Captives of Cheyner Close

by Adriana Arden

  ‘So don’t you worry when it’s your turn with them, Sian,’ Cassie continued loudly, silencing Daniela. ‘Just let them play with you and come when you can.’ She gave an evil chuckle. ‘But I told them it was Tara who wrote all those anonymous letters about them, so I think they’re going to give her a real hard time when they get their hands on her!’

  After tea they were readied to be taken across to Number 9. Their gags were reinserted, their hands were cuffed behind them and their collars linked by chains. In a coffle they were marched out into the side alley of Number 2, with Tom Fanning leading them and Louisa Jessop bringing up the rear, ready if necessary to urge them on with her holy cane.

  Because of the time of day and being in a single group they could do without barrows or wheelie-bins. Warwick went to the end of the Close and signalled the main road was clear. Tara felt a renewed thrill of exposure as they were marched briskly across to Number 9 in the still-bright sunlight. Narinda Khan evidently thought the scene was special as well. She was standing in the road and took a picture of them as they crossed, framing their column of naked and chained bodies against the backdrop of mundane houses: proof they really were the captives of Cheyner Close.

  It was almost a relief to have the garden gate of Number 9 close behind them and be back in its comfortable enclosure. But the sensation was Short-lived. As Tara took in the devices laid out on Gerald Spooner’s now well rolled lawn and the grinning faces of the other residents, she once again revised upwards their capacity for perverse invention.

  The golf ball plopped into Tara’s gaping vagina.

  ‘Hole in one!’ Stan Jessop cried cheerfully.

  Those residents not in the process of swinging golf clubs themselves at that moment applauded his efforts. Tara clenched her inner muscles and with an effort popped the ball out of her so that it rolled back onto the grass.

  It was clock golf with a difference.

  They had staked out the girls in a neat ring on the lawn. Tara, like Hazel opposite her, was lying spread-eagled flat on her back with her open legs facing the centre of the ring. A shallow V-shaped wooden ramp, painted green, was wedged between her thighs, its apex pressed against the undercurve of the pouch of her vulva. Projecting horizontally from the narrow lip of the wedge were two lengths of wooden dowel. These had been forced into the mouth of her vaginal passage so as to hold it stretched wide in a mocking rictus of a smile. This grimace had been turned into an ‘O’ of surprise by a hook curling round the upper rim of her passage and held under tension by a chain running up between her sex lips to a belt buckled about her waist. It left her lovemouth wide open to the air, to inquisitive flies, to anybody who cared to look up into her secret depths … and of course to golf balls.

  It was a new low (or did she mean high?) on the scale of degradation to which they had so far been subjected. So why did her hard clitoris bulge against the hook chain as it cut through her cleft, and her juices seep down the cleft of her buttocks? Could she get aroused no matter what they did to her?

  On her left, Sian was staked out in a different fashion.

  Her slender body was doubled over so that her knees almost touched her shoulders, while her arms were folded and cuffed under her bent back. Ropes crossing between two stakes on either side of her neck ensured she held her head steady, while her ankles were tied to two more widely spaced stakes, which helped to brace her in position so she could not squirm about. This left her smooth tight buttocks and groin exposed to the sky. A large translucent plastic funnel had been plugged into her vagina, held in place by garden wire running from holes drilled through its rim to encircle her doubled-back thighs. An accurate chip shot would land a ball into the funnel where it would bounce around until it finally dropped into her warm moist living cup. A simple mask made of aluminium mesh of the kind used in car bodywork repairs protected her face from balls that overshot their intended target.

  Sian flinched each time a ball was directed at her and an occasional throaty whine escaped her gag. But the tangle of dark hair ringing the neck of the implanted funnel glistened wetly and her small nipples rose up in hard points. Tara wished she could see her face properly to judge how well she was coping with this latest humiliation.

