Bound For Pleasure at Blackthorne

by Roger Hastings

  Kerrie wept as her mare carried her away from Barth’s lewd laughter.

  Poppie was crying, her lower lip quivering as she shuddered with her sobs. The tears blurred her vision, turning the approaching line of trees into giant claws waiting for her. Her mare was panting now, tiring from the long gallop across the moor. It slowed to a walk and carried Poppie into the tree-line, and down the slope to the edge of Ladylove Lake. The mare drank deeply of the dark blue water, then slowly waded out into the chilly lake.

  Snorting and panting, the horse stepped slowly but deliberately forward, the water getting deeper and deeper. It was already up to Poppie’s knees, and showed no hint of stopping its progress up her thighs.

  “Stop!” Poppie sobbed, “Oh, horsy, please stop. Turn around and take me back where it’s safe.”

  But Shawe had trained the mare well, and she didn’t heed Poppie’s pleading. Poppie was carried farther out into the lake, until only her jutting, conical breasts and head remained above the surface. She was half-way toward a large island in the center of the lake, its thick canopy of trees and branches hiding whatever might be lurking inside, waiting for Poppie’s mare to deliver her into its clutches.

  Poppie shrieked. Something in the dark water brushed against the curving calf of her leg. She screamed as she felt it again, a rough, rasping sheath of some living creature exploring her flesh. Poppie’s cry startled her mare, and it stepped quickly sideways, raising its head and whinnying. It almost stumbled as it struggled for footing in the muck below. The horse sank momentarily, and a terrified Poppie felt the water rise up around her neck.

  “No! No! Please, horsy, please don’t let me drown!”

  She was trembling uncontrollably. She screamed as she felt the sensation against her leg again, this time high up on her thigh, almost at her hip. Then there was another touch, a nipping, nibbling teasing of her skin. Poppie cried out as another, then another, then more seeking creatures nipped at her hips and waist, moving around to explore her belly.

  For the last year, Crom and Gregor had collected earthworms, coated them liberally with pussy-juice, then tossed them to the hungry mouths undulating in the murky lake. By now, the nameless creatures lurking below the surface had developed a fondness for pussy. Now they were closing in on Poppie, wiggling against her thighs, trying to squeeze between her crotch and the horse’s back to enjoy their treat.

  “Help! Oh my gawd! Somebody! Please help me! YIE-E-E-E!” Poppie was shaking her head, her mouth wide open and screaming, almost insane with terror.

  A soft whistle came from the brush and interlaced branches of the trees on the island. The white mare whinnied in reply and surged forward, struggling through the water toward the sound. Poppie wept with relief as she felt the horse stumble up on the shore. The brush scraped against her legs and waist as she was carried into the heart of the island. The mare stopped in a clearing in the center of the trees, and began cropping at the lush grass as the last glimmer of twilight faded in the west. Poppie’s mind was whirling with images, her imagination completely out of control. A cold, icy feeling rising up in her heaving chest told Poppie that her mare was waiting for something. Something that wanted her.

  Kerrie’s mare carried her beyond Barth’s hut. Her horse was tired now, slowing to a trot. The jouncing motion caused her abundant breasts to flounce up and down like a pair of leg-kicking chorus girls. Kerrie was passing Smuggler’s Bog on her left. A dank, pungent smell of ropy surface scum hung in the air. Frogs croaked and thrummed in the evening air, welcoming the onset of twilight. Kerrie’s head swerved to the left, her wide eyes searching out the surface. Some serpent, roused from its torpor, had heaved its dark silhouette to the surface and plopped down again; a secret shape that left only a spreading ripple. The reeds swayed and jiggled as it twisted and writhed between the stems just under the slime-splotched surface. Kerrie shuddered. She breathed a silent ‘thanks’, as her mare continued trotting up Moorland lane.

  Her mare slowed to a walk as it carried her through the open gate in the fence where the bog ended and Blackthorne Forest began on her left. The lane followed close alongside the eaves of the forest, turning and curving under the overhanging branches.

