Teena Thyme

by Pope, Jennifer Jane

  Not that willing at all, I concluded. The problem was that I was a woman in an era when females had very little say in anything, virtually no legal status and were, in effect, the property of their husbands. True, I wasn't legally married to Greg Hacklebury, but even if I attained any degree of freedom, that was going to take some proving and I was in no doubt that Hacklebury, or Meg, or any other of his minions I had yet to encounter, would slit my slender white throat rather than let me have the opportunity to gather or present any evidence against the bogus wedding ceremony scam.

  So, where did that leave me - apart from flat on my back again and with my poor abused pussy throbbing like a Formula One racing engine? I let out a little throaty growl of frustration, for the truth was that I'd made no progress at all, other than to establish the incontrovertible fact that Erik did indeed like women and that the likelihood now was that I was going to get more than my 'fair share'.

  The next twenty-four hours, or thereabouts, comprised a boring sequence of resting, sleeping, drinking, eating and the awkward business of bodily functions, which I shan't expand upon, except to say that it appeared I was expected to survive on a diet of some sort of thick gruel, spoon fed at irregular intervals by my guardian, who otherwise made no attempt to communicate with me.

  For my part, still sore and surprisingly wobbly after the sexual gymnastics, I was content to let things be as they were for the moment and wait to see if Erik would make the next move himself. However, when the time came for my afternoon exercise he simply clipped a leather thong onto my collar and led me up and down the same route we had followed the previous day, displaying very little interest in me beyond ensuring that I was not pressed to go too fast.

  Back in my stall once more I lay down and closed my eyes yet again, trying not to take any notice of the odour my leather encased and very warm body was now producing.

  To my surprise, however, Polly appeared in the early evening clutching a bundle that was a replacement outfit for me and a handful of clean rags. Erik brought in a pail of cold water, placed it on the floor just inside the door and then stood, arms folded, in the doorway, looking at me with a frown on his face that I suspected was more for the maid's benefit.

  'Outside waiting I shall be,' he informed me gruffly. 'Cleaning time necessarily it is, but Erik watching nearby shall be also.' He unfolded his arms, reached back behind him and sought blindly for something on the wall just outside the doorway. 'This,' he said, bringing his hand back into view, 'for girls bad intended is and it using strongly shall I be.'

  I stared at the whip with memories of my previous punishment whirling about inside my head. As before, this was more a crop than a whip, but longer than the previous implement, slightly thicker and gleaming with the oil that had been freshly worked into the braided leather. I cringed at the thought of what that could do to this delicate little body.

  'Behaving I shall be,' I muttered. Polly gave me a sideways look, for even she couldn't miss the sarcasm in that. She cast a quick glance back at Erik, apparently fearing that my mimicry might antagonise him, but if he understood his expression, before he turned to leave, gave nothing away.

  It was a blessed relief to be out of that tight leather and even better when Polly released me from my corset, which was now stained, both from my perspiration and from the hide itself. I regarded the awful looking garment with an expression that would have been worth a thousand words, but I still needed to check something.

  'You're not going to make me wear that thing again, are you?' I demanded. 'The corset, I mean.' I just assumed that the leather suit was intended as a near permanent feature, but even one layer less beneath it had to be viewed as an improvement. Polly looked at the discarded thing with the same sort of disgust as myself.

  'No one said,' she replied. 'Er, just said to wash and change you.'

  'And what about these?' I held up my arms, for I was still wearing the long gloves with their fingers stitched together.

  'Dunno,' Polly said. 'Maybe I'd better go check.' She left me standing there, naked except for the long gloves, but otherwise unfettered in any way, though she closed both bottom and top halves of the stall door behind her and I heard the heavy bolts thrust across. I shrugged, sighed and turned back to my crude bed, sitting myself down and leaning back against the timbered partition wall, savouring every moment of my non-encumbrance and trying not to breathe too deeply through my nose, for even free of the leather my body was not a thing of pleasure for even mildly sensitive nostrils.

