabbing for the strap and wrenching it free, and Thrift, quickly pushing her own drawers down and off, to twist them around Miss Ponderby’s ankles.
Kirsty rushed in, and Miss Ponderby went down, off balance, to collapse under a pile of furious girls. In seconds her gag had been tied off around her head, her arms lashed behind her back, her skirts pulled high and knotted off above her head, to leave her writhing on the floor, completely helpless. Thrift stood back, panting, and the others. Sally-Anne was red-faced and grinning, Kirsty with her fists clenched in fear and delight. Lucy still cowering back against the wall.
‘We had better leave now,’ Thrift suggested.
‘We’ve no choice!’ Kirsty answered. ‘Get dressed, and fast.’
‘Not just yet, we don’t,’ Jane said, ducking down.
Kirsty made to speak, but stopped. Jane was pulling up the chaperone’s petticoats. Joanna ducked down to help her sister, with Miss Ponderby thrashing furiously in her bonds as she was rolled onto her face, the petticoats hauled high, and her drawers split to reveal a big, muscular bottom, packed firm with fat. Jane still had the strap, and lifted, to bring it down with a vicious smack on the chaperone’s bare flesh.
‘You’ll bring the others, you fool tart!’ Kirsty snapped.
Jane had lifted the strap again, but hesitated, then twisted it in her hand. Joanna giggled and put her hands to the chaperone’s massive bottom, forcing the cheeks wide. Miss Ponderby managed a single grunt of utter fury through her gag, and then the rounded head of the strap handle was between her bottom cheeks. Thrift had her hand to her mouth, unable to stop herself giggling as she saw the chaperone’s large, brownish anus spread to the strap handle, and take it, all eight inches or so of smooth, thick wood forced up into Miss Ponderby’s rectum. Jane and Joanna stood up, both giggling.
‘Now we go,’ they said in unison.
Chapter Eight
Kendal, Cumberland, June 2005
Their departure from Weathercote House went without a hitch. Thrift dressed in a terror stricken panic, while Miss Ponderby was still squirming and grunting on the floor with the strap wobbling in her penetrated bottom. Kirsty retrieved the keys, doused the light and bolted the door behind them. They crept carefully down the stairs and left by the back door, to find the moon bright enough to help them make their way down the garden, to the wall and over. Working carefully, they left a false trail between the stream and the road, then split up, each hugging the others before they went their separate ways.
She and Lucy set off along the flank of Whernside, towards the northern end of the railway viaduct, constantly looking back at Weathercote House. She was expecting to see lights blazing in every window, or to hear the baying of Mr Ormondroyd’s hounds, but all remained still and quiet. Lucy was more terrified than Thrift, mumbling prayers as they went, hand in hand across the spongy turf and expanses of bare limestone, to where the railway split at the northern end of the viaduct.
At Thrift’s instruction they both peed on an area of soft grass beside the track, then set off northwards, balancing on the iron rails with their hands held between, until they reached the tunnel, a yawning black mouth in the hillside. They crossed the tracks and struck east over the open moor, but only as far as the river, now a tumbling stream running among boulders and ferns. Removing their shoes and stockings, they picked their way slowly up the stream bed, at right angles to the way they had come, due north, then north and west, until their feet were numb with cold. Drying their legs on their woollen dresses, they put their boots and stockings back on, to climb almost to the summit of Whernside and down the opposite side, into a valley.
Even when the eastern sky had begun to grow light, still Thrift pushed on, despite having to slap Lucy’s face to prevent her simply sinking down on the turf in exhaustion. Only with the coming of full daylight, the calls of cockerels and the barking of dogs did she stop. They had come down off the high ground, into a flat bottomed valley much like the one in which Weathercote House stood. A village, no more than a cluster of dark stone houses with its church steeple rising among them, was visible just half a
mile ahead. Choosing a small copse of oak and thorn, they lay down on the leaf mould, their backs to trees, and within moments Thrift was asleep.
She woke with the sun high in the sky and Lucy still slumped motionless on the ground. Sure that to be seen in their blue wool dresses would mean instant detection, she stayed put, wishing she had something to eat and that the peaty moorland water didn’t taste quite so foul. It was well gone noon before Lucy woke up, blinking in surprise for an instant before she had realised where she was. Thrift gave her a smile.
‘Where are we? Do you think we are safe?’ Lucy asked.
‘Not yet,’ Thrift answered, ‘but we will be. If I remember my map, the village below is Deepdale. The stream leads down to the River Lune. From there, it is no great distance to Kendal.’
‘What if we’re seen?’ Lucy protested. ‘My legs ache. I ache all over!’
‘Stretch a little,’ Thrift advised. ‘Every day we have exercised, and this will be no more than a stroll. Still, we cannot leave until after dark, so let us make the best of the day. Tell me your story, I am dying to know, and you have been so very secretive.’
‘You tell me yours,’ Lucy answered, blushing.
‘I have,’ Thrift responded, ‘in part at least, but we should have no secrets.’
She began to explain the full details of her disgrace, hesitant at first, but warming to her task as Lucy failed to react with shock or disapproval. Even her admission of allowing herself to be sodomised by Monsieur d’Arrignac only set her companion’s lip trembling slightly, although it left Thrift shaking, and with her quim more than a little wet.
Lucy continued to listen as Thrift explained how Dr Molloy had taken her virginity and the soldiers on the train had tricked her and used her, also how it had taught her how wonderful being fucked could feel. Even the description of how the corporal had mounted her and forced her bottom hole caused no more than a wry nod. Thrift continued, describing Mr Ormondroyd’s behaviour and the awful choice he had given her, and only then did Lucy speak.
Schooled for Service Page 18