  The sun had set in the sea beyond the trees, and shadows were now dark and ominous among the trunks. A thin fog was developing, reaching out for defenseless Kerrie like a cloaked and hooded abductor. She shivered, even though the damp evening air was still warm. The sky darkened rapidly as her horse followed the lane for another two miles, then turned into the forest where a narrow footpath branched off toward the west.

  The gloom surrounded Kerrie, and the strange quiet made every sound seem a threat; her mare’s hooves clumping in the moss and leaves, the moan of a languid breeze in the branches arching over her, and the insidious rustles among the shadow-cloaked brush close on each side of the path.

  “Who’s there?” Her voice sounded thin and tremulous in her ears. She stared into the blackness ahead. She was sure she heard a twig snap as something stepped on it. Kerrie was shivering. Her mare, feeling Kerrie’s terror, obeyed its training. The horse slowed to a hesitant walk, making Kerrie’s naked, bound and helpless body easier to see, easier to sneak up on, easier to catch. An easy prey.

  “Please, whoever you are, you’re scaring me!” Her voice scattered among the thick trunks, echoing faintly back...”you’re scaring me!” Just on the edge of hearing, so faint and far away she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t imagining it, came another sound; male laughter. And her unconcerned mare was taking her resolutely toward it. An almost ludicrous memory of a poem she memorized in her literature class came flooding back, churning in her imagination;

  “Tiger, tiger, burning bright,

  In the forest of the night...”

  Lissa’s strong-legged mare, Aleta, was still galloping, exulting in the freedom of carrying a rider who could not tug the reins, whip its flanks, or gouge spurs into its unprotected flanks. Aleta lifted her head and whinnied to the darkening sky, declaring her independence and self-willed journey to...

  “Who knows where?” Lissa said. She leaned forward and spoke to her mare. “I wish I knew where you are taking me, and what is waiting to claim me when I get there!” Lissa bit her lip, “Maybe I don’t want to know. Shawe and Gregor had their heads together, whispering about this frolic. I expect there’s more going to happen to us girls than even I can hold out against. Do you remember last Fall, when the stallions were in rut? I took you to that pen in the pasture where I chained your spread hooves apart, tied up your tail to expose your pussy, and clamped that wooden stock around your neck? I had such fun watching those fiery stallions mounting you all day, one after another. You whinnied so piteously. You couldn’t even turn you head to see which stallion was fucking you next. I guess tonight, you’re going to get your revenge. You’ll enjoy watching the same thing happen to me, won’t you?”

  Aleta had reached the edge of the heath, where its western edge dropped steeply down to the dark sea. Slowing to a trot, the horse carried Lissa north as she admired the rosy sky darken into twilight. There was no moon tonight, and the stars would be beautiful. But the forest would be as black as the pit of torment, and it stretched for miles. Would the satyrs be out tonight? The half-human, mythical, yet existing in the real world, creatures who lived in the Forest. The dwarfed creatures that lived only to drink wine and fuck bound and helpless beauties whom the Cailean family sent to them as a gift for the night?

  But Richard told me they only come out when the moon is full. What else could be waiting for me?

  In the villages and farms there were whispered rumors of other large, hunchbacked creatures half-glimpsed prowling through the trees, snuffling, probing or hunting down a female to consummate their feral lust.

  Unprotected naked girls are so delightfully vulnerable!

  Scott’s stallion pounded north up Moorland lane, then swung east, into the moor. He was grateful the leather strap bound to his ankles held him tight to the
saddle. He didn’t want to imagine what it would feel like if his flopping scrotum got trapped under him when his buttocks would come slamming down on the saddle. This was his first experience being exposed naked out in the open, where anyone could see his naked cock. His hopes were divided Scott welcomed the approaching darkness to shield him from staring eyes, laughter and pointing fingers if his horse carried him past a farmhouse or along the main street of a village. But the lust raging in his belly wanted enough light to find the three naked girls who were his legitimate prey.

  “Trust in your horse’s nose,” he told himself. “Shawe said he would sniff out the girls for me.” He tugged at the strong harness holding his arms prisoner behind him. “That clock better keep ticking. I don’t want it to malfunction and not release my arms. I’ll never get to fuck their virgin pussies while I’m trussed up like this.” The stallion slowed, then halted. He turned his head, testing the evening scent left and right.

