"What does that mean?" She raised her eyes carefully to his face, saw the considering look, wondered if he had recognised her for what she was, a submissive. ,
Wondered if these well-bred and monied people would know of the longings she had.
Why not? They're human under the money, she thought.
"I think a good spanking ought to sort you out," he decided, drawing her into the summerhouse.
It held the scents of summer, the perfume of flowers, of growing things, of warm evenings and cool nights, of sun-splashed dawns.
It also held a convenient bench, set at just the right height.
Abigail stood, breathing in the apprehension that always surged through her, watching Ralph look her up and down. She turned at his command, let him trail his hands over her hips, obeyed his next command to go over his knees. He had hard legs; they bored into her body. The floor was hard and she didn't want to tumble onto it, so she lay there, helpless and sexy, awaiting his next move.
"And I'll use one of these." He stripped a plimsoll from her foot and held it firmly by the heel. Abigail strained back to see what he was doing, saw a smile that meant only one thing - he was a man who enjoyed it.
Then the plimsoll was being brought down with strength onto her upturned bottom, covered only by cotton knickers and the thin shorts Janet had provided.
"Oh dear, they're leaving a mark. I'll have to get rid of that." And he did it even harder.
He was quick, a veritable rain of smacks which stung almost unbearably, the plimsoll's rubber sole rebounding from her tight skin and clothes. He was so thorough hardly an area was left untouched. Abigail writhed and struggled despite her best intentions, feeling Damien's juices ooze into her panties, feeling her own juices flowing despite her feeling distinctly uncomfortable. The plimsoll was leaving an indelible impression on her cheeks. The more she struggled the more Ralph held her firmly, one arm around her waist, the other doing its best to ensure she was properly spanked.
Finally, he helped her up, red-faced and puffing from the length of time she had been flattened over two very strong muscled thighs and knees. She stood, rubbing at her hot cheeks, wondering if he wanted anything else of her for the forfeit, hoping he did, yet wanting time to absorb the feelings.
"You'll do," he told her, looking her up and down again. "Now, go!"
It was hard to run, to dodge and disappear round trees when your bottom aches and burns from the results of an expert spanking. Abigail looked back towards the house, bathed in late afternoon sunshine, and ran straight into Gareth, standing waiting in a copse of trees.
"Ah, the lovely English rose, with her dark hair and fair skin!" He drawled his words, making them sound almost exotic. "I'm pleased you ran into me." He encircled her waist with a strong arm, drew her down onto the thick covering of leaves and bracken. Abigail registered the softness of mosses, the delicate scent of musty decay and animal life, before her mouth and her senses were full of this strong American cousin. His kisses were fiery, his tongue sharp and inviting, his hands quick and supple, finding all her erogenous zones without any hesitation. Her shorts were again removed, he cupped her cheeks and felt their heat.
"You ran into our friend Ralph." He ran his hands over the redness, making her wince. "There's more to come, if you're the last one to be found."
"I don't -" He kissed her, silencing her words.
"You'll find out. Now, can you ... roll over? Do you mind?"
"Whatever and wherever." Abigail rolled over, raised herself up on her knees, rested her head on her arms, and let him look at her, tried again to ask what he meant about the end of the game.
"I don't -" But he was entering her, feeling her body expand to accommodate his thick cock, feeling his fingers seek and then find her dripping clit, the two sensations together creating waves of feeling that were hard to contain. Pressure on nerves already sensitive and almost raw, excitement flooded her, she panted hard, pushed her raw bottom back against him, felt the warmth of the spanking still there, felt it all build, came once, twice, and then a third time before he exploded into her.
She slumped face down as he withdrew. That in itself was a thrill, twigs and leaves pressing into her bust, her navel, her stomach. Gareth smoothed her curls, ran a hand down her back, caressed the still-red cheeks.
"Wow, couldn't I do with a babe like you in my home!" He was obviously admiring. Abigail smothered a smile in her curls, playing with a frond of bracken, letting the exquisite after-orgasm feeling swamp her.
"Stay put until the bell goes." He slapped her hard, got up, adjusted his shorts and strode away strong and tall in the late-afternoon sun. The gentle lethargy changed to sleep. Abigail dozed, the only sound the call of birds and the occasional whisper of leaves from the trees above and around her.
A bell tolled, sending its mournful sound across the lawns and fields, across the lake and into the trees, where birds took flight at the disturbance, shrieking their annoyance into the cooling night air. Abigail woke with a start, wondering where she was, and how much time had gone by.
"Stay put until the bell goes." Gareth's parting words. She got up slowly, stretched aching muscles, dusted debris from her clothes and began to walk out of the copse, half-dazed, remembering she was at Dane House, wondering if the game was over, and what Gareth had meant by the last person to be found.
Damien appeared from out of the shadows, startling her. He grabbed her wrists and bound them behind her back with cord, pulling it tight, tying what felt like elaborate knots.
"I said I'd have a different forfeit if I caught you again." He drew her close to him. "You're a strange person, Abigail. I somehow feel as if you are not quite here, that any moment now you will disappear into thin air! Now, why should I feel like that?"
