Slaves to the Girlspell

by William Avon

  Miss Newcombe took a deep breath, then smiled. “Very well. I shall tell Dr Gideon that I will be able help him. Now eat up your food. You have floors to clean today...”

  “You’ve got some visitors, Melanie,” Alison called out gently.

  Melanie rolled stiffly over to face the bars of her sickroom cell and saw Una and Gillian kneeling at Alison’s feet. Alison clipped their leashes to the bars, said they could have five minutes with Melanie, and walked away. They pressed their faces to the bars and peered through at her.

  “How are you?” Gillian asked anxiously.

  “The rest of the girls want to know when you’ll be back in the yard with them,” Una said.

  “It’s not the same without you,” Gillian added.

  Melanie smiled tiredly. “Thanks. Tell them I miss them and love them too.”

  “Was it... bad?” Una asked.

  Melanie threw back her blanket so they could see her body adorned by dabs of cream and sticking plasters. The multiple tracks of her numerous scratches showed clearly even on her brown skin. Gillian caught her breath and Una uttered several choice expletives to describe Arabella.

  “Luckily none of the cuts are very deep,” Melanie assured them. “But there were so many thistles hitting me so hard it felt like I was being flayed. Even worse, I didn’t know if Arabella would ever stop...” Melanie lowered her eyes, shamed by what had happened but wanting them to understand. “I’d submitted to her, I would have done anything she wanted - and she still kept on! I found out what it meant to be really helpless in somebody else’s power. Not helpless and excited, like we were waiting for the hunt to start. Just plain shit-scared.” She gave a shudder, then realized her visitors were looking at her in dismay. She forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll get over it. Sorry I’m going to miss the Ball, though. The Major doesn’t want everybody seeing me like this.”

  “We know,” Una said. “Platt said I’ll be taking your place on the table. Last three to be caught in the hunt, see?”

  Gillian gave a slightly forced smile. “Which means I’ll be the centrepiece. I just hope none of the guests know me.”

  “Don’t start that again,” Una warned her. “Just be pleased somebody thinks you’re worth putting on show.”

  “I’ll try,” Gillian promised.

  “Time’s up, girls,” said Alison, coming back into the room with the Major at her side. “The Major wants a word with Melanie.”

  Una and Gillian were led away. The Major unlocked the cell door and sat on the end of Melanie’s bed. Melanie tried to adopt a servile posture as she had been taught, but he motioned for her to stay as she was. She lay back with her legs respectfully parted. He gently stroked the inside of her thighs while examining her with troubled eyes.

  “My dear girl,” he said at last, “I’m so sorry for all this.”

  “It’s not your fault, Master.”

  “But as your owner, your well-being is my responsibility. Bondslaves can only be subjected to lawful and reasonable punishment. What Arabella inflicted upon you was unacceptable... unlawful.” He looked at her deeply for a moment. “You may, if you so choose, bring an action against her for assault.”

  Melanie saw the pain in his eyes. “But you’d like me not to?”

  “For the sake of the family name, I’d rather this incident remained as private as possible. But I will do nothing to prevent you. If it helps, I should say I have already punished Arabella severely. She will not sit down in comfort for a week. In addition she is denied all social contact until I deem otherwise - that is a severe blow to Arabella’s self-esteem, I assure you.”

  He saw Melanie’s expression of confusion and shook his head. “There, there my pet. Don’t trouble yourself...”

  His hand slid up her thigh and his fingertips traced the plump lines of her lovemouth and circled the crinkled pit of her anus. For a moment Melanie’s eyes closed in instinctive pleasure at his touch, then she flinched as he stretched open a half-healed cut. Automatically she shied away and tried to close her legs.

  The Major removed his hand with a look of angry despair.

  “I will never forgive Arabella for this! She has destroyed that wonderful trust between us. You were so proud to serve me!”

  “I’m... still proud to serve you, Master!”

  “Are you? Doubt makes you hesitate. Curse Arabella!” He puffed out his breath. “Well, we must hope for the best. Let’s get you fit again first. Meanwhile, I shall inform Arabella that you are considering making a charge against her. No reason why she should not suffer doubt as well. Then we shall see...”

  Bickley brought the news of Miss Newcombe’s unexpected call of duty to the three girls when he opened up the loft after breakfast.

  “It’ll make things simpler,” Amber agreed, after thinking it over for a moment while rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “We can all set off in good time and Sally won’t have to keep Miss Newcombe busy.” She frowned. “As long as we’re sure she’ll be away all night.”

  Bickley gave a smug grin. “Don’t worry, we already thought of that and got Sister to tell us exactly how long she’d be. That’s easy because she’s very careful about her work and always lets us know what she’s doing. She says she’ll ring up the doctor late this afternoon to check she’s still wanted. If she is she’ll be cycling over to Boxley, so she’ll leave at seven and won’t be back till gone nine tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay, then it looks like it’s all on,” Amber said.

  “So I can see Arabella get stuffed good and proper!” Sally said delightedly.

  “Yes... if you still want to do it that way,” Amber said.

  Sally shrugged. “At least people won’t be chucking things at me. I might even make a few bob out of it for a change.”

