by William Avon
Blinded, gasping and reeling, Melanie skidded to a halt. She tore her mask off and turned back the way she had come.
The riders checked their mounts, gouging ruts in the grass, wheeled about expertly and bore down on her again.
Crack, crack! The blows fell this time on her shoulders. Instinctively flinging up her arms to protect her now exposed face, Melanie opened herself to two backhand blows that caught her bouncing breasts full on. With a shriek of pain she doubled over, stumbled and fell.
They were back on her in seconds.
Before she could get to her feet they were circling about her, raining down blows with full swings of their paddles. They were not letting her rise or giving her any chance to crawl between them. Round and round they went, beating every square inch of her huddled body.
Dazedly Melanie realized there was only one paddle striking her. But before she could move, a booted foot descended on her ponytail of hair where it lay on the grass and trod it into the earth. She shrieked as it tugged her scalp and tried to pull free or push the foot away, but she could get no grip or leverage. However she squirmed or twisted her head was pinned down on its side and she couldn’t raise it. More paddle blows stung her. She could only roll up into a ball and hug her knees to her chest, knowing she was quite helpless in the hands of experts at incapacitating a bondslave.
A hand reached between her thighs to the tag dangling from her pouting split peach and jerked it out of her, the soft rubber prongs teasing the flesh ribs of her passage.
The key of a tag clock clicked.
The paddling stopped.
Trembling, Melanie opened her eyes and looked up at her captors.
They were a middle-aged couple, rosy-cheeked from their exertions. He had an old fashioned military-style moustache, she was blonde and slightly plump. She would never have given them a second glance back home. Who would have guessed what they were capable of? Melanie noticed for the first time that the man had a pair of binoculars slung around his neck. They must have been watching her from the moment she started out across the field.
“You were right, Sam,” the woman said heartily, eyeing Melanie with satisfaction. “There’s always one in the pack who tries this trick.”
“Well, my dear, we’re getting a bit too old to race around half the countryside. Leave that to the young’uns. Softly, softly, I always say.”
“But we’re not too old to enjoy ourselves, Sam,” she chided gently.
“Never that, my dear.” He looked around. “No need to signal for the keeper. We can lead her in ourselves and have our picture taken in front of the Hall.”
The woman looked at the tag clock then at Melanie. “It won’t be the fastest capture today, but I’m sure it’ll be the sweetest reward.”
The man chuckled and prodded Melanie’s fleshy buttock with the toe of his boot.
“James’s prize brown vixen. We’re going to have some fun with you tonight, girl.”
They led Melanie back to the Hall in style.
Her hands were tied behind her back with one of their team sashes, while the other was twisted in a figure-of-eight about her breasts, squeezing them out proudly. She held a riding crop clenched between her teeth, forcing her lips back in a grin. A tether was tied to the handle thong of a second crop, the end of which was buried in her dripping vagina so that its supple shaft bent and jutted out before her, wagging from side to side as she walked. Melanie held it tightly in place, knowing she must not let it pull free, even as she knew the degrading spectacle she made.
Every little tug on the tether worked the shaft of the crop deliciously round inside her; a sample of what was to come. She had no doubt she would give her captors pleasure that night. She had no choice; now all choices were made for her. All she had to do was obey.
By the Book
Amber was sitting up very straight with her back against one of the loft’s stout timber posts. She had no choice. Her hands were tied behind her and ropes crossed over her chest between her breasts. Her splayed legs were tied at the ankles to a length of two by four, making it impossible to bring them together.
She looked down at the pouting, hair-fringed cleft of her love lips. Rising from it she could still smell the lingering, almost chemical tang of the boy’s sperm, mingling with her own musky exudation. It was a hungry little mouth that had been well fed but wanted more. But bound as she was there was no way that she could satisfy its deep, needy ache; which was obviously how the boys wanted it to be.
At least they’d allowed her a folded-up blanket to sit on.
Amber knew she was losing her influence over the boys. They were still living up to the letter of their agreement, but they were treating her much more strictly. They’d discovered the simple fact that they could take what they liked from her as and when they chose. What was worse, they now knew that she quite liked to be treated harshly. It was her own fault. Hadn’t she virtually begged for the cane the previous night?
She should have recognised the signs earlier. When she’d been in the stocks in the police yard - stark naked and a target for all the pillory shot people cared to throw at her - she’d begun to get turned on by the experience. Even in the agony of Arabella’s sexual torture she’d succumbed to an orgasm. Had this latent masochistic streak always been in her, or was it due to something in the air here?
Whatever the reason, she’d surrendered to the urge without thinking of the consequences. She had to focus. She had to manoeuvre the boys into stealing from Arabella the outsider girl Amber had deduced she was secretly holding. Then perhaps she could also talk them into enjoying the charms of her ex-cellmate Sally Potts, when she got out of jail.
They’d soon learn that keeping a harem entailed a lot of responsibility and, hopefully, give up the idea. Otherwise Amber would be kept here for however long their school summer term lasted - assuming she wasn’t discovered by somebody in authority before then and returned to jail to serve out her sentence.
