by William Avon
“If you get me as your bondslave you get everything. I want to find out if you can take what you plan to deal out. I’ve got to know you understand what I’d be going through if I served you. You say you want to save me - show how much you really mean it! Prove it wasn’t just fancy words so you could get a bondslave on the cheap.”
“I still don’t quite know what you mean.”
Sally opened her carpetbag and showed Miss Newcombe what was inside. Miss Newcombe’s eyes widened. “Oh... I see.”
“Well? Are you up to it?”
Miss Newcombe’s bosom rose a little faster under the blouse of her uniform. “I admit the idea is... intriguing. But really, this isn’t the right place or time.”
“Why not? Who’s going to know?”
“Technically I’m on duty.”
“Nobody’s sick, are they? You’ll be here if you’re needed.
“But the boys. If they should hear anything...”
“Trust me. They won’t hear a thing.”
The rescue party made their way around the outskirts of the sleeping village of Shaftwell. They flitted through woods and dashed noiselessly across narrow lanes, keeping well clear of the few distant yellow rectangles of windows and pinpoints of street lamps.
Overhead the stars shone through gaps in the broken clouds. The air was dew-dampened but mild.
To Amber it was even more unreal than when the boys had led her from the police station to the school only a few nights before. Now she had a companion in bondage. She glimpsed Jemima’s shadowy form as she scampered willingly after her masters and felt the warmth of her body as they crouched down together while the boys scouted ahead.
Nighttime clandestine activity was nothing new to Amber, but never had she done anything like this. It was crazy nonsense, absurd - and desperately exciting. Her senses seemed to be razor-sharp. Never had she been so aware of her body. Her naked exposure and utter helplessness combined with the fear of discovery was uniquely arousing. She could feel herself getting wet. She hoped the boys would be able to spare some time for her tonight.
After almost three quarters of an hour they came upon the indistinct mass of a high wall running through a belt of sparse tree. This was the boundary of the Markham Hall estate.
Now the boys let Jemima guide them to the spot they were after. With her leash trailing over her shoulder she led them along the wall, moving with the confidence of one who had played in those woods since childhood. The narrow beams of their torches occasionally played across her rounded bobbing buttocks. She’s like some eager bitch dog following the scent for her master, thought Amber.
They came to a cluster of trees and Jemima stopped and gave an excited whine. This was where they would scale the wall.
Miss Newcombe knelt on the rug beside her bed. Her hands were clasped behind her head and her knees were spread. She was stark naked.
Sally walked around her carrying a short length of bamboo in her hand, the tip of which she was running over Miss Newcombe’s body. Though she was a good ten years older than Sally it didn’t show. Her skin was clear and pale, but tinted with the lightest of golden tans. Her breasts, a shade lighter than the surrounding flesh, hung proudly, capped with firm pink nipples. Her waist was trim and her hips were full. The thick curls between her thighs had been trimmed back to a neat oval over bare pubic lips.
“Are you ready to begin?” Sally asked, the tip of her bamboo tickling a trembling nipple.
“Yes, Sally,” Miss Newcombe said.
“No: ‘Yes‚Mistress.’ Tonight you’re my slave... what’s your first name?”
“‘Jane’... Mistress.”
“Well, Jane, now you’re going to find out what it’s like to be me,” Sally told her ominously, continuing to circle round so that Jane’s eyes flickered left to right, trying to keep her in sight as long as possible while at the same time holding her head still as she had been ordered. “The first thing you got to learn is that waiting’s different if you’re a slave. See, I can keep you like this for hours if I want, and you’ve got no say in it. Soon you start to ache, but you can’t move. You want to pee, but by now you’re too knotted up to let it go, and if you wet the floor you might get a special hard thrashing for making a mess. It ain’t fair, but who cares? Inside you’re going crazy, not knowing what they’re going to do with you, wanting to get it over with at the same time as you hope it’ll never begin, even as you feel your insides turning to water. It can get so bad that you beg them to do something.” She lifted Jane’s chin with her bamboo. “You ready to start begging yet?”