  Amber smiled at her friend’s mercenary enthusiasm, then turned to Sue. “Still want to go through with it? You won’t mind people seeing you like that?”

  “After what Arabella did to me I don’t think I have any modesty left,” Sue said simply. “It’ll be worth it to see her face when the time comes. Anyway, from the way Jemima describes it we’ll just be part of the background. A Ball sounds quite exciting, actually. I’d like to see more people.” She smiled ruefully. “I’ve hardly got about much since I came here.”

  “It’s settled, then,” said Amber. “When Jemima gets here we’ll tell her there’ll be a slight change of plan. I hope she remembers to bring those old clothes of her sister’s she promised. Then we’ll get started on the costumes for the boys - I mean, our Masters,” she corrected herself quickly, looking up at Bickley. “You’ve got to look right for this. Now we hope Arabella plays her part...”

  Arabella sprawled miserably facedown across her bed. Even the softest chair was too much for her burning bottom.

  She had tried to read a book, but gave up when she realised she had read the same paragraph three times and still could not remember what it said. She had too much on her mind: shame, frustration and the gnawing uncertainty over whether or not Melanie would press charges.

  She could not believe it would come to that. Her fate decided by a bondslave! Despite everything, her Uncle would never allow it... would he?

  Eventually she turned to opening her mail in the hope it would take her mind off her own troubles. Her Uncle had permitted her to receive letters, but any replies could only be the briefest acknowledgments for the sake of politeness.

  Unfortunately, all that her correspondents seemed to want to talk about were plans for holidays, shopping expeditions to the city and who was dating whom. All part of the life from which she had been so unfairly excluded! She screwed them up and threw them aside in disgust.

  Then the last letter in the pile caught her eye.

  It was addressed in anonymous capital letters on a cheap envelope and bore a local postmark
. The single sheet of paper within was neither headed nor signed, and read simply:

  BRING THE PHALLUS STATUE THAT YOU TOOK FROM SUSAN DRAKE TO THE PLAYHOUSE TONIGHT AT EXACTLY EIGHT THIRTY AND YOU MAY HAVE THE GIRL BACK UNHARMED.

  Taped to the bottom of the sheet was a golden lock of Sue’s pubic hair.

  Arabella gaped at the letter in astonishment.

  That it could only have been sent by whoever had taken Sue was obvious, but what did they want with the phallus? Was that what they had been after all along? Could it be more valuable than she had thought?

  Stiffly she got up from the bed and went over to a drawer, took out the phallus and examined it closely. If it was real ivory then it was worth a few pounds, but no more. As a sexual toy she knew it was useless because she had tried it. So why did they want it badly enough to exchange for a potential slave girl?

  Anger boiled up within Arabella once again. It was all a reminder of another unfairness perpetrated upon her. Had the letter been sent simply to taunt her? In any case, how could she do anything about it in her present circumstances?

  Wait!

  Of course, if she wanted she could sneak out tonight because all of her Uncle’s and the servants’ attention would be on the Ball. And it might be worth the risk because it could prove a chance to redeem herself. The Markham girlpack was short of suitable slaves. Sue was an unclaimed outsider and a wonderful natural submissive already broken in. Arabella was sure she could be trained to run. What a gift she would make to her Uncle! Surely he would think better of her then.

  She would go to the rendezvous. She had nothing to lose - but she would take precautions.

  It was late morning when Major Havercotte-Gore was informed that Miss Moncrief had called again. Despite his preoccupation with last minute preparations, he happily made a few minutes free to talk to her. However his face fell when Jemima entered his study and he saw she was accompanied by two young women.

  One was a stranger; a buxom blonde with pretty open features wearing a faded dress. She was looking about her with slightly nervous curiosity. The other girl was also blonde, but with a face he knew all too well.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you when you’re so busy, Major,” Jemima said quickly, “but we thought we might be able to help you out tonight.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my manners! These are my friends Sue and Sally.”

  “Miss Potts and I,” the Major said with brittle formality, “have already met. She has come up before me in court on several occasions, when it has been my sad duty to sentence her to the public pillory.”

  Sally grinned. “That’s all right, Major. I don’t hold it against you.”

  “How considerate of you, Miss Potts,” replied the Major dryly.

  “I know Sally has been in trouble before, but she’s really trying to be better now,” Jemima said earnestly. “And we really think we can help you.”

  “I appreciate your offer, Jemima,” the Major told her gently, “but we have all the serving staff we require.”

  “Oh, we didn’t want to do serving,” Jemima said brightly, “we want to be decorations in the Ballroom - like your packgirls.”

  The Major had rarely been taken so completely by surprise. For several seconds he could only gape in mute astonishment at the three young women lined up in front of his desk. Finally he recovered his voice.

  “Jemima, do you... do you realise what you’re saying?”

  “Of course, Major,” Jemima said cheerfully. She pointed at the wall. “I’ve seen your pictures remember, and everybody knows girls are put on display on special occasions. And you did tell me that you were short of girls, especially with Melanie hurt.”

  “Yes, but... Nevermind. It’s out of the question!”