  It was some time before Polly returned, but by now I was growing accustomed to just waiting around and I was even able to appreciate my relative freedom meanwhile. However, any chance of losing my remaining bondage was quickly dashed by the maid's first words as she re-entered the stall.

  'The gloves is to stay,' she said. 'And Meg is bringing something else down for you in a bit.' My heart sank even further; if Meg was bringing something 'for' me it was odds against it being flowers and chocolates and heavily odds on it being something completely unpleasant. However, it was pleasant to be made at least relatively clean and fresh and the cold water Polly sponged over me with the rags was invigorating, once I got over the first shock of its near ice-cold temperature.

  'Thank you,' I said, as she used the final rag to damp dry me. I flexed my imprisoned fingers and wished I could just wash my hands, pondering whether it would do any good to plunge them into the bucket, gloves and all. But any chance of doing so was precluded by the arrival of Meg. She stood in the doorway, leering at my nakedness, another sack hanging from her left hand.

  'Little Miss No-Titties,' she sniggered, which was grossly unfair: Angelina's boobs may not have been huge, but they were very firm and her/my nipples, fresh from their cold dousing, were standing out like two hard thumbs. I couldn't think of too many men who would have rejected the picture I made right then.

  'I can understand why your master wishes to keep me a prisoner,' I said defiantly, trying to ignore the fact that she was clothed and I wasn't, 'but I really can't see the point in keeping me dressed in such a ridiculous fashion. What's the point of it, eh?' I jutted my Angelina chin defiantly, but Meg appeared singularly unimpressed.

  'Oh, you don't see the point?' she said. 'Well then, I suppose we ought to do something about that, didn't we? Luckily, I've brought you a completely new outfit, so you can wear that for a few hours and then Polly can put you back in your clean skin tonight, when it's not so warm. You see,' she said silkily, 'I'm only interested in your welfare, after all.'

  And my aunt's really my uncle in drag!

  However, I was hardly in any position to argue and even without Erik, who I presumed wouldn't be permitted to see me while I was unmasked, the two women had already proved they were more than a match for me. I fumed inwardly and tried to will Meg and myself back to my own time - give me back my own body and two minutes with that smug bitch and I'd show her a few things she'd need a century at least to forget!

  Of course, nothing happened and I was still stuck in eighteen thirty-nine, outweighed and outnumbered, so there was little I could have done. Had I realised what the bitch maid was planning, I might not have accepted everything quite so demurely, but even afterwards, when I had some little while to ponder and suffer the latest humiliation, I was realist enough to know that the outcome would have been the same regardless.

  They began by replacing my mask - or rather by replacing the original mask with a fresh one, quite similar to the first, in that it laced tightly to conform to my features, framing my eyes and mouth snugly to the point of an embrace. However, unlike the first mask, which had been a sort of tan colour, probably the natural hue of the soft hide, this one had been dyed white and, as Meg continued to empty the contents of her sack, I saw that the same was true of the remaining contents.

  The next item was a stiff collar, which was quickly locked into place about my neck, covering the knots in the laces which secured the mask and therefore rendering it impossible for anyone to remov
e it and see my face, something which seemed to confirm further to me that there could not be too many people in on the doppelganger subterfuge and the one slender hope I had, therefore, of getting myself out of this fix.

  With the collar in place, now at last the gloves were removed, but one at a time and immediately replaced with a similar pair in the same white leather. As Meg drew in the laces that conformed the soft hide to the shape of my arm, I saw there were small but stout metal rings set into the wrists and the function of these was quickly demonstrated.

  Unceremoniously, my arms were bent in turn behind my back and drawn up to a painful limit, whereupon short lengths of chain were clipped between my wrist rings and another ring, previously unnoticed by me, at the back of my collar. It was a most awkward and undignified position, forcing me as it did to stand in a pose whereby my pert breasts were thrust obscenely forward, as if I were deliberately offering them to whoever happened to be handy.

