‘Now,’ Mr Porrit says, smiling at the two perspiring young ladies, ‘time for a spot of drill.’
At one end of the cellar is a sort of little stage. Consisting of four wooden blocks it forms a platform against the whitewashed brickwork of the cellar wall. Cherry and Bunty step up onto it reluctantly. They know what to do and take up position, facing the front, a little apart.
There is the clunking of heavy switches being thrown and Cherry blinks against the blaze of light. Mr Porrit has had searchlights fixed, directed at the stage. If the strip lighting in the ‘gym’ was bright, this is ferocious. The goose pimples on her skin are revealed by the glare. She screws her eyes up and squints out against the light but cannot see the men, who have merged into the background shadows.
‘All right, girls,’ Mr Porrit’s voice comes from beyond the bright shield of light, ‘let’s get to work. Position U-one, if you please.’
U stands for upright; U-one is standing upright to attention. Cherry snaps into position as smartly as she can. Legs straight, arms at her sides, shoulders back and chest out, stomach pulled in tight.
‘Shoulders back, Bunty,’ Mr Porrit warns. ‘Now girls, U-two.’
Position U-two is at ease, so Cherry steps sideways with her right leg so that her feet are two feet apart. She grasps her left wrist in her right hand and holds them against the small of her back, making sure her hands do not cover her bottom. Several painful sessions have drilled that particular lesson into her.
‘That was horrible. More snap, both of you, please.’
There is a pause. Cherry always finds these moments the hardest. She knows the men are looking at Bunty and her as they stand transfixed by the bright glare of the arc lights. The lecherous men are running their eyes over the two girls’ nubile, perspiring, scantily clad young bodies, and Cherry knows they are fondling themselves.
‘And… U-three.’
U-three means widening her stance still further, and stretching out their arms horizontally. There is not quite space and her fingers briefly collide with Bunty’s, before finding their position a few inches below the outstretched arm of the taller girl.
‘What was that? Horrible, horrible. Try to put some effort into it. After all, it is for your own good. Anyone would think you did not appreciate us giving up our time to teach you this drill. All right, B-three if you please.’
The B’s are all bending over. B-three means turning, legs apart, and grasping shins just below the knees. Cherry’s bottom twitches expectantly as she bends over.
‘Bunty, what do you think you’re doing? That is B-four, not B-three.’
Bunty can be relied upon to get the position’s wrong, but the blonde girl’s travails are of little help to Cherry, because Mr Manfry gets up, with a bit of effort, onto the platform. She feels his plump hand pat her bottom.
‘Need to be more careful, little Cherry,’ he says softly, his thumbs slipping into the waistband of her knickers and pulling them halfway down her thighs.
Bunty squeals as Mr Porrit’s cane thwacks into her bottom, but Cherry’s mind is on other things. There is a horrible whooshing sound and the twin tails of Mr Manfry’s tawse cracks across her buttocks. She grips her legs harder and tries not to cry out as the pain floods through her, and it looks like she’s going to manage it until the tawse lashes her again.
‘Ooooh!’ she gasps, barely aware of Bunty yelping under a quick fire succession of cane strokes beside her.
‘Be quiet, you silly girl,’ Mr Manfry orders and cracks the tawse across her bottom again.
Cherry is in agony now. The three strokes have all been across the middle of her bottom and each time the tawse tails have bitten into already reddened flesh. The third is too much to bear, and Cherry hisses with the pain. She feels as if she’s sat on a hot iron. Digging her fingernails into her calves until her knuckles whiten she wiggles her burning bottom furiously, as if this will, somehow, banish the excruciating pain.
‘Stop making all that silly fuss, the pair of you.’
As the pain subsides to manageable levels Cherry realises the men have stepped down from the tiny stage. She tries to breathe less brokenly and ignore Bunty’s sobbing.
‘B-one!’
B-one is feet together, touching toes, and Cherry really does ‘snap to it’ this time. Her poor scorching bottom needs respite.
‘Very good, Bunty, you remembered,’ Mr Porrit says sarcastically, and beside Cherry Bunty makes a sniffling sound and sobs.