"I have no idea." She pulled at her bonds. "Tied, I can't go anywhere!"
"I know. That's why I tied you."
"I've enjoyed the game, Damien, a lot." The evening was cool now, purpling sky, birds circling wearily over Dane House which was now a large block of shadow pierced with spots of gold, rather like a memory.
"It isn't over yet. The bell just told everyone that the game is officially ended, except for the last rites."
"I rather guessed that, from something Gareth said."
"There is always a finale, and you've become the candidate for today."
"A finale? What sort of finale?"
"Do you want it spelt out in advance, or should I let you find out? Well, no, I'll tell you." They stood in the rapidly darkening evening, gnats and midges dancing around them, the sky turning a darker purple-black under clouds that began to bank up on the horizon. Abigail felt cold, and didn't think it was entirely due to the evening closing in.
"The last one to be found is the one we have for the finale. And you are the last one to walk back on the lawn."
"Because Gareth said stay put till the bell rings."
Damien laughed. "Of course, he tricked you into being the last one! Now, you know that large elm standing on the edge of the lawn there?" She nodded, and began to think she wouldn't after all enjoy the finale.
"You get tied to that - firmly, mind! No way you're going to escape! And each and every one of us gets to give you a few whacks. Now, some of the girls might go easy but I can assure you the men won't."
She went cold, from head to foot, her stomach churning more than it had ever done, even when she confronted the Des lookalike in his dark and sombre inn loaded with spirits and memories, even when she knew the belt would be lashed across her (say it! willing) bottom. Colder than that, for this was many men, and women, who might or might not be kind.
Damien held her arm tightly, not as hard as he had before, but hard enough.
"And I'll go last," he told her, which only added to the feeling of awful apprehension.
"Here!" he called to the others, who were emerging from the house, some in couples, others alone. Huge smiles broke out everywhere when they realised it was Abigail who was provid
ing the final rite this time. Marilyn actually shouted:
"Thank goodness it isn't me this time!" which brought laughter from everyone else.
Ralph had the ropes, thick, wiry-looking ropes that would be sure to be rough on her skin. Damien led the silent quaking Abigail to the old tree, untied her wrists and immediately stretched her arms around the trunk, pulling her hard against its rough bark. Her nostrils were full of its dusty insecty being. She cradled it, whispered "help me" as the tree leaned its branches down over her, the leaves whispering "We'll take this. We can," to her frightened ears.
Ralph wound rope around her waist, wrapped it around her arms, finishing with a large knot the other side of the tree, well out of reach of her fingers. Then he undid her buttons and pulled down her shorts - again. Abigail shuffled her feet, realised she was standing in two depressions, obviously caused by many feet at the end of many games - they fitted too well to be anything but man-made.
"All yours, ladies and gentlemen. Your reward for playing the game this afternoon."
Silence, apart from the rapid breathing and call of late night birds. Abigail imagined she must be silver white in the growing darkness, flushed with red from Ralph's spanking earlier, still dripping from the sex she'd had.
A mixture of emotions, all conflicting: fear of what was to come, excitement at what was to come, passion at the thought of more pain and pleasure.
Marilyn grunted.
"All right, if none of you are going to move." She came close, and Abigail smelled the expensive perfume and cosmetics, felt the pampered, white, soft hand swing against her bottom a couple of times, stinging but leaving no lasting impression.
"That'll do." Marilyn walked off, soft-footed on the grass. Janet giggled; Abigail recognised the sound.
"Now me." She, too, smacked a couple of times, not hard enough to do any real damage. Joy and then Patsy followed. Patsy smacked six times, making her sting a bit.
"Okay, girls, see you later. Thanks for coming." Ralph, dismissing his guests.
"Sure, enjoy yourselves." Marilyn's husky voice again.
Gareth stood by her side, ran a finger down her face, making her shiver. He moved away.
"Let's see how it feels." He brought his hand down hard against her cheek, making her yelp. He did it again and again, stinging, hurting, just with his hand. The tree held her firm, let her rub herself against its roughness, took no notice of her face pressed hard against its solid bulk. Only the leaves whispered "Hold on, hold on" as Gareth spanked her, hard and firm, bringing a deeper flush, no doubt.
"Over to you, guys."
"It's me." Another face approached, indistinct in the darkness. Barry. "I never found you, much to my disgust. But you'll like this." And a thin biting pain shot across her burning cheeks. It reminded her of Mr Lloyd's cane but was a finer, thinner pain; a stupid expression, she told herself, but it's true. "Cut it especially for you." He brought the switch down a dozen times, a pause before each one, and each one making her cry out and push against the tree for comfort.
A moment of ease, a moment to feel each thin red line burning and hurting, then another voice.
"Can I try that?" There was a moment of rustling, and then the switch was handed over.
"Martin here. I didn't find you either, not that I'm complaining, I had enough to do! But Barry made it easy for me, cutting this."
