by William Avon
“You’ve done this anal sex before?” Jackson asked
“A few times. I didn’t know you hadn’t heard of it until now.” They suddenly looked embarrassed and ashamed. “But you’re learning now,” Amber said quickly. “What are you going to use as a douche bag to clean me out first?”
Bickley took a hot water bottle from the bucket.
“How clever!” Amber said. “Has it got warm water in it already? Good.”
The improvised cuffs were ready, and Amber meekly extended her wrists and ankles for them to be fitted. The cuffs were tight, but the leather was pliant enough not to cut and broad enough to spread the pressure on her skin. Amber took a deep breath and said brightly: “Right, I’m ready now.”
They helped her up, two boys holding an arm each, half supporting, half controlling her. Bizarrely it felt almost as though they were escorting royalty. She was a slave to be used and abused, yet also a valuable prize to be guarded. A sex princess?
They fastened her to the training horse and pulled on the ropes until she was splayed and stretched wide enough for their purposes but not to the ligament-tearing extent they had before. It gave Amber a tolerably degree of discomfort and a terrific sense of helpless exposure. She felt her slit growing slick and sticky.
“We also made this,” Parsons said, holding up a length of rope about fourteen inches long, it was already tied in a loop and knotted at each end to hold on two rubber washers that had been threaded onto it. Amber blinked at it in incomprehension.
“It’s for when we do this,” said Harris, reaching under the head end of the training horse and drawing back a bolt that had been fastened lengthwise to the underside of the plank. The end of the plank hinged downward some 45 degrees, tilting Amber’s head back with it. Suddenly she was in the ideal position for oral penetration.
Amber fought to maintain her composure even though everything was suddenly upside-down. “Of course, the rope is a teeth-spreader, isn’t it? It wouldn’t do for me to accidentally bite you. But please remember you’ve got to pull out every few seconds to allow me to breathe.”
They nodded distractedly. As the growing bulges in their trousers showed, urgent need was overcoming them. They would not be denied their relief a second time. In a moment she would be silenced; reduced to a living sex toy for as long as they cared to use her. Parsons bent over her to insert the spreader.
“I expect a lot of tit-squeezing when you’re using my mouth,” Amber said quickly. “And whoever’s up my bottom must play with my cunt - gnhhh!”
Parsons pushed the washers into the sides of her mouth so that the rope passed between her teeth, and pulled the loop over her head, drawing back her lips into a rictus of a smile and baring her teeth. For a moment it felt as though it would tear her flesh, then the loop passed over to the back of her neck and the strain eased slightly, leaving her mouth gaping invitingly open.
Jackson had vaselined the rubber hose and now he slipped it into her bottom. Amber shivered as a foot of tube slid into her entrails. Bickley held up the water bottle with the hose end screwed into it and tipped it over and squeezed.
Amber gurgled and rolled her eyes as her stomach swelled with the water being forced through her, which then gushed out into the bucket placed between her legs. The flow ceased and the tube was withdrawn. She had been flushed out for her masters’ use. A finger replaced the tube and teased and tickled as it lubricated her orifice ready for penetration.
About her, trousers were dropping and hard young cocks were springing up to attention. The boys crowded close until all she saw were their erect organs. Which of her holes would be used by which boy?
Hands grasped her spread thighs and a cockhead nuzzled against her anus even as somebody clasped her chin. Her tongue lapped eagerly at the purple plum driving between her lips and towards her throat. A hairy ball sac brushed her nose. With a thrust from below her anal ring was stretched wide and her rectum entered. Urged on by her sucking lips, the shaft in her mouth slid down her throat.
Pistons of flesh were driving into her from both ends and she was ascending to heaven.
Her breasts were being slapped and wrenched in time with the thrusts into her gullet. Prying fingers had found her hardened clitoris and were rolling and pinching it just a little short of cruelly.
It was perfect.
With grunts of delight the first two boys spent themselves liberally within her. Her bottom received the gift of sperm with desperate clenchings, while her lips drank thirstily as of a rare nectar.
The training horse had become her throne of sacrifice and reward. Its worst excesses were now safely reserved for somebody who would appreciate them.
Pack Love
It was early afternoon by the time Melanie crawled though the small packgirl door into the pound at the back of their kennels.
Most of the pack seemed to be there, sprawled out on the grass or sitting under the small shade trees. Some were curled up in exhausted asleep, others chattering excitedly in small groups. As Melanie appeared they hurried over to greet her, moving on their hands and knees in the rapid but graceful shuffle that set their hanging breasts bouncing and swinging in fluid motion. Like Melanie they once again wore their regular tails and boots with the wedge soles that made walking impossible. Apart from sport or work a packgirl moved on all fours like a dog so she always looked up to her masters.
Melanie was surrounded by a press of warm bodies, still carrying the scent of soap and shampoo from their after-hunt showers. A few of the more timid said nothing but simply bestowed respectful kisses on Melanie’s bottom, in deference to her status as First Girl of the pack. The sensation pleased Melanie more that she let them see.
A barrage of questions assailed her: “I knew you’d run well!” “Was it hard?” “You’re almost the last.” “Who caught you?”