“I beg... to serve my Mistress as she wishes.”
Sally grinned and flicked the bamboo across Jane Newcombe’s back, bringing forth a gasp of pain.
“Right: get onto that bed, Jane - move!”
Perched atop the wall looking into the grounds through the overhanging branches, Amber saw a grey stretch of fields, beyond which was the bulk of the Hall, picked out by a light burning over the portico and a few glowing upper windows. She just hoped the Major was sleeping soundly tonight.
The ladder was repositioned and the boys descended into the grounds. Amber and Jemima followed carefully after them. Immediately they were down the cords linking their wrists were pulled tight, dragging their hands behind their back once more, and hooked to their collars. A pinch on their nipples told them their leashes were still held in firm hands.
Jemima waited in an alert crouch while the boys rolled up the ladder. Then Jackson patted her encouragingly on the rump and she set off again, leading them towards the dark smudge of a hedgerow.
Sally finished tying the last knot about Jane’s ankle and stood back to admire the effect.
Her slave for the night was stretched out on the bed, her arms pulled upwards and her wrists bound with many loops and turns of rope to the iron-frame bed head. Her legs were parted invitingly and her ankles were equally heavily bound to the uprights at the foot of the bed. It was a lovely sight to see a nicely spoken, educated, correct lady spread and vulnerable like that. Suddenly Sally felt a thrill of unfamiliar power course through her. Well why shouldn’t she be in charge for once?
She picked up her bamboo and slashed it sharply across her slave’s tender exposed stomach. Jane gave a choking gasp. She tried to curl up around the burning stripe of pain, but the ropes held her back. The first flicker of true apprehension crossed her face.
“Hurts, does it?” Sally asked her. “Well there’ll be a lot more of that before the night’s out. Now pull on the ropes.”
Jane tugged lightly at her bonds. The cane swished again. There was a sweet crack of bamboo on flesh and a second more vivid scarlet line appeared across her flat stomach.
“Harder!” Sally ordered. “You can do better than that!” She slashed the bamboo across Jane’s body so that it cut into the undersides of her the soft mounts of her breasts, sending them bouncing and shivering. “Come on, try to get free. Find a bit of slack. Maybe you can slip a hand loose.” She cracked the bamboo down low across Jane’s stomach so that it brushed her pubic hair. “Don’t you want this to end?”
Jane was now bucking and twisting, straining frantically at her bonds in a hopeless effort to escape the steady rain of blows that were scouring her body.
Sally didn’t relent until Jane was panting heavily from her exertions and sweat was beginning to bead in the hollow of her throat and between her breasts. Her belly and breasts were no longer an unblemished golden-pale, but mottled with criss-cross lines of burning crimson. Her wrists and ankles were as firmly fastened as before, but the skin around them was chafed and raw.
“Well?” Sally demanded, lifting Jane’s chin with the tip of the bamboo.
“I... I can’t get free, Mistress,” Jane choked. “I’m sorry... I tried.”
“Are you secure, then?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“How long will you stay that way?”
“Un... until you free me, Mistress.”
“What are you?”
“Your slave, Mistress.”
Sally smiled. “Now you’re beginning to learn what it’s like to be really helpless. I can do anything I want. To you I’m the most important person in the whole world. You don’t have to like me, but you’d better learn to please me, and bloody fast!”
Jane’s eyes were locked onto her now; the fearful despairing look of a slave to her absolute mistress.
Slowly, Sally began to take off her clothes.
The front door of the playhouse opened after a few seconds of Amber’s skilfully application of her lockpicks. The boys’ torches flashed about the cramped interior as Jemima led them through the tiny hall to the stairs. Amber glimpsed a bike with loaded panniers leaning against the wall of the lounge. From its design it obviously did not belong in this version of England.
Jemima gave a pleading whine and Jackson undid her gag.
