Simon brought out a high stool from his cottage and set it down under the crossbars. One by one he laid the girls on their backs across the stool and raised and spread their legs so he could tie their ankles to the lintel posts. He lifted them easily onto the stool as though they were children. Tara had not realised how strong he was. It made her sense of helplessness seem even more profound.
Once each girl’s ankles were bound, Simon ran more rope through the coils of her harness where it crossed between her breasts and tied its ends to the crossbar by her ankles. The tension bent her like a fishhook until her head was level with her knees. Then he pulled away the stool from under her bottom, leaving her dangling in the air.
Soon he had all six of them suspended and facing inward while he stood at the centre of the ring, a cane in his hands, grinning at the spectacle they made as they displayed their intimacies. Six exclamation marks sculpted in flesh: six red-lipped pussy clefts gaping and glistening, dotted underneath by dark anal puckers. In turn they looked helplessly back at him through the V’s of their widespread legs.
Slowly Simon unzipped his flies, releasing an erect penis of impressive dimensions. The girls squirmed in their bonds. He walked round the circle stroking and pinching their pouting lovemouths, sliding his fingers into their honeypots and drawing them out wet and scented, bringing forth muffled groans from his captives. Tara could smell the sensual aroma of apprehension and need filling the air, knowing she was contributing her share to the intimate perfume. Just get it over with, she shrieked silently to herself.
Simon began to cane them. Not hard strokes, but enough to paint blushing stripes across their thighs and taut backsides and cause their anuses to pinch tight as the tendons on the backs of their knees contracted, making them jerk and sway in their bonds. Because of their doubled-over postures their pubic mounds protruded beyond the stretched flesh of their haunches and so received a proportion of the cane’s stinging kisses. But such modest pain had by now become hard for their bodies to distinguish from foreplay, and their labia gaped even wider as they blossomed in anticipation while their clitorises rose brazenly from their hoods.
Then Simon dropped his cane, grasped Gail’s hips and drove his hard cock into her sex. At last, Tara thought, wishing it could be her.
But Simon only thrust half a dozen times into Gail’s passage before he withdrew, transferring his now glistening manhood to Sian’s waiting hole that was hanging beside her. Another half dozen pokes, and then he moved on to Hazel. Tara understood. This was for his pleasure, not theirs. Which cunt he came in did not matter to him, nor the frustration it created. There was a cruel downside with six to one when you were one of the six.
Tara tried desperately to come when it was her turn, but six thrusts were not enough to bring her off. He pulled out of the hot clutches and moved on to Daniela. He came halfway through pumping out Cassie’s vagina. He sagged against her for a minute as he recovered, then withdrew his softening prick from her sticky cleft. Tara saw anguish written large on Cassie’s muzzled features.
Now their master was satisfied, while they were left agonizingly wanting. How could they ever have been brought to this state, Tara thought? Having to contend with not getting what they wanted when they wanted it was torture! Was that a reflection on their privileged lives up until now? Had they been spoilt? But it got even worse.
Simon used some short springy twigs to wedge their vulvas wide open, pushing apart the thick outer lips of flesh and their finer inner petals, so that the smallest details of their private anatomy were open to the air, and they could look across the circle into the dark crinkle-mouthed passages of the girls opposite. Then he simply left them, exposed and unrequited.
Time passed with agonising slowness as the pain of stretched tendons behind their knees and across their lower backs grew. Flies buzzed curiously around their fragrant exposed pudenda, a few settling for a closer examination despite their desperate wriggles. It only made their miserable state seem even more acute.
At teatime Simon emerged with a large plate of sandwiches, cake and bottles of water. They were silent as he briefly removed their muzzles to feed them, pleading with their eyes not their mouths. It did no good. He took the twigs from their labia and made the rounds a second time with his cock, satisfying his pleasure even as he brought them once more to heights of frustrated lust. When he was done he replaced the twigs in their aching lovemouths and left them again.