“Just a minute, you lot!” Melanie said loudly. She’d seen Una hanging back uncertainly from the main group. Melanie shuffled forward until she was face to face with the former First Girl.
“Did you have a good run?” she asked.
“Pretty good, I only just got in.”
“Well done,” Melanie said.
“You did better.”
“Any injuries?”
Una shrugged. “A few scratches and bruises, nothing much. And you?”
Melanie made a face. “Paddle sores. My tits took a bit of a beating and smart like hell.”
Una promptly stooped down and gently kissed Melanie’s abused breasts, adding a quick flick of the tongue to each nipple. She straightened up and Melanie kissed Una back on her lips, which were as soft as her body was hard. It was partly a show of mutual affection intended to reassure the other girls, but also a natural expression of the bond they shared. Whatever their backgrounds they were united now by the sisterhood of the pack. It was a powerful feeling and Melanie was not yet sure how deep it ran.
She shuffled over and sat carefully down under a tree, realising how much she ached from her exertions. The rest of the pack crouched down attentively before her. Melanie grinned at them.
“All right. I managed to make it through the farms until I was halfway round the hunting ground opposite the back of the Hall. I was trying to get back close to find a place to hide up. But a middle-aged couple spotted me. I don’t know their names. They wore purple sashes.”
“The Whitlows,” Una volunteered. “They hunt all over the south.”
“I thought they were good,” Melanie said. “They caught me pretty neatly...”
At that moment Jill crawled through the door, looking pleased with herself but also completely exhausted. She dragged herself over to the group and slumped down at Melanie’s feet.
“I am totally shagged out!” she declared wearily.
Gail, her closest friend, laughed and kissed her lovingly, laying herself b
y Jill’s side and rubbing her soft body against her.
“What happened?” somebody asked.
Jill sniggered. “Two teams tried to run me down at the same time. They had me on the ground when they got into a fight. You should have heard the names they were calling each other! The hounds had already been called off and by the time they sorted themselves out I was well away. Took them hours to catch me again.”
She rubbed her red and swollen pubic cleft ruefully. “Mind you, they all gave me a good seeing-to when they did. Don’t know how I’m going to manage both teams tonight.”
The other girls laughed. Melanie said: “So how many are still out?” She counted heads quickly. There were twenty-one, including herself. The pack was twenty-two strong. “Who’s still out... Gillian? Where’s Gillian?”
“She’s never been last caught before,” Una murmured.
“Could she have been hurt?” Melanie wondered.
“She wasn’t in the sick room when I went past earlier,” Una said.
“I just hope she hasn’t done anything stupid. Remember, she promised us she wouldn’t let the pack down this time.”
Genuine concern showed on Una’s face. It was quite a change from the contempt with which she had been treating Gillian when Melanie had arrived only a few days before.
“I could go to Alison,” Una suggested. “She can ask if there’s been any news...”
At that moment Alison herself entered the pound.
“Here she is, girls,” she announced brightly, “today’s champion vixen!” And she stepped aside so that Gillian, freshly washed and harnessed, could shuffle in on all fours.
“Mr Platt will be along later with the full list of times,” Alison continued. “But I can say that he’s very pleased with how you all ran. Now you get some rest - you’re going to be very busy tonight, remember.”
Alison went out and the pack crowded round Gillian. Melanie was concerned. Gillian seemed very stiff and was shivering slightly.
“What happened?” Melanie asked her, looking her over anxiously for some sign of injury.
“I’m just... cold,” Gillian said. “I’ve been hiding in a... pond for hours.”
Sympathetically, a couple of girls pressed their warm bodies against Gillian’s pale form and she rubbed gratefully against them.
“You look frozen stiff,” Melanie exclaimed.
“I didn’t want to let the pack down,” Gillian said. She looked at Una. “I used your trick. I went past the pond, then... peed up a tree and backtracked, then jumped in so as not to leave tracks. There was an old moorhen’s nest in the middle in a pile of sticks and I hid by that. Riders and hounds went past the pond several times following my scent, but they didn’t see me. When it was quiet I crawled onto the bank to warm up, but I kept on having to go back in again when I heard hunters coming. I stayed there as long as I could stand it.”
Una looked impressed. “That took some guts.”
Gillian smiled shyly at the compliment. “Well, it was certainly better than being caught by Arabella.”
“Yeah, who’s the unlucky one today?” Una asked.
The other girls exchanged glances and shook their heads.
“Arabella didn’t catch any of us?” Melanie said. “What team was she in?”
“She was wearing a white sash - hunting on her own,” Una explained. “Probably after you, Mel.” She suddenly grinned. “She’s going to be really pissed at not getting anyone. But at least she can’t take it out on us!”
The girls all laughed. Una kissed Gillian. The girl’s warming her did the same. Melanie followed them. Gillian’s lips were sweet and her eyes were sparkling as she pulled away from her, reminding Melanie that she was the first woman, under the Major’s direction, that she had ever made love with.
What followed seemed perfectly natural.