  It was easier to tell with Daniela, who was positioned on Tara’s right. She was bent over on her spread knees so that her chest rested on the ground, and her face was turned towards Tara. Her arms were drawn out straight back down between her knees and tied to the middle pair of a row of four stakes, the outer ones of which secured her ankles. Another large plastic funnel had been slipped between the flawless tan hemispheres of her buttocks and into her anus, forcing it wide enough for a golf ball to enter her. The funnel projected bizarrely from her rear like a strange sort of tail, held at the desired angle by a wire running back down from its rim to her collar.

  Tara could see Daniela’s face was alive with anticipation, flinching as a ball struck her bottom or thighs, but seeming as though she was willing the player to succeed; to feel a ball roll into her open rectum. It was a tricky shot and most missed altogether or rebounded from the sides of the funnel. But as the players got their eye in a few began to land in the dark pit between her haunches. And when they did Daniela gave a little moan and briefly closed her eyes, though not, Tara thought, in shame.

  After all the residents had played a round, Major Warwick said: ‘Right, let’s swap them over and give them a taste of the other positions …’

  Half an hour later Tara was squatting down straining to expel the last golf ball from her rectum. They had all been hosed out and greased before the game had started, so the balls came out quite cleanly. I’m being made to shit golf balls, she thought dizzily. Who’d have thought it?

  With a disturbingly exciting sensation the last ball finally popped out into the bowl placed under her for the purpose, which was then removed. With a leash clipped to her collar, Tara was led over to where the other girls knelt in a line, waiting for Warwick to announce who would have the use of them that night.

  Gail was assigned to Jim Curry, while Hazel, eyes wide with nervous anticipation, was given to Tom Fanning. Then Warwick said: ‘And Tara Ashwell goes with Hilary and Roberta …’

  As the women took hold of Tara’s leash, she saw Cassie’s face light up with malicious delight. Nerving herself to show no apprehension, Tara simply smiled back at Cassie, then stood proudly and allowed herself to be led away.

  Gail dangled from a beam in Jim Curry’s workshop.

  A pulley chain was hooked through a heavy ringbolt set in the middle of a horizontal tubular metal bar. Gail’s ankles were enclosed in broad leather cuffs and clipped to the ends of the bar, pulling her legs out and up into a broad V. Her arms were drawn straight up from her shoulders and similarly cuffed to the bar on either side of its central mount. This posture left her groin totally exposed. The centre of gravity of her body caused her hips to swing forward slightly, as though offering the open maw of her lovemouth to his gaze. Her anus was a little crinkled starburst ring below the swell of her pubes.

  A touch on the bar made Gail turn slowly, allowing him to examine every detail of her lovely form. He drank in her girlishly innocent face, her wide round eyes nervously meeting his gaze and her wonderfully ripe body. A few days ago he would never have imagined he could have possessed such a beautiful creature, and yet now she was his alone for the night to do with virtually as he wished. He picked up his camera and snapped away, wanting to record the moment forever. He felt his manhood stirring in anticipation. Steady, he told himself. No need to rush.

  Gail was making plaintive noises from behind her gag while her eyes pleaded for attention.

  ‘You want to say something?’ he asked.

  Gail nodded.

  ‘You know it’s no good begging for mercy or anything, because you aren’t going to get it. You deserve all that’s coming to you, along with the rest of your gang.’

  Gail was still nodding. Intrigued, Jim pulled the rubber ball from
her mouth.

  ‘I know I deserve to be punished, Master,’ she said meekly, her voice low and tremulous. ‘I just wanted you to know I’m so sorry for everything I did. I never imagined how it was hurting you. It all seemed like a big game at the time …’ She trailed off, chewing her lip mournfully. ‘Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say.’ And she opened her mouth again ready for the gag to be reinserted.

  Jim’s eyes narrowed. She seemed too good to be true. ‘Do you think this’ll make me go easier on you?’

  Her round eyes appeared completely guileless. ‘No, Master.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You do whatever you want to me. That was the agreement. And I should be punished for being so nasty to you. As long as my parents never find out.’

  She seemed utterly candid, but could it be an act? He took her melon-breasts in his hands, feeling their warmth and weight and resilience, rolling and squeezing them together. Her hardening nipples pressed into his palms. She trembled and her eyelids fluttered.