But she was losing the initiative. At lunch, when Jackson had spoon-fed her without releasing her hands, he’d looked at her almost resentfully, as though she’d displeased him in some way. When she’d tried to talk he’d said nothing.
Once again she heard the sound of hammering from the old tack room below her. It must be the boys. They’d cleared and sorted a lot of material there as part of their penitential odd-job work. But what were they up to now?
Finally she heard footsteps on the ladder and the trapdoor opened. The boys climbed up through it into the loft, dragging something behind them. Amber’s frustrated desire was replaced by a terrible sinking sensation as they set it out before her.
A length of thick planking about nine inches wide had been nailed to the top of an old wooden trestle, so that it ran along its length and overhung the ends a little. Fixed transversely to the underside of one end of the trestle was a four-foot wooden beam. Dangling ominously from the beam ends were two old brass pulley blocks threaded through with rope. Beside the device they placed a galvanised bucket with a coil of hosepipe showing over its rim.
Amber said, in a slightly strained voice: “That all looks interesting. I suppose it’s for me.”
Jackson looked at her coldly. “That’s right. We found the design in this.”
He held out a book for her to see, showing her the cover so she could read the title: ‘THE CARE AND TRAINING OF BONDSLAVES’. He opened it at a marked page. It held line drawings of several strange devices, including the blueprint for the thing before her.
It was labelled: ‘Training Horse’.
“But I bet you know all about that sort of thing,” Jackson continued. He fanned the pages of the book in front of her eyes, giving her flickering glimpses of every kind of sexual position, restraint and posture.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Amber said, utterly bewildered but trying not to s
ound too concerned. “You don’t need that thing to enjoy me. Why not put me back on my bed again, nice and tightly stretched out?”
Bickley said ominously: “You’re going on here and we’re going to ask you some questions.”
Amber shivered. “Just tell me what’s wrong, boys... I mean, Masters. Your slave wants to know how she has offended you. She’s done everything you asked, she’s given you pleasure whenever you wanted it...” She was sounding desperate now. “How can she do more?”
“You could have done lot’s more,” Harris said accusingly.
“But you didn’t tell us,” Parsons added.
“You wanted it easy for yourself,” said Gosset.
“You agreed that we could do anything we wanted with you,” Jackson reminded her. “Now you’ve displeased us we’re entitled to punish you.”
They untied her from the post, freed her legs from the spreader bar and lifted her onto the training horse. Amber struggled futilely as they laid her on her back on the plank, her buttocks resting above the transverse beam, and an old leather strap was buckled over her waist. Her arms were pulled downward and drawn straight and the wrists tied to ropes running up from the feet of the trestle. Leather straps fitted with dangling metal rings were buckled about her mid thighs and ropes from the pulley blocks were fed through the rings and then tied about her ankles. The boys hauled on the pulley ends of the ropes. The blocks rattled and squeaked while Amber’s legs were wrenched apart and bent double. Her ankles were inexorably drawn up under her thighs, while the thighs themselves were pulled in opposite directions towards the pulley blocks. Inch by inch she was pulled apart until the sinews on her inner thighs stood out on either side of her splayed sex.
“No!” Amber gasped. “Masters, please stop... that’s too far!”
But they continued hauling on the ropes.
Her pubic mound was standing out from thighs that were being pulled flat on either side of it. The stretching skin was drawing her outer lips apart. Never had she been exposed to such a degree before. Her supple body was being bent to its limits. Amber thought they were going to snap her like a wishbone. A shriek of pain erupted from her only to be stifled by a balled handkerchief stuffed into her mouth.
Just when the strain was becoming unendurable they tied the rope ends off.
Amber vibrated in her bonds as taut as a bowstring.
The pressure on her legs was sliding her body up along the plank top, while her straining arms anchored her in place. Between the two forces her back arched as far as her waist strap allowed, lifting her firm breasts up in the air, her nipples perversely hard and pointed.
She rolled her head from side to side and gazed imploringly at the boys, but they were just staring at her trembling, contorted body in fascination. The glistening pink grotto of her labia was open so wide that the mouth of her vaginal passage showed as an almost perfect circle. Below it the taut skin of her buttocks caused the pucker of her anus to gape, revealing the dark tunnel beyond.
Jackson took the cane they had used last night down from its hook and took up a position to deliver a backhand blow.
Swish - crack! A red line appeared on Amber’s flesh, crossing from one thigh to the other and kissing the parted lips between them.
Amber’s eyes bulged as her shriek of pain was muffled by her gag. Her soft inner thighs, the tender mound of her sex, her clitoris under its inadequate hood of flesh were exposed to the full force of the cane as never before.
The shock on top of the agony she was already suffering was too much for her self-control. Her bladder cut loose and a stream of pee jetted four feet across the loft floor.
“We’ve made her wet herself!” Harris exclaimed.