Not long afterwards the need came upon them, one by one, to pee. With their labia pulled back their exposed urethras squirted like fountains. The intimate sensation of passing water in such circumstances roused them once more, but still not enough to bring release.
It must have been gone eight that evening when Simon finally let them down. He took off their muzzles, removed the twigs holding them open then freed their ankles and set them on the ground. They lay still doubled over, groaning softly, too stiff to move, their tendons on fire and their stretched pubic lips slowly contracting.
He carried them to their cage like sacks of potatoes, opened the larger padlocked door and laid them on the straw on their backs side by side and head to toe. He spread their legs again and re-tied their ankles to the salvaged poles, then tied the poles to the sides of the cage. Then he shut and locked the door and left them.
There was a long silence as they luxuriated in being allowed to lie flat and straight, not even caring they were still in harness or how cold they might get that night. Finally Cassie said in a small, miserable voice:
‘He’s broken me. I admit it. I’ll do anything to be allowed to come. You’d think after a week of all that sex I could go a day without more … but I can’t. I’m ready to beg him to screw me properly, if that’s what it takes.’
Tara agreed but was too exhausted to say so.
‘He’ll do it … if we ask him in the right way,’ Gail said. ‘We’ve got to show we’ve learned our lesson …’
The next morning, as Simon approached the pen with their breakfast pot of porridge, he was greeted by a series of mournful whines and howls such as miserable dogs might make.
He looked in on them, bound as he had left them, their nipples crinkled with cold but eyes bright. ‘So, my bitches are unhappy, are they?’ he asked.
The girls nodded and whimpered even louder.
Simon opened the cage, freed their ankles and allowed them to crawl outside on their knees. Despite their stiffness they crowded round his feet, kissing and licking his boots, looking up at him and panting hopefully, then turning round and presenting their backsides for his inspection.
‘I get it. Maybe later, if you’re good girls …’
He poured the porridge into the trough and they ate it all up, licking the metal clean. When they were finished he did not put on the muzzles but simply pointed to the latrine pit. They scampered over in stooping postures, not needing to be reminded that bitches kept low. When they squatted to pee they looked proud and excited that he should find it pleasing to watch them.
Simon took them for a long walk in the woods, and they fussed around him like eager puppies, sniffing at tree trunks and rubbing against his legs. He threw sticks and they fetched them. The woods were a delight to roam about in naked. When the need came again to pee they did so as dogs might; cocking their legs against trees. They forgot the time and were surprised to find Simon leading them back to the cottage for lunch. They ate on the lawn. When they were done they looked at him again pleadingly, whimpering to be allowed relief.
‘I suppose, as you’ve been good bitches, you’ve earned it. Get in a line all facing the same way … closer, noses up bums … Now Hazel, Daniela and Tara you roll over on your backs, legs wide. That’s right. The rest get your heads down between the legs of the one in front and your muffs down on the face of the one behind … Right. But none of you is allowed to come until I’ve had you, got it?’ They nodded and whimpered their assent, trembling with anticipation. ‘Now start licking!’
They tongued e
ach other uninhibitedly, past caring about pride or shame, willing to do anything to gain the relief their bodies demanded. Cassie was first in the line. Though she had her face buried in Hazel’s crotch she had nobody to lick her upturned and hungry pussy. Simon knelt down behind her, unzipped his flies and slid his shaft into her wet cleft.
Such was her state of pent-up arousal that a dozen thrusts were all it took to send her into orgasm. Simon rolled her aside while she was still shuddering, opening the way to Hazel as she lay on her back, her upturned face covered by Sian’s grinding pubes.
Simon shuffled forward, lifted Hazel’s splayed legs until her hips left the ground and he could slid his cock into her already wet cleft. A short bout of determined thrusting was all it took to push her over the brink. He dragged her twitching body out from under Sian and rolled her aside to join Cassie. Sian’s haunches rose eagerly to meet him and he drove hard into her slim body, rocking her on her knees. She came inside half a minute and was easily pushed aside onto the grass.