The huddled group moved closer with whispers of flesh brushing against flesh. The kissing spread, becoming more passionate. Gail slithered around on top of Jill until they lay head to crotch and buried her face between her friend’s thighs. Swaying breasts were kissed and licked, hardening nipples nipped lovingly between white teeth. Girls were rolling onto their backs and splaying their legs wide in open invitation, while others were mounting their crouching sisters from behind, rubbing their clefts on the springy shafts of implanted pack tails. Emanating from between twenty two pairs of glistening pubic lips, the heady scent of multiple arousal gradually filled the pound.
Amidst the hot press of bodies, Melanie suddenly found herself staring at a wide-open unclaimed cunt, pink and slippery and lovely. Without hesitation she plunged her face into it and began to lick and suck and tongue in wild delight. Hair brushed the insides of her raised haunches and she felt a tongue sliding into the honeypot of her own split peach. A shiver of ecstasy coursed through her. She didn’t know who was pleasuring her and, she realised joyfully, that it didn’t matter. Reason had surrendered to lust and they were enjoying themselves as only girls who had had all inhibition driven from them could.
Lost in their own pleasure, the pack did not notice Alison and Platt standing side by side in the kennel doorway watching them. Alison, staring the squirming bodies in open fascination, said: “Should we stop them, Mister Platt?”
Platt turned his gaze quickly back to the orgy.
“No, it’s good to let a pack have their private pleasures from time to time,” he said quickly. “They all ran well today. They’ll rest easily after this and be fresh for tonight. Put up the running times list where they can see it, please Alison.”
He turned and made his way back to his office, struggling to maintain his dignity. Proud as he was of his beautiful pack, he had not been watching them make love. Like some nervous schoolboy, he had secretly been peering down the open collar of Alison’s shirt at the tantalizingly exposed soft upper curves of her breast.
The irony of the situation was not lost on him. He was master of twenty two beautiful slaves whom he could use almost as freely as the Major, if he chose. Yet he lusted after the sturdy form of his sweet-natured kennelmaid; a girl more than twenty years his junior who could never be his.
Frustration
The girls had never before seen Arabella so angry.
She returned to the playhouse later that afternoon still clad in her riding gear with a crop in her hand. They didn’t need to ask if her hunt had been successful; the expression on her face told its own story.
For fully ten minutes she paced up and down the tiny garden, muttering under her breath and making vicious swipes at the grass with her crop. The other girls could only watch her in silence, knowing nothing they could say would help.
Eventually Arabella seemed to regain a measure of self-control, and asked sharply: “Have you been treating her as I told you?”
“Yes, Arabella, exactly as you said,” Belinda said quickly.
“Did she make the proper responses?”
“Yes, every time.”
“Has she protested or spoken out of turn?”
“No. She just sits there.”
“Bring her here,” Arabella snapped.
Such was their haste to obey that they simply tipped the old butt onto its side, dirty water spewing from its mouth, and rolled it out onto the lawn before Arabella. They heard gasps and groans as Sue’s body tumbled about the inside, but were too anxious to care for her comfort. They strained to lift the bottom of the butt and Sue’s limp form slithered out onto the grass.
She was a pathetic sight. Pale and shivering and grimy from the slime and mildew that had covered the interior of her prison. Her prolonged immersion had bleached and crinkled the flesh of her legs and buttocks, which were ridged with boardmarks from the bottom of the butt.
Arabella gave Sue a shove with the flat of her boot to roll her over onto her back, then lifte
d the unfortunate girl’s chin with her boot toe. Sue’s eyes flickered open and she gazed fearfully up at her mistress.
“Well, girl. What has your morning lesson taught you?” Arabella demanded.
“That I’m worth nothing, Mistress... I’m a slave fit only to be pissed on. I live only to serve you... to obey and to suffer for your pleasure.”
The tip of Arabella’s riding crop traced the cane marks that formed a lattice across Sue’s trembling breasts. “We shall see about that, girl.” Arabella turned to the others. “Untie her legs,” she commanded. “Then clean her up. I’ll be back in a minute.”
As Arabella went into the playhouse, the others freed Sue’s legs. She whimpered as she tried to straighten her numbed limbs and they had to half-carry her over to the old garden pump, where they washed the worst of the dirt from her. Jemima brought a comb from her bag and gently ran it through Sue’s tangled and matted hair.
“Are you all right?” Jemima asked Sue fearfully.
“I suffer for my Mistress,” Sue replied mechanically.
“Don’t waste your time talking to her,” Belinda snapped at Jemima. “Let’s get her looking clean before Arabella comes back.”
“Have you ever seen Arabella looking so angry?” Penny asked in hushed tones.
“No,” Belinda admitted. She pinched one of Sue’s abused breasts. “Just be grateful she’s got this one to take it out on.”
They had just finished their task when Arabella emerged from the playhouse. She was carrying a yellowed roll of drawer lining paper, which she unrolled on the grass, forming a rectangle some six feet long.
“See that it stays flat,” she said, and went back into the house again.
The girls quickly found pebbles from the flowerbeds to weigh the paper strip down.
“What’s she doing?” Ernestine asked nervously.
“How should I know?” Belinda said.
Arabella appeared again, this time carrying an old wooden serving tray and an enamelled bucket. She set the items carefully down at each end of the paper sheet.