As they laughed at her enforced display of incontinence, Gosset impatiently snatched the cane away from Jackson and swung his own blow. Amber jerked wildly as another line was blazed in her flesh. On her drum-tight immobile thigh skin it felt like a line of fire. Another explosive discharge of urine was forced from her, then the flow slowed to a dribble.
Harris took the cane from Gosset and raised his arm...
By the time the cane had gone round a second time, the flesh of Amber’s inner thighs and pubis was crimson and she was lost in a haze of pain: her head lolling on its side, her eyes closed and her cheeks tear-streaked.
Jackson grasped her hair and pulled her face round towards him, wrenched out her gag and slapped her cheeks until her eyes flickered open. Again he held up the book accusingly.
“Why didn’t you tell us about all these other ways we could have had you?” he demanded. “You must know about them.”
“What are you talking about?” Amber sobbed, her voice shrill with pain and real fear. “I don’t know what you know. You want to have me up my bum? Do it! I’ll suck all of you off if you want. I’ll do anything, but for God’s sake loosen the ropes! They’re cutting off my circulation. I can’t feel my hands anymore. You want to give me gangrene? Your bloody book doesn’t say do that, does it? Does it!”
Blinking though her tears she saw the onset of doubt in their expressions as they took in her obvious distress. Bickley said hesitantly: “Maybe this is a bit mean on her.”
“But she’s got to remember who’s in charge,” Jackson persisted.
“Look at me!” Amber almost shouted. “I’m your slave... but I’m not a fucking mind reader! You could have shown me the book first. You promised you’d treat me responsibly...” Her hands and feet had gone quite numb and she groped desperately for some further lever. “This is the way Arabella Westlake would treat a slave!”
The accusation struck home. The last person they wanted to be compared to was Arabella.
“All right. Loosen the ropes,” Jackson said.
Amber gasped as her body unbent. Harris stooped down and examined her hands. “They do look dead,” he admitted. “And they’re rather cold...”
Hurriedly they untied her and Amber rolled grotesquely to the floor, her legs still locked in their splayed position, the skin between her thighs scorching. They carried her over to her makeshift bed and began massaging her hands and feet. Amber groaned as the blood began to flow back to her extremities. Harris took out a pot of petroleum jelly from the bucket they had brought and began rubbing some into Amber’s thighs and reddened pubic flesh. While the others worked on her Bickley took the book from Jackson and flicked through to the index. After a minute he said:
“It does say if you’re using a restraining device, the slave should be secured with leather or rubber cuffs. If you use rope, it mustn’t be too thin, and the skin should be protected with strips of cloth.” He looked down at Amber. “We didn’t see this. Sorry.”
Amber groaned again, but her mind was racing as the boys massaged the life back into her. They must never realise how close they had been to breaking her spirit. She must turn the situation to her advantage and regain the initiative. Time to be magnanimous and win herself a few brownie points.
She wriggled gently and sighed with obvious relief.
“Oh... that’s so much better. Do keep rubbing... yes, especially there.”
“Look, we really are sorry,” Jackson said.
“I know you didn’t mean to really hurt me,” Amber said nobly. “It was just a misunderstanding. Keeping a slave must be as new to you as being one is to me. I’ve never been on a device like that before.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have made it,” Bickley said.
“Oh no!” Amber said quickly. “It was clever of you to make one so well. It’s a really ingenious device. I’ll be just at the right height and position for two of you to have me at the same time.”
“You mean... you’d go on it again?” Harris asked hesitantly.
“Of course,” Amber said. “I’m your slave. I can’t stop you doing whatever you want with me. That is what you find exc
iting, isn’t it? But try to ease up a little. I can please you a lot better if you’re not trying to tear my arms off or split me in two at the same time!”
The boys laughed, looking more cheerful again.
“While I’m getting over that first session, why don’t you take a look amongst the junk downstairs?” Amber suggested. “There’s bound to be some leather strapping on those old harnesses that you can make into cuffs.”
The boys obeyed eagerly.
Some broad strips of leather were found. As the boys worked on them, cutting and piercing holes for ropes with the collection of old tools they assembled, Amber said: “I’d be interested to read that book of yours to find out what else you have in store for me. To avoid any more misunderstandings.”
They looked slightly shocked at the idea.
“You’d really like to read it?” Jackson said.
“Why not? I might be surprised at some things, but I doubt if I’ll be shocked. For instance, I saw a rubber hose in that bucket and Martin nicely used some vaseline on me. I guess you were planning to have anal sex with me, right?”
They blushed. Harris said: “The book said it was different from the normal kind...”
“Vaginal sex,” Amber prompted gently. “Yes, you’ll find my bottom’s hotter and tighter that my cunt. Men often like that. I’m sure you will.”
Amber felt the familiar stirrings beginning within her loins as she spoke. These strange naive yet intimate conversations with the boys seemed to have that effect on her. It was probably best that she started to warm up anyway, knowing what was to come.