Daniela’s hot vagina welcomed Simon’s cock and she soon came joyfully. The hot split peach of Gail’s sex responded with equally uninhibited passion, and she was in turn rolled aside onto the grass with a look of perfect delight on her face.
And then there was just Tara left, sprawled on her back, her legs splayed in utter abandon, lifting her hips desperately to meet him, offering herself, her eyes hollow with need. As they coupled she knew his hard cock was carrying the juices of all the other girls with it and mingling them with her own and thought it was filthily, disgustingly wonderful. She cried out aloud as his sperm was pumped inside her and she was free to come, letting herself be carried away on a wave of raw pleasure that sucked her down into warm pink-tinted depths of total satisfaction and blissful release from all cares.
An unknown time passed. As the rosy haze that had enveloped her melted away, Tara realised she was still lying on the lawn beside Simon’s cottage but something had changed. Her clothesline harness had been removed.
It hurt to lift her arms, the flesh of which was scored with red and purple grooves from her bonds. Her fingers seemed to belong to somebody else, but she was free.
In a daze she looked around her. The others had also been unbound and were sprawled awkwardly on the grass trying to pump life back into their numbed limbs. Simon was standing over them, a bundle of clothesline in his hand and a couple of black bin bags by his side.
‘We’re even,’ he said simply. ‘If you need time to get over it you can put up the tent again and stay the night. Your clothes are in the bags.’ For a moment his eyes met Tara’s. ‘I hope you meant what you said.’
She nodded. ‘I did.’
Simon took one last look at them, then turned away and went back into his cottage.
It took them almost half an hour to regain enough feeling in their arms and hands to dress themselves. The fabrics felt oddly rough and heavy to wear. Putting up their tent took longer but they managed it. They hardly spoke a word, whether because there was too much or too little to say Tara was not sure. Even Hazel, Gail and Daniela seemed subdued, though perhaps for different reasons to the others. They made a sketchy snack meal and retreated to their sleeping bags early to wrestle with their thoughts.
They were free. It really was over. But what now?
The next morning, Monday, as they were packing away the last of their gear into the car, Simon appeared with a parcel that had just been delivered. It was from Katy Mitchel in Cornwall and it contained their phones, cards and receipts, plus a note hoping everything had gone well and saying she was eager to hear all the details.
Tara didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Could she ever dare tell Katy the truth? Well, irrelevant as it was now, at least that was one part of her deception which had worked perfectly.
Simon had been watching her, perversely making her feel more embarrassed being clothed than she had naked. Now he said bluntly: ‘It wouldn’t have worked.’ (No ‘Miss Tara’ now).
The echoed word disconcerted Tara. ‘What?’
‘Pretending you were all in Cornwall. If anybody’d checked. Car hire firms keep records of the odometer readings. That would’ve shown you’d never been there.’
I know nothing, Tara thought savagely as she drove them out through the cottage gate. I’ll have to start all over again …
Twelve
IT WAS A Friday evening seven weeks later.
Tara was preparing to go out. Though it was well into autumn the weather was still mild, so she was lightly dressed in a matching black hooded sweat top and jogging pants. She carried with her a single travel bag.
Her parents thought she was going to Brierston, a village about fifteen miles away, to stay over the weekend with Milly Raymond. In fact Tara was doing no such thing, though Milly was ready to cover for her should the need arise. Until recently Milly had been merely a casual acquaintance, but Tara had contrived to strengthen the friendship during the last month or so. Milly, who was overly romantic, thought Tara was secretly visiting a boyfriend of whom her parents disapproved. Tara tried not to think too badly of this shortcoming, reminding herself that Milly was providing her with an essential alibi.
Tara breezed out of the house, calling out goodbye to her parents, who said to give their regards to Milly. They were pleased Tara was making new contacts. After her ‘return’ from Cornwall it had become obvious the relationship between her and the rest of her old friends was now strained. They assumed there had been some sort of group falling-out while on holiday, but Tara had refused to go into details. From what she heard later the others had done much the same with their respective families. Shortly afterwards, Daniela’s father had come round to see her father saying that he hoped whatever had happened between their daughters would not spoil their business relationship. All Tara’s parents had done, after accepting her silence on the subject, was to observe that at least she had come back from her holiday looking very fit and with a nice even tan.