  ‘Do you like that?’ he asked.

  She gulped. ‘Yes, Master.’

  ‘You’ve got lovely big tits.’

  A shy fleeting smile crossed Gail’s lips. ‘Thank you, Master. Boys always want to play with them.’

  ‘But what if I did more than play with them?’ He caught hold of the thick cones of her nipples and gave them a warning tweak.

  Gail gave a little shiver and licked her lips. ‘I understand if you want to – to torture them. It’s probably a good way to punish me because they’re quite sensitive … especially my nipples.’

  ‘Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself?’

  Gail looked genuinely puzzled. ‘I – I’ll probably make a lot of noise when you punish me, Master. You might want to put my gag back in.’

  ‘You really are ready to let me do anything I want with you?’

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  ‘Don’t you want to escape if you could?’

  Briefly her fists clenched as she tugged on her cuffs as though by reflex, but then she relaxed again: looking utterly helpless and perfectly passive once more. A troubled expression crossed her face as she sought for the right words. ‘I suppose I do in a way, but at the same time I know I shouldn’t. I deserve to be here.’

  ‘Even tied up like this?’

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  ‘But you can’t be comfortable.’

  ‘I’m not, Master … but it feels right.’

  Jim dropped his hands from her breasts down to her gaping vulva. He ran a finger though the slippery cleft, its lips already engorged with blood, feeling its wet warmth and smelling her arousal.

  Gail gasped at his touch. The tendons on the backs of her splayed legs contracted in response, setting her swaying in her bonds.

  ‘The truth is all this excites you, isn’t that it?’ he said.

  She was breathing faster now. ‘Y – yes, Master.’

  ‘Are you a masochist?’

  Gail took a deep breath, chewing her lip again in an innocently childish display of uncertainty. ‘I … I don’t know, Master. I never thought so before now. I was terribly afraid at first. But I can’t help getting excited and – and coming, even when I’m being hurt. As long as it’s sexy as well.’

  ‘Is that what this is for you? A sex game?’

  ‘No – a bit, maybe … but I am really sorry for what I did, Master. I deserve to be punished.’

  He slipped a finger into the mouth of her vagina, now gaping in anticipation. ‘You mean you want to be punished?’

  ‘Yes, Master!’ she gasped.

  ‘Then say it.’

  ‘Please punish me, Master! Do anything you like to me!’

  Jim felt a glow of satisfaction grow within him in keeping with his mounting lust for Gail’s body. Here at last was his perfect reward; a beautiful willing victim begging him to take his just revenge upon her.

  From his workbench he took up a pair of metal screw clamps. ‘Because of their shape these are called G clamps,’ he told her. ‘G for Gail. That’s appropriate, don’t you think? But where should I put them?’

  There was a strange light in Gail’s eyes now. ‘On my nipples, Master. Put them on my nipples!’

  Jim screwed the clamps tight about her plump nubs of flesh until Gail whimpered in pain, then he let them dangle. Such was the firmness of her breasts that they hung clear of her body, their weight stretching her nipples into tongues of pink and purple flesh. Gail’s eyes were misty with tears, but she looked at him without fear; patiently waiting for the next indignity to be laid upon her.

  He placed a chair in front of Gail so that when he sat down his head was level with her blatantly displayed groin. On an impulse he cupped her taut buttocks in his hands and bent forward and kissed her vertical smile, savouring its warm wet promise and exciting perfume. Gail squirmed in delight.

  ‘That doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft on you,’ he warned her.

  ‘I know, Master,’ she replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Do whatever you want with me.’

  He unrolled a long plastic wallet on the bench beside him. It held a gleaming set of small spanners, each in its own pouch. He took the largest out, wiped it with a cloth already coated with vaseline, peeled back Gail’s thick outer labia and slid the spanner up into her hot dark depths. She shivered as the strangely shaped piece of cold metal lodged inside her. Jim selected the next largest spanner from the set and repeated the process.