‘All right, girls, ready for it… K-three, if you please.’
The K positions are all kneeling. Cherry drops to her knees and a thump tells her that Bunty has done the same. K-three is kneeling upright with hands behind the head, which thrusts the girls’ breasts out further. The arc lights have made the stage quite hot now, and Cherry can feel the perspiration soaking more into the vest. But worse than that, her panties are still around her thighs and her sex is completely exposed in the bright glare.
‘And… wait for it… wait for it… U-one!’
Jumping up as quickly as she can, Cherry snaps into the attention position, trying to ignore the fact that her panties slip down to her knees when she brings her feet together.
‘Are those knickers bothering you, girls?’
‘No, sir,’ they say in unison. Mr Porrit likes to be called by his name usually, but when taking drill he insists on ‘sir’.
‘Still, might as well have them off,’ he says, his voice sounding a little thick with excitement.
‘They also look a little sticky in those vests,’ Mr Manfry says slyly.
‘Quite right, Peter,’ Mr Porrit concedes. ‘Take the tops off too, girls.’
Cherry does not know why she’s blushing as she strips to her socks and plimsolls in the pitiless glare of the arc lights. After all, she was already quite exposed enough, but it’s as if the little vest was a last vestige of dignity. Now she is quite naked with nothing to protect her body from the men’s hungry eyes, or their canes and straps.
As if to emphasise the point she hears Mr Manfry give a whistle of appreciation.
‘Your Cherry really is a scrumptious little piece of mischief, Norman,’ he says appreciatively.
‘Hm,’ Mr Porrit says vaguely, ‘yes, I suppose she isn’t too bad. Bunty is looking rather delicious, too. That pale skin of hers really shows off her stripes.’
‘Have they had enough drill, do you think? Should we…?’
‘Perhaps in a minute. I think they would benefit from a little more. Girls, when I snap my fingers I want to see a really crisp B-five.’
‘Oh dear, poor little Cherry,’ Mr Manfry says softly, ‘that really does look sore.’
Cherry bites her lip and tries to stand still. She is on the floor of the cellar, bent over the wooden stage, leaning forward and supporting herself with her hands. Mr Manfry is behind her, examining her bottom with help from the arc lights. He has promised to put something on her bottom to help the stinging. There is a tub of soothing cream on the platform beside her and part of Cherry wants him to smooth it over her scorched rear. The other part is wondering what the tube of KY jelly he’s placed next to the cream is for.
Both girls got a good few extra strokes as the drill session continued. Bunty received most, naturally, but even Cherry started to forget her positions by the end, so a regretful Mr Manfry ‘had to’ use his tawse on her some more. Now her bottom and thighs feel as if they’ve been grilled. Even though the belting has stopped she can hardly manage to keep still. Tears are running down cheeks that must be almost as red as her poor bottom, and she is trembling as she tries not to fidget. It is not just the pain, no; there is an urgent tingling between her parted thighs and she is desperate to touch herself to ease it, but she dare not move her hands from the stage.
Mr Manfry and Cherry are alone in the cellar. Mr Porrit has taken a well whipped and he
lplessly sobbing Bunty upstairs with him to ‘help him fetch some sherry’ for the gentlemen to enjoy.
‘Is it tender, sweetheart?’ Mr Manfry asks. ‘It certainly feels hot.’
‘Oh, ah, please sir, it’s stinging terribly,’ she tells him.
‘That’s enough, Cherry; keep quiet unless you want some more tawse. For heaven’s sake, girl, that was the gentlest of pats.’
This is nothing but a lie. Mr Manfry is smacking and pinching the sore flesh of her bottom with cruel relish, and Cherry has to bite her lip and use every ounce of self-control she has to keep from crying out again.
At last he stops and picks up the cream. Cherry waits, breathless with expectation as he tantalises by standing motionless behind her. Then she feels the cool cream on her bottom, and a sigh escapes her parted lips.
It is simply delicious. Her poor bottom, so hot, so cruelly punished by the tawse, quivers as he smoothes in the cold, soothing cream. She wishes this could go on forever. Her bottom does not stop throbbing, but raw pain turns to an almost pleasant glow under his expert hands.