  “But don’t some women volunteer to become bondslaves?” Jemima persisted. “If I committed a bad crime I’m old enough to be sentenced to bondservice, aren’t I? You might even buy me yourself... if you thought I was pretty enough.”

  The Major found himself put absurdly on the defensive. “Be that as it may, young ladies from good families do not make such offers!”

  “I ain’t from a good family,” Sally interjected with a grin.

  “I’ve got no family,” Sue added.

  The Major was determined not to be deflected. “But what would your family think, Jemima?”

  “Oh, I already told them I was helping you out and they were very pleased,” she said lightly. “And they’d never need to know what I’d really be doing because nobody will see much of our faces, will they? It’ll be our secret. Mr Platt and Miss Chalmers would have to know about us, of course, but your guests would just think we were more of your bondslaves.”

  “Nevertheless...” the Major began, but Jemima continued blithely:

  “It would only be for the evening and nobody would be able to do anything to us except look.” She giggled coquettishly, glancing sidelong at the others. “And we don’t mind that. Really, we’d be honoured to do it.”

  “They’d be honoured, I’d like ten bob,” Sally said in a businesslike fashion.

  A disquieting thought appeared to strike Jemima. “Unless... you don’t think we’re pretty enough, Major? Do you want to see us undressed?”

  “Jemima, really, this has gone far enough!”

  He was too late. Buttons were popping, dresses were being pulled over heads and cast aside, slips fell with a whisper. In seconds there were three naked young women lined up before his desk waiting for his approval.

  It was impossible, and absurd, not to look at them.

  They were three very attractive young women, he had to admit. Sally stood with her hands provocatively on her hips, a slight knowing smile playing about her impudent lips. All in all a challenging little minx. Sue had, he now realised, an exceptionally beautiful, almost angelic face, tinged with an appealing anxiety; please like me, it seemed to say. Jemima was flushed and bright-eyed with girlish excitement, returning his look with a devastatingly direct gaze. Bared breasts trembled as three pairs of nipples stood up at attention. Navels swelled with the girls’ rapid breathing. Smooth flanks framed fluffy pubic deltas, through which peeped thick, soft vaginal lips. He saw the sparkle of moisture and realised he could smell their excitement at being exposed. Despite his years of assessing and handling female flesh he found the novelty of the situation had also had a stimulating effect on him, and thought it best to remain seated behind his desk.

  He realised the girls were waiting for some response.

  “Clasp your hands behind your heads,” he said slowly.

  And they obeyed.

  He watched their breasts lift through the smooth interplay of muscle and flesh and felt the unique thrill that came with controlling things of beauty.

  “Turn round.”

  They did so obediently, and he was presented with a row of delightful posteriors. Oh, the pleasure he could have between those cheeks! He checked himself. This was not the time or place for such things. Regrettably these pretty creatures were for show only.

  “All right, turn back,” he said. When they faced him once more he smiled and shrugged in gallant surrender to the inevitable.

  “As you wish, Jemima. You, and your friends, shall be put up in the Ballroom. You had better come back here at five o’clock to be prepared. Meanwhile I shall inform Platt that there will be three temporary extra decorations.” He saw Sally’s expectant expression and nodded. “Ten shillings it shall be, Miss Potts - for which I expect impeccable behaviour.”

  “I always give value for money, Major,” she said.

  The girls laughed. Sue and Sally reached for their clothes. Jemima said joyfully: “Oh, thank you, Major. We’ll be ever so good, just you see!” A look of decision crossed her face. She turned and whispered a few words to the others. They grinned and hurried out of the study
still adjusting their clothes. Jemima pointedly shut the door behind them and turned the key in the lock, leaving herself inside and still naked. She faced the Major with the full force of her innocent but knowing gaze, even as she trembled with excitement and trepidation.

  “Jemima... what is it?”

  She took a deep breath and knelt down gracefully before him, extending her arms with her wrists crossed. “Please,” she said meekly, her eyes sparkling. “I don’t want to be the only virgin on display tonight. Do please oblige me, sir. Take me as you would one of your packgirls...”

  He opened his mouth to protest, only to realise that, once again, her words were absolutely genuine. She wanted him to be the first to breach her. Well, who could refuse such a touching request?

  “I shall be honoured to oblige you, Jemima,” he said.

  He took her hand and guided her round to the back of the desk until her thighs were pressed against the drawers, then bent her face down. The Major pressed carefully on the decorative wooden inlay surrounding the green leather desktop. There was a click and two sections lifted half an inch above the rest. He pulled on them and curved steel bands shaped like opposing halves of an arch rose up on either side of Jemima’s head and locked over the back of her neck. The Major drew her arms out to her sides and secured her wrists with similar smaller bands released from the desktop. He spread her legs and locked her ankles on either side of the kneehole with more of the concealed clamps.

  Now Jemima was perfectly positioned for ravishment; secured and immobile, with her rear pushed out towards him.

  The Major squeezed and fondled her buttocks, delighting in their warm elasticity and silky texture. He fingered the dimple of her anus with a smile. Some other day, perhaps. His hands slid downward, cupping the plump warm purse of flesh between her thighs. Ahh, such a full deep cleft for one still young. He felt between the lips, finding aromatic slippery wetness bedewing his fingers.