Cauldron of Fear

by Jennifer Jane Pope

  Sarah's screams were brutally stifled, by the simple expedient of someone thrusting a wadded rag into her mouth and tying another strip of cloth to prevent her from expelling it. Then, as hands dragged her from the coach, a sacking bag was thrown over her head and drawn closely about her neck. Her hands were dragged behind her, tied securely and tightly with thin rope and then she felt herself being lifted and thrown over a horse.

  Hardly a word was spoken during this, but dimly she was aware of orders being given to the driver to throw down the post box. Hoping her captors might be temporarily distracted, Sarah tried to heaver herself clear, but found herself grabbed again and felt more ropes being tied over her and about her kicking ankles. Finally, as she began to realise the futility of further struggle, a hand slapped down on her upturned bottom, causing her to squeal with pain and surprise through the makeshift gag.

  'Keep your arse still, girlie!' a gruff voice said, speaking close to her ear. 'You ain't goin' nowhere and you'll only tire yourself out.'

  A few minutes later Sarah heard the sound of jingling harnesses, accompanied by muttered grunts and followed almost immediately by the sounds of more slaps and then whinnying and hooves clattering forward and quickly fading into the distance. Even in her terrified and shocked state she understood what was happening - the highway robbers had unhitched the team from the coach and sent it galloping on its way, obviously with the intention of delaying the rest of their victims from raising the alarm.

  'Right then, girlie,' the same voice said again, 'we're going for a little ride, so you just stay still and you won't hurt yourself.' The horse moved and dipped beneath her as the rider mounted behind Sarah and, as it began to move off, to her utter shame, she realised that she was wetting herself in fear!

  Roderick Grayling leaned back in his deep armchair and raised the brandy glass to his lips, half closing his eyes as he savoured the sensuousness of the moment. Between his splayed and naked legs, the diminutive black female slave knelt dutifully, her thick lips working steadily up and down the length of his rampant member, her tongue caressing the straining flesh with its usual skill. With his free hand he reached out and patted the shaven head and smiled as the two huge eyes rolled upwards to regard him.

  'Good girl, Popsy,' he whispered. 'You earn your juices well.' He smiled contentedly to himself and closed his eyes, relaxing into the near trance that his well trained slave could always manage to induce in him, congratulating himself on the decision he had made, two years since, to keep the young African twin sisters for his personal diversion. The Arab trader demanded a high price for the pair, but it had proven money well spent, Roderick now considered.

  Less than five feet tall, Popsy and Topsy, as he named them, had slim, well muscled bodies, with wide hips, prominent buttocks and well developed breasts, all features which had matured since their arrival at Grayling Hall, for they could have been little more than seventeen or eighteen years old when he first set eyes upon them.

  Unlike the white slave girls, the twins had no false modesty about appearing naked and, except during the really cold months, habitually wore nothing except the gold decorations Roderick placed there - gold collars, gold wristlets and anklets, gold nipple rings and tiny gold rings through their elongated clitorises, plus heavy gold pendants dangling from their earlobes.

  The gleaming yellow metal contrasted beautifully with their dark coffee skins, as did the pale white paint they used upon their eyelids and the rouge they wore on their lips, in imitation of their European counterparts, was echoed on their nipples, giving an overall effect that Roderick found more erotic than anything else he could imagine.

  In addition, they had proved easy to train and any use of the whip on their gleaming bodies now was purely for Roderick's enjoyment, for he knew how the kiss of the lash could reduce either girl to the level of a lusting animal in seconds. Not that they ever appeared to need much encouragement, for they both worshipped their aristocratic master and vied with each other for the prime position in his affections.

  As Popsy now redoubled her efforts, Topsy rose from her squatting position before the fireplace and padded seductively across the thick oriental carpet, swaying deliberately from side to side, cupping her full breasts and lifting them in a gesture of deliberate supplication. Through slitted eyes Roderick watched her approach and nodded.

  She drew closer, leaned across him and guided one nipple towards his lips. With a stifled growl he drew the teat into his mouth, sucking upon it greedily, groaning again as he felt her soft hands tracing lines on his chest and then circling his own hardened nipples.

  Suddenly his back arched and his head flew back and his thick shaft began to buck, pumping his semen into the willing mouth that held fast to it still, sucking furiously, eager to accept every drop of what Roderick knew both girls considered magic strength.

  'Good girls,' he moaned. 'My two good girls.' He closed his eyes again, his head lolling onto his shoulder and, as the brandy glass slipped from his fingers and dropped onto the thick pile, he fell instantly into a drunken, sated slumber.

  'This is getting ridiculous!' Thomas Handiwell stormed, banging his fist down on the bar counter. The young army officer, his ridiculously young features creased with a mixture of concern and embarrassment, shuffled his feet uncertainly and cast a sideways and hopeful glance towards the door, as if eager to escape the coming tirade - which he was.

  'Scandalous!' Handiwell barked, and this time punched his left palm with the balled fist of his right hand. 'Look man, look, for God's sake!' He pointed vigorously to the corner bench, where the wounded coach driver was being tended by two of his maids. 'You reckon this sort of thing should be allowed to continue, lieutenant?'

  'Er, well no, sir.' Lieutenant John Scarisbrooke took a deep breath. 'But I can do nothing, sir, as I have already said. Sergeant Atkins and myself are simply travelling to Portsmouth, to join our regiment there, ready for embarkation. I have no jurisdiction here.'

  'Jurisdiction?' Handiwell cast his eyes heavenwards and let out a dramatic sigh of frustration. 'Jurisdiction, man? You think these highway robbers have any jurisdiction on these roads, do you?'