“Sue - it’s Jemima,” she called ahead of her as they started up the stairs. “It’s all right. We’ve come to rescue you!”
Her naive words brimmed with concern and conviction.
They squeezed into the small, bedroom, torch beams swinging about wildly. Amber glimpsed the whites of a pair of fearful, confused eyes staring back at them over the top of a leather gag strap. Then the torches steadied and focused, illuminating a pale figure lying on a wooden frame bed.
Sue Drake had been secured for the night in a posture of cruel torment.
She lay on her back, arms and legs spread and chained to the four corners of the bed. Coarse string had been looped several times about the base of each of her full breasts, causing them to stand up like swollen mushrooms. So tight was the binding that the pale balloon-like globes had taken on the purple tinge of congested blood. The free ends of the string had been drawn up and over a pulley hanging from a hook screwed into a beam of the low ceiling. The string then ran downwards again where it was tied halfway along the shaft of a broom handle which projected out over the foot of the bed at an angle of some thirty degrees. Dangling on a loop of string from the handle’s end was a cast iron weight of the sort used on old-fashioned pan balances.
The other end of the broom handle was thrust between Sue’s thighs and into the tunnel of her vagina. It was prevented from sliding too far into Sue by a cluster of nails which had been driven through the broom handle at various angles some inches below its tip. The spiked ball thus formed pressed against the soft folds of Sue’s cleft, parting and stretched the tender lips, exposing its glistening coral pink interior.
For a moment they stared in amazement at the cruel but ingenious arrangement, realising how the iron weight added a terrible tension to the arrangement, simultaneously stretching Sue’s tortured breasts while driving the end of the broomhandle deeper into Sue’s gaping cunt mouth. Any movement of her body would only increase the pain to one part of her anatomy or the other.
Then Jemima broke the spell by darting forward and kneeling by the bed.
“It’s all right,” she told Sue. “I know we look strange. But we’ve come to get you away from Arabella. You’ll be happier where we’re going.”
Amber knelt down and began working on one of the padlocks that held the chains in place about Sue’s ankle. She winced as she saw how red-raw and bruised the skin was under them. The boys were removing the string bindings and broom handle as quickly and gently as they could. Jackson pulled the gag from Sue’s mouth, and Jemima showered her with passionate kisses, murmuring: “Don’t worry, it’ll be all right...”
Sue seemed, dazed, unable to comprehend what was happening to her. Her head jerked about woodenly as she took in the strange group of people clustered about her. She blinked at Amber and the deft clicking of her lockpicks and suddenly her eyes seemed to come into focus.
“No... you mustn’t,” she said. “I belong to Arabella.”
Even as they gaped at her in astonishment, her voice rose to a frightened scream: “Don’t take me away from her!”
The Bonds of Submission
Sally sat astride Jane’s hips as though straddling a horse. Their open thighs faced each other so that their pubic hair, dark blonde and black, brushed and merged. Sally leaned forward, kneading Jane’s warm soft breasts gently, rolling the nipples between thumb and forefinger to keep their hardness. Every so often she would dip her head and kiss her slave deeply. Jane responded with passion. Their tongues twined and fondled.
“Feel better now?” Sally asked, looking down at Jane’s flushed face.
“Yes, Mistress. Thank you for the lesson, Mistress.”
“Oh, that’s just the beginning. What you just had was the sort of thrashing a bondslave might get for breaking a plate. That’s nothing.” She looked at her slave thoughtfully. “You said this morning that you knew the sort of things coppers did to pillory girls. Ever heard of ‘sucking wood’?”
“No, Mistress,” Jane said warily.
“Sometimes, on wet days when there’s nothing better to do, and a policeman wants a bit of fun with you but can’t be bothered to get it up, he makes you do it with his truncheon instead.
Sally felt a shudder of apprehension pass through Jane’s body and smiled. “Don’t worry, they didn’t have any truncheons down the village.” She reached over and pulled something else from her bag. “But this ought to do as well.” It was a cucumber.