  Meg instantly took advantage of this, kneading and stroking each orb in turn, her thumbs and forefingers then closing about my helplessly exposed nipples and tweaking them fiercely. I yelped, despite my earlier resolve not to betray any but the most extreme pains, and the maid grinned spitefully into my eyes.

  'Brazen little bitch!' she hissed. 'Not that this scrawny body is worth boasting about, but your new outfit shows you for exactly what you are. Happily, the master is wise to you and agrees with me that your displays should be made involuntary from now on.'

  Agrees with me? She made it sound as if she were the one leading here and that Hacklebury was merely following her lead. I mulled over this for a few seconds and decided that must be exactly how Malevolent Meg viewed the situation, even though I could scarcely credit that a man like Hacklebury - at least to judge from what I had seen of him so far - would be led or seriously swayed by a mere servant, especially a female one.

  'Such a fetching rig the master has provided for you,' Meg sneered. 'All the way from the East, where they know a thing or two about controlling presumptuous little harlots. Polly, steady the slut while I fix her boots.'

  Once again the footwear was heavily weighted and ramped up so that my feet were bent into a cruelly high position, but this time there was a difference, for without the original doe skin covering to protect my legs, now the boots themselves were evidently expected to fulfil that role and reached right up into the crease at the tops of my thighs.

  I squirmed a little as Meg laced them tightly and was reminded again of some of the magazine pictures that had gone the rounds in school, pictures of women in boots not dissimilar, although they were generally black in colour and the women wearing them were obviously intended to be dominant figures and in control, which was something I most certainly could not currently claim.

  Likewise, the corset, so often seen in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries as a symbol of powerful womanhood, can just as easily be turned into something else, a badge of servitude, reflecting the fact that women for so long constricted and contorted their natural figures to ridiculous extremes and all to fulfil an image, a maxim, decreed by their lords and masters of the opposite sex.

  The curious belt Meg now began to fasten about my middle certainly fell into this latter category, for it was wide and widening further where it passed over my stomach, a series of three smaller straps and buckles at the back enabling it to be tightened to an extent whereby I could scarcely breathe. The small golden stud rows that beset it made me think of circus animals, for their purpose was purely decorative and they served no practical function whatsoever, save where two small groups of three acted to secure a pair of narrower straps that hung down from the lower edge just to either side of my bared sex.

  I guessed part of what came next, but I was not ready for the full enormity of this lower harness attachment. Only when Polly bent me forward, grasping the chains that secured my wrists to my neck in order to prevent me from rising again, and Meg kicked my precariously poised feet further apart, did the truth begin to dawn and by that time it was too late. Not that any amount of struggling would have done me any good whatsoever.

  Thankfully, the leather covered dildo Meg inserted into me as a butt plug was quite narrow, especially when compared with a man's organ, but it was still thick enough to give me a constant reminder of its presence there. Well oiled, it slid past my sphincter's half-hearted attempt at resistance, until the flatter base came hard up against my splayed bottom cheeks.

  Holding it there with one hand, Meg used the other, together with assistance from Polly's free hand, to draw the two front straps back and between my thighs, clipping them together by some means I could neither see nor determine, and then joining them to a third strap. This third strap was then drawn up tightly between my buttocks and secured to the back of the waist belt, adjusted so that it fitted more than just snugly and in doing so kept a constant pressure on the base of the butt plug, preventing me from expelling it by muscular exertions.

  I stared down at myself as I was allowed once more to straighten up. The front straps framed my genitalia perfectly, whilst not covering even a millimetre of my most intimate flesh, the pressure even serving to thrust my pouting pussy lips into greater relief. It was awful: it was lewd and at the same time so sexual that I felt myself beginning to tremble again. All that was missing from me was a sign about my neck, a 'Fuck Me' invitation, but that, I guessed as I closed my eyes against the sight, was rendered now totally irrelevant.