  Scott spoke to his stallion. “Where the hell are you taking me? Kerrie, Poppie and I have never been out on the estate before. I guess we’re all like poor lost children in a fairy tale. Maybe there’s monsters and evil knights and wicked trolls waiting to catch those delectable girls. Hey, I guess I’m the evil knight, and I sure want to catch them. Let’s go.”

  With a snort and triumphant whinny, the black horse turned and sprang forward, galloping northward alongside the fence dividing the pasture from the moor.

  Far off to the right, a faint, piercing whistle came across the moor. The stallion whinnied in reply and wheeled east, galloping toward a line of trees. A thickening fog rolled out like a carpet across Ladylove Lake a mile ahead, and seeped between the trees. The sky above the lake was already deep purple, and the brightest stars were already pricking the velvet dome of the sky. Within minutes Scott’s horse was panting and snorting as it slowed to a walk and carried him between the trees. On the muddy bank other hoof prints showed in the dwindling light.

  “Ah-hah!” Scott said with a grin of triumph. “Good work, Ulysses. Now if I can just get my wrists free of this damned harness, I can fuck my heart’s desire at last.”

  Ulysses waded out into the water, moving toward the large island in the center of the lake.

  “How deep is it, old boy? Hope you know where the shallow ford is. I’m strapped tight to your back, so my life is in your hands—er—hooves.”

  The water rippled against Ulysses’ neck as he pushed forward, slowly feeling his way along the stony ridge under the water. Tiny creatures clustered around Scott’s naked groin, playfully nipping at his unprotected cock.

  “Hey! Be careful, little fishes, I’m going to need that tonight. Feels like all creation on Blackthorne Estate has devoted their existence to sex. How about you, Ulysses; do you have a harem of captive mares?”

  The stallion snorted and bobbed his head in agreement.

  At last the horse carried Scott out of the water and up on the thickly wooded Kidnapper’s Island. He pressed into the murky haze, turning his head and sniffing through his flared nostrils.

  “Can’t see a thing with this damned fog, Ulysses. I’ll have to depend on you to find that pretty pussy to fuck.”

  The stallion whinnied, and a faint whinny answered from the other side of the island. Ulysses surged ahead, heedless of the branches swatting and scraping Scott’s unshielded chest.

  “OW! Damn! That hurts! I guess this is where I earn my right to fuck those pretty girls. Ow! Hey, slow down and watch where you’re going!”

  But Ulysses was in the grip of his lust, too—sniffing out a mare for breeding. He charged ahead.

  Scott heard a girl’s scream, then the flurry of terrified hoof beats as Poppie’s mare galloped away. Only the distant jangle of her collar bell gave him a hope of finding her in the confusing tangle of trees and bushes, and the blinding fog.

  “Damn it!” Scott raged as he tugged uselessly at his binding harness. “Lissa, you little demon! What a cruel and cunning invention you dreamed up to torment me with. I’m so horny I can’t bear it, there’s a beautiful naked girl out there, unable to defend herself from my lust, and I’m still a prisoner of this clockwork harness. When will it release my arms?”

  The hoof beats disappeared in the unseen distance.

  “No sound of water splashing Ulysses, so she must still be on this fog-shrouded island. I can understand why they named it Kidnapper’s Island. A gang of rogues could abduct any number of beautiful young girls and bring them here for an uninterrupted orgy of forced sex, and never be discovered.”

  There was a faint, single clink of a bell far off to the left. Before Scott could say a word, the stallion wheeled around and trotted toward the sound.

  Poppie sobbed in despair. No matter how hard she wished to escape, the ringing bell on her collar would continue to betray her to a man’s predatory lust. This night could last a thousand years, and still, Scott would find her, drag her off her horse, and fuck her defenseless pussy to his heart’s content. She lifted her face to the starry sky. “Oh, let him catch me and get it over with. My older cousins told me that a man can only fuck a girl two or three times a night. I’ll endure it, then he will set me free.”

  But Scott had drank deeply of Blackthorne Wine. Made from grapes found only on Blackthorne Estate, it was fermented with a secret recipe known only to the half-human, mythological but real Satyrs living in caves on the north edge of Blackthorne Forest.