Half a dozen further sharp biting strokes, low down almost on the thighs, every one bringing a cry from her. She could feel Martin's breath, hot and eager, on the back of her neck. She turned her head, pressed her other cheek against the elm's rough bark, dripped a few tears into the crevices. Bondage. Not able to fight, not able to move, a giving up of all responsibility for what happened. A wave of happiness swept through her as she realised she really did like it, despite the pain. It was good, not having any say in it at all. Josiah liked bondage: he tied her wrists the first time.
The ropes held her firm, but not firm enough, her knees could not, would not be allowed to give way.
"John?" Damien making his offer. As if he was her owner! Abigail felt herself getting mad, tugged at the ropes, but they wouldn't move.
"Personally, I prefer a slipper." A stinging slap followed on one cheek. "Making no impression at all after what you guys did." He aimed the slipper at her thighs, spanking them painfully red. This was not an erotic pain, but a punishment; it really hurt, nerve ends shocked and screamed. Tears crept from her eyes, ran down the trunk, as she moaned "No, oh oh, no," over and over.
Then he stopped, said "Thanks" and walked away, feet crunching on the gravel. Hands rubbed her sore cheeks.
"I had my turn earlier. I'm leaving you to Damien's tender mercies." Ralph. Another series of crunching gravel sounds.
And then there was silence, other than the night calls and distant sounds.
Finally there was a rustle of clothes, and a movement close by. The air shifted and eddied around her.
"You've been one hell of a girl this afternoon, Abigail, whoever you are, wherever you came from. It's been a long time since anyone took the final game like this. Normally the girls have been screaming and crying and begging to be free, and we'd all have to go easy or the other girls would start on us! And yes, before you ask, we always arrange for a girl to be tied up at the end, none of us guys! But you, you're different!" A finger ran down the cleft of her cheeks, found her sensitive places, thrilling her despite the pain. Her bottom ached from its attention, each individual line of the switch had left a weal which burned separately from the others.
"You're really different, not once have you asked for mercy. Not once. So I'm going to make you beg."
A whisper of leather. Damien walked around the side of the tree, showed her an instrument of leather thongs, wide, soft and pliable, attached to a firm handle. Before she could react, before true fear could get hold, he moved away and brought it down across her back. Abigail shrieked as the thongs bit and reddened her soft white skin. She began to cry as the thongs found her again, and then again, across her back, her thighs, and her very sore bottom. She pressed her forehead into the bark, hurting herself, feeling every part of her longing to be free, yet... a part of her was not ready to quit, not yet. Damien lashed her again and her scream split the dark sky, sending crows cawing into the moonlight, protesting. He did it again and she screamed again. Pain unbelievable, pain everywhere, pain he wanted to give and she wanted to take. It took a dozen lashes before she shouted,
"Stop! Please, please stop! Enough!"
Immediately Damien stopped, put an arm around her shoulders as she sobbed, untied her bonds, and took her into his arms.
"God, you're something else!" he murmured into her curls as she cried on his shoulder, pulling her shorts up with one hand and mopping tears with the other. "Come on, back to the house. I'll find you a stiff drink. I think you'll need it."
He led her across the lawn, their turn to crunch gravel, through the porch and panelled hall, where soft light glowed and sombre ancestors glared down at this disreputable and shabby wreck standing in front of them. They went into a small drawing room.
The mirror hung over the hearth.
"I'll get you a drink." Damien pushed her towards a chair. "Wait there. What would you like?"
"Can you find me a rum and lime?" She sniffled and tried to smile. "And I'll just slip upstairs to Janet's room and get my clothes."
"Oh sure, fine, you do that. I won't be long."
Abigail walked stiffly up the long, long flight of stairs, along the corridor, the windows now mirrors of her dishevelled state. The window seats looking comforting and inviting but she knew she wouldn't be able to sit, walking hurt, moving the sore flesh as she went. More than anything she longed to have a long hot bath, to ease her bruises, to wash away the sex, to take away the dust and grime of rolling in summerhouses, stables and woods. And being crushed against an insect-infested dusty old tree, too.
From somewhere along the corridor came the sound of girls chattering and l
aughing together. Abigail formed some excuses, but Janet's room was empty, in semidarkness, with only a small lamp lit over the mantel. Abigail slipped out of the borrowed clothes, pulled on the prim dress and wedge-heeled shoes, and hurried back down the stairs as fast as she could. To hell with the curls, they'd have to stay all over the place.
She was just in time. Damien was coming along the hall, carrying a tray with drinks on it. Before he got into the drawing room she had to get there, and look in the mirror - "Alfred, could I borrow the red-and-black dress from For Glory and For Love? I've been invited to a fancy-dress ball."
"Sure Abbey, go ahead. We won't be needing it again for some considerable time, I shouldn't think! As I remember, you looked pretty good in it!"
"Yes, but Stevie looked better." Said with a quick smile to Stevie, sitting with Charles in the front row of the auditorium. "Er, Alfred, I'm not sure I'll be able to take part in this new play, actually."
Time of Her Life Page 16
