A chorus of moans and whimpers rose up when the bottles were allowed to hang free in their cleavages, their full weight supported by their stretched and pegged breasts. But none of the girls protested in words or begged to be excused the unfolding ordeal. They knew better than that by now.
Long bendable drinking straws were placed in the bottles. The ends of the straws passed through holes carefully punched in strips of repair tape. The straws were pushed between the girls’ lips and the tape pressed down across their cheeks, holding the straws in place.
The residents edged the ring of chairs forward, feeding the yellow foam gutter tongues into the girls’ vaginal passages until they were lodged halfway up them. Then they drew out the lines running over the rim of the suspended wheel to the bucket handle and fastened the crocodile clips on their ends to the girls’ nipples. There were some grunts and whimpers as they were clipped to their swelling nubs of flesh, but no more than that. It did not add greatly to the sum of their discomfort.
Then the stool supporting the bucket was removed. The cords went taut as its weight and half that of the guttering drew their nipples out into distended cones. Now the whimpers and gasps were louder and prolonged and eyes began to water. They breasts were simultaneously strangled and pinched, while their nipples felt like they were being stretched like elastic.
But then an odd thing happened. Their captors set up three cameras spaced about the room to record their plight from every angle, set them running, and then walked out of the room without a word, locking the door behind them.
Tara saw the same puzzlement briefly rising above their mutual pain in the eyes of the others. Why had they been left alone? Was this meant in some way to increase their suffering?
Cassie was grunting through her gag. The tape held the straws in place but as their mouths were not otherwise filled it was possible to shape muffled words, like an amateur ventriloquist.
‘Why … the fuck … did they … leave us?’ she said.
‘We can’t win,’ Sian moaned. ‘We drink to save our tits from being strangled … then have to pee … it goes into the bucket … and we get our nipples torn off!’
Tara was trying to ignore the pain throbbing through her distorted breasts and staring at Daniela who was seated opposite her in the ring. Her lovely pointed breasts were already tinged with purple. But Tara was looking at the cord running to the peg holding her anal plug in place. Of course! They were meant to work it out for themselves without any prompting.
‘Listen!’ she said as clearly as her gag allowed. ‘Drink … all the water you can … Then hold on as long as possible … then pee together …’
‘It’ll tear our … tits off!’ Cassie wailed.
‘Not for long … The bucket will go down … far enough to pull pegs out … Then we can stand up … and our tit cords will be loose!’
They looked at each other helplessly, realising there was no other solution. If they did nothing and endured the existing pain they would have to pee eventually, adding to their misery. And that could take hours. But they had to do it all together or it would not work.
Gail, closely followed by Daniela and Hazel, began sucking at her bottle. Tara started as well. Sian looked at Cassie, shrugged, and then they joined them.
By the time her bottle was empty Tara felt horribly bloated, but at least her breasts were no longer being strangled. Now there was nothing else to do but wait.
Her thoughts wandered. How much would the bucket take? The residents must have tested it was enough to pull out the pegs, but did it have to be only half full? Two thirds? More? How quickly would the water pass through them? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour? There was no clock in the room and she suspected her time sense would deceive her in the circumstances.
Tara found herself staring at Daniela’s groin and her pussy lips parted by the yellow foam plug. How much use had they been put to over the last few days? Could she see a gleam of moisture? It wasn’t pee. She must be getting excited. She saw Daniela was looking back at her even as she realised her pudenda were also wet as they sucked at her foam dildo, despite the pain of her tortured nipples. Or did that make it easier? The plug up her backside probably helped as well. Were the others getting aroused? She examined them as they sat with their legs spread and nipples cruelly stretched. A ring of pretty, helpless toys.
‘I’m going to have … to go soon,’ Sian said.
‘Hold on … as long as you can. We must do it … together,’ Tara said.
After another ten minutes they were all squirming. It was pee or burst time.
‘On three,’ Tara said. ‘One … two … three!’