  Blackthorne Wine was incredible. Blackthorne Wine was magical. Blackthorne Wine was more than just a potent aphrodisiac. Its effects are permanent and extend the life span of men and women who drink its golden elixir. But even more prized than longevity, is the gift of perpetual virility. A man or woman who has quaffed the goblets of Blackthorne Wine could fuck repeatedly, with countless orgasms, and wake the next morning energized, aroused, and motivated to seek out another sex partner, whether she or he was willing or not. When Scott finally captured her, Poppie would be in for a terrible shock!

  Ulysses crashed through the underbrush, making a noisy announcement of his progress. And Poppie’s mare, conditioned to fear Ulysses, would always dash away, seeking safety while Poppie’s chiming bell betrayed their position.

  “This could go on all night!” Scott growled in frustration. “How in hell do Shawe and Lissa expect me to have fun with the girls this way?” Then a new thought flickered across his consciousness. Maybe that’s what they planned, a cruel joke to thwart my horny dreams. Maybe they want to see Ulysses bring me back to the stables in the morning, and laugh at my sexual frustration and shattered dreams.

  But the clock release mechanism was still ticking. Scott heard its monotonous promise whispering to him; pretty—soon, pretty soon—I’ll let you free—I’ll set you free...

  No, as much as Lissa was addicted to fucking, she would make sure Scott would eventually find her, capture her, and fuck her struggling body to ecstasy. And there was Shawe’s advice, ‘Take your girl to the center of the stone circle. It’s a fine place to abuse a struggling captive under the stars.’

  Scott grinned. “We’re coming for you!” he shouted to the terrified girl hidden in the darkness. “We’re going to fuck you both! I’ll fuck you while Ulysses fucks your mare. I’ll tether your horse’s head tight to a tree to make it easy for him. You will never escape us!”

  There was a jangle of her collar bell. She was on the move again.

  “Come on, old boy, I’m terribly horny, how about you?”

  Ulysses began quartering back and forth, gradually herding the terrified mare northward, gradually forcing her into a tiny finger of land sticking out into the lake. Scott noticed the island narrowing, and realized that his pretty prey would be trapped, as the lake was too deep here for Poppie’s mare to wade across. “Good boy, Ulysses. You’re smarter than some of the interns I worked with at the hospital. They never managed to trap a girl and seduce her.”

  The bell was louder now, ringing continuously as Poppie’s mare desperately galloped ba
ck and forth in a hopeless search for a path of escape. The fog thinned here, blown into tatters by the night breeze sweeping across the lake. They saw each other.

  “No! Please—stay away!” Poppie sat on her mare, her twin beauties jutting out, their exquisite vulnerability enhanced by her forced posture. With her arms strapped tight behind her, her naked breasts were thrust forward, displaying her femininity with an irresistible enticement. They were helpless prey, bequeathed to men to indulge the lustful fury of their hands and teeth on her silken delights.

  “If only I could wrench my wrists free of this devil’s harness,” Scott raged.

  The mare backed into the narrow point of land, head lowered, tail between her hocks. She stood still, silent and waiting, resigned to her fate. Poppie bent forward, resting her forehead on the mare’s mane, her sobs shaking her torso. “No, no,” she moaned. “I want to go home!”

  “You are home,” Scott replied. “And we are your family, now. We are one big, happy, horny family. Why don’t you want to make love with us?”

  “I’m scared,” she whimpered. “It’s so terrible out here in the dark with scary things crawling around in the bushes.” She lifted her head, tears streaming down her face and lower lip quivering. “Don’t hurt me,” she begged. “I was told that sex is painful and dirty. Please don’t make me...” her words were choked off by the lump in her throat.

  “I’m a doctor as well as a man, Poppie. It only needs to hurt the first time, when I break your maidenhead—and then just for a moment. There’s joy in sex, Poppie. A joy and ecstasy you cannot possibly imagine. You only know how wonderful it is when you have experienced it. It’s a gift, Poppie. The most precious and sublime gift a man and woman can give each other. When you are giving me pleasure, Poppie, I will also be giving you pleasure, too.”