But of course it does not go on forever. Cherry’s stomach tightens with anxiety as she watches him put the cream on the stage beside her, and take up the little tube of lube.
‘All right, easy girl, just stay still for me now,’ he says softly, as if speaking to a highly strung dog or skittish pony.
Cherry feels the cold lube come into contact with her anus and gives a little gasp.
‘Shhh, easy girl, easy,’ he coaxes, and a finger starts to circle her sphincter, working the lube in and expertly teasing the muscle ring into unclenching.
‘That’s it, good girl, good girl,’ he murmurs.
There is something that feels bigger than a finger or thumb pressing at her bottom hole now, and Cherry lets out a little, alarmed whinny.
‘Shhh, easy girl, just relax now, that’s it…’
‘Ah, please, it’s too big…’ she mumbles against her arm. ‘I… ah… oooooh!’
With a sudden thrust Mr Manfry sinks his lubricated erection deep into her anus. In alarm Cherry wriggles, but he holds her hips and pushes ever harder. An astonished gasp escapes her as she feels his cock fill and stretch her rear passage. His paunch rests and moulds against the sore flesh of her impaled buttocks and she cannot help but moan with pleasure.
‘Do you like that, my feisty little wriggler?’ Mr Manfry grunts, as with every thrust he seems to be impaling her further. As well as the discomfort as he stretches her tight anal sphincter, Cherry’s strapped bottom flesh is being abraded by the rough material of his suit. She gasps and squeals but every desperate squirm just seems to get him even more excited. His cock, already stretching her snug passage to the utmost, seems to be getting even bigger, and Cherry whimpers as he buggers her with surprising vigour and expertise.
At last Mr Manfry starts to growl expletives. Cherry feels his climax building as he ploughs his cock inside her. She is delirious now, desperate to touch herself, but still she does not dare to.
Then a hand moves from her hip and reaches beneath her tensed tummy, and Cherry sobs with gratitude as it locates and stimulates her clitoris and immediately she starts to spasm, triggering Mr Manfry’s climax. With a great bellow he erupts and spouts hot spunk deep inside her rear passage, and she cries as her whole being is engulfed by wave after wave of utter ecstasy.
Mr Porrit reappears with Bunty, and she has a strange, glazed expression in her blue eyes. Cherry watches the blonde girl come down the stairs, carrying a tray with a decanter and two sherry glasses upon it, feeling a little dazed herself.
There are a couple of plush armchairs in the cellar and the gentlemen make themselves comfortable in them. Then obeying a word from Mr Porrit, Cherry pours the sherry and gives both men a glass.
‘I don’t know about you, Peter, but I could do with a footstool. All that gym and drill has tired me out.’
‘Oh yes, absolutely. Bunty, put the tray down and make yourself useful.’
‘Cherry,’ Mr Porrit says, snapping his fingers and pointing at the floor in front of Mr Manfry.
Cherry feels the blood rise to her cheeks again, but of course she does not protest. She drops to her knees in front of Mr Manfry, gets on all fours and dutifully dips her back.
Mr Manfry puts his feet up on her naked back and sips his sherry. ‘This is not a bad amontillado,’ he says appreciatively, ‘and the footstool is very comfortable.’
‘Mine isn’t bad, either. Just dip your back a little more, Bunty, that’s it. Now stay absolutely still if you don’t want some more of the cane.’
‘Any plans for the weekend, Peter?’
‘Yes, actually, I was going to take Bunty up to Suffolk, to see old Archie Baxter. He’s finally got that pony-carting track sorted. Why don’t you come? I’m sure Archie would jump at the chance to get Cherry in harness.’
‘Another time, maybe. Persephone Harcourt-Jones has a new girl – a proper little madam, apparently. Promised I would go over and lend a hand.’
‘Difficult, is she?’
‘Quite a little spitfire, apparently. Especially skittish when it comes to men, it seems.’
‘So Percy needs a chap to help with the training?’ Mr Manfry mused. ‘Oh well, you’ll have to bring Cherry up to Suffolk in the not too distant, though; the pony-carting season will soon be in full swing.’