Jets of clear pee hissed from between their gaping labia with surprising force, swirling and gurgling down the gutters like mill races. For a few seconds all Tara felt was the blessed relief of emptying her bladder, mingled with the strange thrill of doing it so openly before the others.
Then the six streams of pee began to pour into the bucket.
Their nipples stretched even further under its increasing weight. They whimpered in pain. But the bucket was sinking steadily as its spring lengthened, drawing on the cords that pegged them to their chairs.
As it did so the gutter tongues pivoted on the edges of the seats, something Tara had not foreseen, pressing the foam plugs up into the roofs of their vaginal tunnels. Wasn’t that where her ‘G’ spot was supposed to be? Oh yes! Oh, God, that was good … but terrible timing!
The bucket was nearly touching the floor, but the flow from their pussies was slowing to mere dribbles. They were gasping and whining as their nipples were drawn out into tortured cones of flesh. It had to work!
One by one the pegs under their chairs popped out.
The others immediately tried to stand up, but Tara realised the last one up would have the whole weight of the bucket dragging on her tits.
‘All together,’ she grunted.
They slid their haunches forward, dragging the shafts of their anal plugs up through the seat holes, trying to get into balance to stand without being able to lean forward. The gutter tongues were sliding further into them as they rocked to and fro. They were shafting themselves now. Tara felt the motions of the others transmitted up her gutter tongue though the bucket. The pee was slopping about inside it, setting it swaying. It would tear their nipples off!
Tara clamped the plug inside her and hauled.
Suddenly she was on her feet and the terrible tension on her breasts vanished.
Daniela opposite her lost her counterbalancing tension and screeched in pain.
‘Use your cunt!’ Tara grunted, pulling her gutter to her. With a heave Daniela shot to her feet.
Suddenly the others were standing as well, panting from their exertions. The bucket was resting on the ground and their nipple cords were slack. By comparison the pinching of the crocodile clips and pegs still adorning their breasts seemed a minor irritation.
For some minutes they just stood quietly recovering, all deeply impaled on the gutter tongues which now angled up from the bucket rim into them. Their ankles were still tied to the chair legs so they could not pull themselves off. They would have to wait to be released.
Then Tara realised Hazel and Gail were gently rocking themselves back and forward on the yellow foam shafts, making their vulvas bulge as they slid into them. They were deliberately masturbating. And why not, Tara thought? It was some reward for their suffering and they were quite beyond shame now. She began to grind her hips about the plug inside her. One by one the others joined in. By the time she remembered everything they did was being recorded it was too late to stop.
Shortly afterwards female juices began to trickle down the gutters into the bucket to join the urine.
Tara was still wondering what the residents had hoped to get out of their elaborate contraption, beyond the obvious pain and humiliation of course, during their afternoon rest. Had it been meant as a lesson in cooperation, or had they hoped they would inflict unnecessary suffering on ea
ch other out of mutual spite?
Meanwhile Sian was being unexpectedly open about her session with Tom Fanning the previous night. She described her experience on his electrical machine, concluding: ‘… and I so lost control I actually peed as I came. I wish he’d had it ready when he had his turn with Tara. Then she’d really know about having to pee.’
Tara said nothing, not wanting to get into another argument.
‘She’s already the Queen of Pee after this morning,’ Gail giggled.
‘I don’t think you can help it on that machine,’ Hazel said seriously. ‘I wet myself when he used it on me. It’s so, well, intense. It gets right inside you.’
‘It wouldn’t work if you had more self-control,’ Cassie said dismissively.
‘Like you, I suppose,’ Sian said sarcastically. ‘Lucky you’ve had your session with Fanning so you don’t have to prove it. Well, maybe I did wet myself, but at least I was fun. He said you were a streak of misery until he brightened you up. What did he do to you anyway?’
Cassie suddenly sounded defensive. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I bet he had you begging to please him,’ Sian taunted. ‘Was it up the bum? I think he likes that. Come on …’
Tara lay back and let them argue.