Jackson had his hands over Sue’s mouth, stifling her screams for help. He looked about at the others, clearly dazed by her unexpected reaction. Why was the girl they’d come to rescue screaming for her brutal mistress to save her from them? Even Jemima seemed unable to calm Sue and tears were filling the younger girl’s eyes.
“What’s the matter with her?” Harris said.
“She can’t really want to stay here,” said Gosset.
Amber made several urgent squeaks to gain their attention and finally had her gag removed. “She can’t help herself - she’s been conditioned to obey Arabella!” she gasped, realising even as she spoke that the boys were unlikely to understand the term. She continued: “If someone’s held captive long enough they can start identifying with their captors, even loving them in a strange way, despite how they’ve been treated.” She looked at the marks all over Sue’s abused body and thought of what Jemima had told her of Sue’s submissive nature. Yes, a girl like this could very well fall under Arabella’s influence.
“But what do we do about it?” Jackson snapped desperately. “We can’t take her with us like this. Even if we tie her up and carry her, how do we get her over the wall? We’ll have to leave her.”
“No!” Jemima wailed.
“No, what you must do is teach her that you’re her new masters. I think she wants to be dominated, but also cared for. Show her you’ll be better at that than Arabella.”
“Here and now?” Jackson looked baffled. “How?”
Amber smiled. “Masters, you know how...”
Now Sally rode Jane like a horse, making her buck and toss in a desperate attempt to accommodate the cucumber that was stretching her front passage and jutting out bizarrely from between her vaginal lips. Again Sally reached behind her and grasped the vegetable, twisting and working it round in a stirring motion, then ramming it a little further up into her sweating, trembling slave.
“That’s better, you can do it!” Sally told her. “Suck it hard! It’ll get softer the more you try. What’re you griping about? This is easier than a truncheon.”
Jane came with a series of ever shorter rising gasps and a final groan of pleasure and release that sounded as though it had been wrenched from her soul. Sally felt the cucumber jerk in her hands as it was gripped by spasming vaginal muscles. Then Jane’s eyes closed and she went limp, lost in
a post-orgasmic swoon.
Sally smiled down at her, fingering her own sticky slit. This was exciting.
She gave Jane a couple of minutes to recover, then slapped her cheeks to regain her attention. Jane’s eyes flickered open. She looked dazed by what had happened.
“That was good,” Sally told her. “Now you’re going to tongue me out.”
She turned herself about until she was facing the foot of the bed and settled down onto Jane again, squatting down, pushing back her bottom and spreading her knees so that her gaping pink love mouth ground into Jane’s face. Sally felt Jane’s tongue dutifully slip into her cleft and begin to work away at her hardened clitoris. Meanwhile she enjoyed the sight just inches before her eyes of the cucumber rising grotesquely out of Jane’s cleft. Her labia were shiny wet and rimmed with green flecks of vegetable skin. Sally pumped the cucumber up and down a few times, then began to lick the vegetable flavoured with the juices of a school matron.
Sue writhed and jerked at her chains as the boys raped her, biting on the gag strap they had put back in her mouth to mute her cries. And as they mounted her they whispered in her ear:
“Who’s inside you now? Not Arabella.”
“She doesn’t really love you.”
“You’re too pretty to be wasted on an ungrateful piece like her. Come with us.”
“We’ll treat you properly.”
“Look, we’ve got two girls already. They like what we do. Ask them.”
And once each boy had spent himself inside Sue, he held her tossing head steady and kissed first her gag-split lips then each of her tortured breasts, telling her truthfully how much he had enjoyed her.
Amber and Jemima huddled in a corner side by side, their arms restrained and their leashes thrown over their shoulders and tied about their ankles to ensure they did not wander. Once again Amber felt her sense of reality askew. They were watching a gang-bang hoping it would bring a girl to her senses enough to realise her salvation lay with a bunch of lads who would keep her as a sex slave.