  'I hear that in the Eastern lands they prepare captive females in this way ready for their slave markets,' Meg sniggered. Once more she fingered my nipples, but this time I did not gasp in pain but from a totally different sensation. 'Slut slaves are displayed all day, chained to posts, available for inspection by all prospective buyers,' she continued. She let out a horribly rasping cackle and nodded towards the doorway.

  'I have had Erik prepare a post for your display outside,' she said, 'though it is a post of a slightly different nature. The idea came to me some days ago and the master was only too pleased to have the thing made up by the carpenter. Come, Buttercup my dear, let's show you how you will spend your afternoons from now on.'

  The smug and easy way with which she announced this was more than enough to warn me that I was about to encounter something distinctly unpleasant, but I was unprepared for what was waiting outside for me even so, and I felt myself turning pale inside my mask.

  Erik was standing slightly to one side, as if standing sentry over his handiwork, his features as impassive as ever, though I was in no doubt that he knew the exact purpose of the structure he had just finished setting into the ground; whether he pitied me or whether he was keen to see me lewdly displayed, I could only guess.

  The post itself was little more than four feet in height, round, about two inches in diameter and planed smooth. Across the top was nailed a short flattened piece of timber about four or five inches in length and about the same width as the diameter of the post. From the centre of this rose another rounded piece, again of similar diameter and probably also made of wood, although its outer surface had been covered with sleek black leather, which had been oiled until it gleamed menacingly in the sun. Its purpose was obvious.

  Further down the post wide straps had been attached in pairs, one strap to either side of the post, the first pair some six inches down from the top, the second pair some two and a half feet or so lower down. I closed my eyes and grimaced, picturing their purpose also, but I was not left to dwell on the mental image for long.

  'Mount her, Erik,' Meg commanded. 'Polly, stretch her so that the dong goes into her the easier.' The pair moved to obey and I found myself lifted easily once more, raised above the waiting dildo and then, as Polly reached to pull apart my labia, I was lowered gently down. I heard myself groan as the thick shaft slid easily inside and then the little crosspiece was pressing hard against me, supporting me after a fashion and at least preventing further impalement.

  Then, as Erik held and steadied me, Polly quickly bu
ckled the upper set of straps about my thighs and stooped to repeat the same procedure with the lower pair, this time encircling and trapping my ankles.

  'Oh, how splendid!' Meg declared, clapping her hands like an excited child. 'A little bird on her perch. How quaint!' Of all the words I might have chosen to describe my new plight, 'quaint' would not have got a foothold in the top hundred and being described so simply added to my misery.

  In truth it was not altogether painful, at least not yet, for the straps combined to share some of my weight and the edges of the crosspiece beneath me had evidently been chamfered to prevent them cutting in too deeply. However, that part of the T-piece that projected backwards served to press the butt plug even more securely home and there was enough of me bearing down on my distorted pussy lips to make me aware that any prolonged spell on my new mounting could become very uncomfortable indeed.

  Added to all this, the fact that my arms were useless and bound up behind me seemed to have altered my natural centre of gravity and I felt like some oddly contorted doll, or a butterfly pinned to a display board.

  'How does that feel, Buttercup?' Meg leered up at me, for I was now a few inches higher than her. I peered back down and it was all I could do to prevent myself from spitting straight into her mocking eyes.

  'How do you think it feels?' I muttered. 'Or maybe you should try it up here yourself?' I added, with a show of defiance. She expelled a disdainful snort and I cringed, expecting some sort of physical reaction, but instead she stepped back, shaking her head.

  'I think not, Buttercup,' she said. 'When I need a cock the master has everything I could ask for, as you well know yourself. Not that you'll likely know his cock again and even if you should, you'll give him no pleasure. This little hobbyhorse and this great brute here...' she indicated Erik with a sideways nod of her head, '...will between them make sure that the master will feel like a ferret loose in a canal tunnel before long.