The weather was still warm and dry, so the teatime entertainment was held in Gerald Spooner’s garden again. The rest of the residents were there and smiled as the girls were marched in.
The rope strung between the trees was still in place, though now twelve sets of thinner ropes dangled from it, while directly underneath it six pegs had been driven into the ground, each trailing another length of rope. Five of the chairs they had used that morning were set out in a line facing the rope. A white-painted rope, rather like that marking the boundary of a cricket field, had been laid out in a large loop around the chairs, arcing wide of their backs but running close across the front of them. On a table to one side was a CD player, a long holly switch and, oddly, a Thermos flask.
‘Have you ever played musical chairs?’ Major Warwick asked rhetorically, as the girls were made to kneel in line, their hands still cuffed behind them. ‘Well, we’ve made certain modifications to the traditional game to make it suitable for the occasion. For instance …’
He tilted one of the chairs forward to show them. Ten or a dozen holly leaves had been taped to the seat.
‘As you can see the chairs will be somewhat uncomfortable,’ Warwick continued, smiling at their expressions of dismay, ‘but you might still decide they are preferable to the alternative. The girl who loses the first round will be hung up by her ankles, have six ice cubes pushed into her front passage and receive six strokes of the cane across her breasts. The loser of the second round will receive five cubes and five strokes, and so on. The winner will get just one cube and one stroke, though of course her bottom will be the most pricked.’
By this time the girls were looking horribly confused. Was that the intention, Tara wondered, or was it supposed to teach some deeper lesson? The challenge this morning was best solved by cooperation, whereas this perverted version of musical chairs was all about individual determination to succeed at the expense of others. Perhaps it was just about choosing the lesser of two evils … or simply another means of punishing and humiliating them. The residents had a lot of revenge to pack into a single week. That alone could explain everything they did.
Narinda took up position by the CD player. ‘You will dance properly round outside the rope in a clockwise direction with plenty of skips and high steps. When the music stops you can go in any direction to reach a chair. In case you think you can save your bottoms a pricking by only pretending to sit, you must keep your feet outside the rope at all times while on the chairs. As you see there is a gap between it and the front legs, which means you sit with your feet in front of you. You will not get up again until the losing girl in each round has received her punishment. Do you all understand?’
‘Yes, Mistress,’ they chorused nervously.
The music began. It was some saccharine, remorselessly jangling, jolly children’s party tune, which made the situation more bizarre. Round and round they skipped; six naked handcuffed young women, their breasts bouncing and bottoms swaying, nervously eyeing the chairs and each other. As they circled the backs of the chairs they speeded up in case the music cut and left them stranded, while they slowed when passing before them, snatching glances at Narinda’s hand on the CD controls.
As she danced, Tara’s mind was spinning. Which was the least unpleasant option? How much would sitting on holly hurt? What would it be like to have ice cubes up her fanny and her tits holly-caned? How long would she have to hang upside down? She’d have to sit on the holly five times to win … Oh, God, she couldn’t decide. It was easier just being used or punished without having to make choices for herself – Oh no! Was that the hidden lesson?
The music stopped.
For a second they froze, then made a rush for the chairs. Tara was caught round the back of the loop with Cassie just in front of her. Hazel, Daniela and Sian were already finding their seats, accompanied by yelps and gasps as they sat. Tara and Cassie both darted forward to reach the corner chair where Gail, who had been better placed than they, was about to sit herself. Cassie wildly barged Gail aside, knocking her to the ground, and then poised her own bottom over the chair. She must be extra desperate, Tara thought, as she had already had her tits holly-caned while impaled on Fred the dummy and presumably didn’t want a repeat.
This left one empty chair next to the end one. Gail was struggling to her feet between Tara and it, blocking her way. She could not get round to it in time.