Tara had seen little of the others since then. In chance encounters Daniela had smiled and nodded, but had not initiated any conversation. Hazel and Gail had chatted briefly about nothing of importance, but seemed distracted. Sian and Cassie had simply ignored her. A couple of times she had seen Gail on the path across the fields that led to Manor Woods and Simon Pye’s house. Tara wondered if she had been tempted back by the beauties of the woods or the size of Simon’s cock or both. If so then it was none of her business. They did not want or need her any more.
As for herself, she tried to avoid Simon when he came round to tend their garden. For his part he made no sign that anything had changed. She would never forget what happened, of course. In many ways she did not want to, because it had been part of a major event in her life. It was just that he was not what she was looking for. But she had kept her promise and talked to her father about conservation and the importance of preserving woodland for wildlife. He was now looking into whether he could get more money from the Government or European Union for keeping Manor Woods in its natural state than developing it.
Tara got into her new red Mini, a birthday present, and set off, ostensibly, for Brierston. But after turning out of Fernleigh Rise she quickly took another turn off the Styenfold road into Nooks Lane. Shortly she turned on to a track which led to an old wooden garage, half-smothered in brambles and set beside an equally venerable cottage. Tara unofficially rented the rambling structure from Mrs Merril, whom she had met while doing ‘good works’ as a cover for her war on the Close. The old lady was also a romantic at heart and Tara almost felt guilty about deceiving her.
Padlocking the rickety garage doors on her car, Tara checked her watch then pulled her sweat-top hood up and headed back the way she had come though the gathering gloom. Crossing the Styenfold road at the turning, she scrambled up the grassy bank opposite. She was about to push her way through the scrubby hedge onto verge of the field when she heard voices.
Crouching low she saw two figures approaching along th
e edge of the field, chatting in low but excited tones as they went. She recognised them at once. It was Hazel and Daniela.
They passed by Tara heading in the same direction she planned to go: the route they had all taken from Fernleigh Rise when they made their clandestine raids on the Close. But what were they doing here?
Tara shadowed the unsuspecting pair as they made their way along the edge of the field and then round the perimeter fences of Cheyner Close. Where were they going?
They stopped two thirds of the way round outside the back fence of Number 7, the house shared by Hilary Beck and Rachel Villiers. The small gate set in the fence, which had been heavily locked and bolted during the war, now opened silently on oiled hinges. The two girls went through and closed it behind them.
Tara crouched in the shadows, debating whether she should follow them. She didn’t want to upset her own plans, yet she had to know what was going on.
Giving them another minute to get clear, she slipped through the gate.
Light was streaming out of the uncurtained kitchen windows. Tara cat-footed up the garden and round to the smaller side window of the kitchen, which looked out over the narrow passage where the bins were kept, and cautiously peered inside.
Hazel and Daniela were kneeling side by side on all fours on the kitchen table. Both were completely naked and beaming happily. Hilary and Rachel were fussing round them, petting and stroking the girls as though they were prize pets on display at a dog show. Full pendant breasts, already tipped by swollen erect nipples, were cupped and squeezed. Smooth buttocks were patted and pinched. Pouting pubic clefts were tickled and vaginal passages probed.
And in response to this intimate inspection the pair were acting just like excited puppies. If they had tails they would have been wagging them. They were loving it.
At a word of command they sat back on their heels and extended their arms. Disposable cotton gloves were slipped onto the hands and then these were bound round with tape, turning them into ‘paws’. Another order and they knelt forward again so that collars could be buckled round their necks and bright red ball-gags were stuffed into their mouths. Going down onto their stomachs they lay flat and crossed their wrists behind their backs so that the two older women could cuff them together.
Captives of Cheyner Close Page 21