  By the time he reached the last few he was forcing them into gaps between the others, while Gail was groaning with their weight and the cruel way they stretched her vaginal passage and made her pudenda bulge unnaturally. The bright metal heads of the spanners projected from her cleft like the blooms of strange flowers, made shinier still by the exudation that flowed past them and dripped onto the workshop floor.

  When Gail was stuffed full, Jim reversed his chair so that its back was directly underneath Gail’s dangling backside. To this he clamped a variable-speed power drill with its bit pointing upwards. Into the chuck he fitted a short length of soft rubber hose. The other end of the hose he greased with vaseline and then fed into Gail’s anus.

  Turning on the drill at low speed set the greased hose twisting inside Gail’s rectum, bringing forth a little yip of surprise. Gradually she began to rotate in the same direction as some of the torque transmitted itself through the friction between rubber and flesh into her body. The clamps on her nipples lifted outwards as she spun faster, pulling her nipples out into tormented cones.

  Cautiously Jim activated the hammer action. The drill head began to judder up and down, sending ripples up the hose and into Gail. She yelled in horrified delight, jerking wildly on her straps. Her body went into spasm and she came copiously, spanners dropping out of her and jingling to the floor. Then her head dropped onto her chest and she hung limply in her straps, motionless except for the steady rise and fall of her chest.

  While Gail was still half insensible, Jim removed the hose from her anus, pulled the remaining spanners from her vagina and lowered her to the floor. Unclipping her wrist and ankle cuffs from the bar he picked up her unresisting body as though she was a rag doll and laid her across his workbench, so that her legs overhung the side and her heels trailed on the floor. Her head he placed in the jaws of a large bench vice which he had padded with strips of foam rubber. Carefully he screwed the vice closed until it held her head, slightly tilted so that she could look down the length of her body, firmly in its unyielding grasp.

  Laying out her limp arms along the length of the bench, he fed lengths of wire through the rings of her wrist cuffs. The wires were coiled round hooks screwed into the ends of the bench. Now he pulled the free ends of the wire tight, stretching Gail’s arms straight out on either side of her, and wound them about the hooks until they were secure. He repeated the process with two more lengths of wire fastened to a second pair of hooks screwed into the lower corners of the bench ends, this time threading them through the rings
of her ankle cuffs. He pulled her legs out into the widest splits he could force her supple young body to assume, until the big tendons of her inner thighs stood out starkly, then he made the wires secure.

  Gail was now symmetrically arrayed before him; taut and immobile, her bottom just overhanging the scarred wooden edge of the bench, while her pouting pubic mount was open to his every whim. He unscrewed the G clamps and massaged the blood back into her abused purple nipples. The acute sensation of pins and needles as they filled out brought her back to full consciousness. She gasped in pain, then looked uncertainly up at him.

  ‘Did – did I please you, Master?’ she asked softly.

  ‘You did, girl,’ he assured her, bringing a smile to her face. ‘But I’m not done with you yet …’ He undid his flies, releasing his erection which sprang up for her to see.

  Gail grinned like a naughty schoolgirl. ‘Oh, it’s so big, Master! It’s a good thing you’ve already stretched me.’

  A brief pang of concern made him ask: ‘Do you feel sore?’

  ‘Yes, Master … but that mustn’t stop you.’

  He stroked her lovemouth, feeling it pulse with life.

  Resting his hands on the soft skin of her exposed inner thighs he slid into the bliss of her tight clinging haven, the force of his thrust setting her big breasts trembling. She gave a plaintive gasp and her face melted into a look of happy submission.

  Seven

  WHEN THEY ASSEMBLED the next morning for breakfast in Number 2, Tara went out of her way to appear at ease. She didn’t want Cassie to think her scheming had made any difference to the treatment she had received at the hands of Hilary and Rachel.

  She rehearsed what she would say when they were allowed to talk later. It could have been worse … it wasn’t what she would have chosen … but, once she had let herself go, bits of it had been quite fun … in a sick way, of course.

  That last part was truer than she cared to admit, even to herself. Their perverted situation was doing things to her desires and emotions that she had yet to come to terms with. But she needed time to think it over. For the moment she had to continue following the logic she had used to convince the others this was preferable to facing official justice.