‘That’s a point, actually. It is high time I introduced Cherry to the bit and harness. She is far from trained, but she is becoming reasonably biddable.’
Mr Manfry snorted derisively. ‘God, Norman, you are such a perfectionist. Reasonably biddable indeed! She is more obedient and better at drill than that lazy trollop of mine, and you’ve only had her for two weeks! She is as ready for the bit as any filly in Archie Baxter’s stables. I bet you’ll be dressage training her by next week!’
Cherry listens to this conversation with mounting alarm. She tries to keep her breathing steady and stay quite still. Mr Manfry’s feet are heavy and the heels of his shoes dig into her bare back, but it is more the sheer humiliation of her situation that makes her tremble as she listens to the men. They are discussing her as if she’s an animal, and all this talk of ‘bits’ and ‘harnesses’ is seriously alarming. What new indignities does Mr Porrit plan for her?
The memory of her strapping is still horribly fresh in her mind, however, and the skin of her bottom is still raw, so she just nibbles her lip and tries to stop the tears of helpless humiliation from running down her cheeks. It could be worse, she tells herself; being the naked footstool of a fat old man is not so bad. It could be much worse. She could be beaten again. It could be so much worse. A glistening tear runs down her nose and drops off the tip to splash on the concrete cellar floor.
‘Well now, what about a little show? Would you like to do a little show for us, girls?’
The men have finished their sherry and thoughts have turned back to their erstwhile footstools. Cherry and Bunty stand facing the gentlemen, their hands behind their heads.
At that moment Cherry can think of very few things she would like to do less. ‘Yes, Mr Porrit, erm, sir,’ she says, a little confused how to address him as she’s in a drill position.
‘Yes, Mr Porrit,’ Bunty echoes, sounding even less enthusiastic than Cherry, if that was possible.
‘Well then, what do you say?’ Mr Porrit plays with the cane, eyes twinkling through old-fashioned glasses.
‘Please,’ the naked girls say in a ragged chorus.
‘Please, what?’
Cherry swallows, blushes deeper and blinks. ‘Please, may we do a little show for you, sirs,’ she manages at last, hoping desperately this is what he wants to hear.
‘Bunty?’
Cherry gives a quiet sigh of relief.
‘Please, sir, may we give, um, a show for you, sir… I mean, sirs.’
‘Oh for goodness sake, girl, stop burbling!’ Mr Manfry snaps.
‘That’s settled, then,’ says Mr Porrit. ‘So the next question is, what sort of a show shall it be?’
Cherry is astonished when she understands what she is going to have to do. The harness is a thing of black leather straps and gleaming buckles. Mr Porrit fastens her into it, pulling every strap a bit too tight. There is one around her waist and straps about each thigh. But it’s the broad one that goes from the front of the belt to the back, passing between her legs, that makes her wince.
She is staring down at the thing that curves up from her loins. It is a great black rubber dildo that extends from the front of the harness, rearing up to the height of the waist belt. The huge bulbous head bobs slightly as she moves, eight inches or so from her flat tummy.
A hand on her bottom draws her attention away from her astonishing new appendage. Cherry tries to bite back a gasp as cold lubricating jelly is applied. The broad band that holds the dildo ends before her rose hole, two thin chains linking this to the back of the belt. These chains are now pushed apart and something is being inserted into her bottom. Cherry can guess what it is because she’s watching Mr Porrit do the same to Bunty.
The blonde girl gives a moan – of what? Terror, pain, or pleasure? Cherry cannot be sure. A latex plug is pushed into her bottom, anchoring a little pink latex spiral, and once inserted it looks as if Bunty has a little piggy’s tail.
Next the men produce latex snouts with elastic attached. Cherry’s is slipped on, and Mr Manfry’s hands drop to her breasts and begin playing with her nipples. Trying to ignore the fact that they’re stiffening in response, she sees Mr Porrit patting Bunty’s striped flank fondly. The welts must still be sore because Bunty’s forehead creases in pain.
‘Now girls, hop onto the stage again,’ he orders, ‘on all fours. Remember that piggies cannot stand up and piggies cannot speak.’
Damsels in Distress Page 19