But Cassie was not sitting down. Her bare bottom was trembling just above the holly-decorated seat, a fearful look on her face. She was too frightened to sit. Feeling sudden contempt, Tara slammed her shoulder into Cassie, sending her sprawling, turned round, gritted her teeth and sat herself down firmly.
Dozens of spines like little needles, driven by her full weight, stabbed into her buttocks, making her choke with surprise. But at least she had the courage to face the pain. Before Cassie could recover, Gail was on her feet and took the free chair beside Tara, sitting down on it with a squeak.
Tara instinctively wanted to squirm about, but she had already deduced what the other girls in the line were just discovering, to the accompaniment of many moans and gasps, that moving would only make the spines dig in deeper. So she sat rigidly still, her suffering alleviated only by the sight of Cassie glaring at her furiously as Warwick strode forward to take her by the arm.
Cassie made a pretty sight dangling from her spread ankles. They put her gag back in her mouth and then tied the rope from a ground peg to her hair, so she could not twist about and would remain facing her audience. Then they took six ice cubes from the Thermos flask and stuffed them into her cleft one by one. Cassie gasped and gurgled as they were inserted, her eyes bulging in horror as the chill began to radiate from her vagina. She gave another yelp as Warwick thoughtfully used a small bulldog clip to pinch her inner labia together to prevent her expelling the cubes.
Gerald Spooner had the honour of delivering the first holly-caning of the game, as Cassie was dangling at a convenient height. He used a backhand swing, and for an old man he had a good eye for a target. Cassie’s firm breasts shivered under the swishing blows, her nipples growing perversely hard as the pale taut hemispheres blushed with pricks and scratches.
After the last stroke fell, leaving Cassie dangling shivering and red-eyed before them, Tara made a decision. She’d tried the chairs and seen Cassie punished and knew she’d prefer the ice cubes and the tit-lashing to grinding holly leaves into her bum again. The pain of rising for the next round and feeling the spines pulling out of her flesh convinced her. She would not be the first out of the game now, so her pride was saved, but she didn’t want it to look like she was simply giving in.
And so, the next time the music stopped, Tara convincingly tripped over the gro
und rope as she dashed for the chairs and failed to get a seat. She was suspended beside Cassie, who twisted round to stare at her. Both their heads now being the same way up she could read the satisfaction in her face.
Having the ice stuffed into her was a surprising sensation, actually perversely exciting until the cold began to bite. The nip of the bulldog clip contrasted sharply with the dull chill it sealed within her. Her big breasts, hanging inverted and bobbing proudly free of her ribcage, made fine targets, of which Raj Khan made full use. She yelped and jerked against the rope that bound her hair to the ground, but that did not stop her bouncing globes being thoroughly scoured by the bristling cane. The painful highpoints came when her full hard nipples (she seemed unable to prevent them self-erecting any more) received a couple of blows full on, the spines tearing into her tender flesh. The resulting convulsions of her stomach forced meltwater out past the bulldog clip and to trick through her pubic hair. Just let it reach her burning tits and cool them down, she thought desperately.
But finally it was over, and all she had to endure then was the heavy sense of her head being bloated with blood and the cold of her ice-stuffed pussy. Through misty eyes she watched Gail, Hazel and Daniela suspended beside her in turn. It was strange to see them writhe in their bonds the right way up from her point of view, their breasts bulging upwards and outwards in apparent defiance of gravity, bouncing under their allotted cane strokes. There was something disturbingly exciting about the way the three of them suffered; seemingly unresentful that they were giving pleasure to their audience.
Sian won the game fairly enough as she was the most agile. She almost looked smug as she was hung up beside the others to receive her token punishment, though her small tight buttocks were a mass of red blotches and pinpricks.
They were being made to pay dear for all they had done to the residents of Cheyner Close. But at least their ordeal only had two days left to run.
Louisa Jessop was prettier naked than Daniela had imagined. Perhaps it was because she seemed to be enjoying herself so much.
Captives of Cheyner Close Page 15