  'No, of course not, sir, but I understand that the patrols on the highway here are under the command of Captain Digwell-Short at the Hindhead garrison—'

  'And a lot of damned good they've been so far,' Handiwell cut him short. 'This is the seventh coach robbery in less than two months, d'you know that, sir? And where are Captain Digwell-damned-Short's troopers, eh? Never there when they're needed, that's where!'

  'Sir,' Scarisbrooke said, raising a placating hand, 'I understand your frustration and I will be sure to convey your thoughts to my commanding officer when I reach Portsmouth. Perhaps he can exert some influence.'

  'He could send us a couple of companies of redcoats, that's what he could do,' Handiwell rumbled. 'There've been troops in Portsmouth waiting to embark for these past six months, to my certain knowledge. Instead of leaving 'em to carousing the ale houses of that den of iniquity, why not put a few of them to proper soldiering?'

  'I'll do my best, sir,' Scarisbrooke promised, though both men knew that the likelihood of even a score of troops being sent back up from the coast was as remote as the Indies in the New World. Handiwell conceded that he would be wasting any further efforts on the young officer and turned away, striding across to stand over the injured coachman and his two fussing attendants.

  'You're lucky, Dick Willett,' he muttered, seeing the small lead projectile lying on the adjacent table. 'The fellow is still using that small shot. A normal pistol ball would have ripped your arm off at that close range.'

  Willett, grimacing as one of the women began tightening a bandage about his upper arm, nodded. 'Aye,' he agreed, 'but it hurts nonetheless, and it still made plenty of blood. Damn me, but I should have halted when he first called out. He was far enough back that I didn't think he had that much chance of hitting me.'

  'Sounds like the same fellow as shot Georg
e Cosworth last month,' Handiwell said. 'Took him in the shoulder from fifty paces - damned good shooting, with a pistol and in the dark. There were four of them again, too, so it seems like the same gang.'

  'Lucky neither of us was killed,' Willett growled.

  Handiwell narrowed his eyes. 'I doubt there was that much luck involved,' he said. 'I don't think this fellow is out to kill, otherwise he'd have put a ball straight through your chest, which is a far bigger target. No, he's no murderer, though he'll swing anyway, when he's caught.'

  'They took the woman,' Willett said. 'Grabbed her and bundled her over a horse, all trussed up like a package.'

  'So I hear.'

  'Not that she was really even a woman, from what I saw of her,' Willett continued. 'Not much more than a slip of a girl. Didn't hardly look old enough to be travellin' alone.'

  'She's Oliver Merridew's niece, so I'm told,' Handiwell said. 'Lost her family in the last plague outbreak and had nowhere else to go.'

  'You mean Major Merridew, as was?' Willett said. 'Him over at Barten Meade?'

  Handiwell nodded. 'Aye, that's him,' he said, 'though the Good Lord himself knows Merridew can barely feed the mouths he already has there.' He paced across to the bar counter, paused there for a few seconds and then turned back.

  'Will you be able to drive the coach on today?' he asked.

  Willett shrugged and tried to sit upright, wincing again as he moved. 'Maybe,' he said. 'Give me an hour and a couple of long brandies, unless you've got any laudanum in the place? Young Francis can take the traces anyway and I'll just keep my eye on him. As long as we goes steady, he'll be all right.'

  'Then wait a pair of hours,' Handiwell suggested. 'I'll take your place on the box and hitch my horse behind, so I can ride back. Maybe if I go to Portsmouth I can get some sense from the military there.' He slapped his hands together again, frustration and anger showing still. 'But first, I think I'll ride across to Barten Meade.

  'If these swine have taken Oliver Merridew's niece it's a fair bet they'll be wanting a ransom, and that poor sod couldn't afford to ransom a church mouse.'

  Sarah Merridew had passed beyond terror and into a state of shock so deep that she now appeared to be viewing events through a veil of smoke, unable to believe that what was happening was actually happening and regarding herself as no more than an observer.

  Her captors had ridden for what seemed like hours, with Sarah being jolted about even more painfully than she had been on the coach, her breath driven from her lungs on several occasions so that, with the foul rag stuffed in her mouth, she feared she would suffocate inside the sacking hood.

  Eventually they halted and, after a short pause, she heard the sound of voices, but it was several minutes before she really understood what she was hearing. There was a new male voice, surely enough, but now there were female voices and, as she strained to hear what they were talking about she realised, with astonishment, that the female voices had to belong to the four masked figures who had waylaid the coach.

  Unbelievable as it might seem, the truth was inescapable; the four highwaymen were, in reality, highwaywomen! For an instant hope surged in Sarah's breast, but it was immediately dashed as she felt a hand clapping across her backside again and one of the females addressed her.

  'Well, my dainty little sweet,' the woman laughed, 'I hope you enjoy your new life. Let's have you down so this tight-arsed swine can see the goods he's paying for.'

  Ropes were loosened, but not those that were biting savagely into Sarah's wrists, and more hands bundled her to the ground. Fingers tugged at the cords that secured the sack and then the dusty hood was pulled clear. Sarah blinked, but there was little light to startle her eyes, for they were standing outside what appeared to be a large barn and the only illumination was a flickering lantern held in the hand of a youth, who stood just behind and to one side of a tall and imposing man.

  'Get that light closer, Pip,' the dark-haired fellow instructed and the younger male dutifully stepped forward, lifting the lamp higher as he did so. His master - for that was clearly what the older man was - peered into Sarah's startled face, studying her with a detached air, before stepping back and giving a curt nod to the semi-circle of dark-robed highwaywomen.

  'Not bad,' he drawled, 'but two guineas is a high price for an untrained wench. We'll need to feed her whilst we break her and that all costs.'

  'Two guineas is a bargain, Adam Portfield,' one of the women snapped, 'and you know it. Look at her, man; fair-haired, fair-skinned, pretty face and a nice slender figure, though still with a bosom any man'd pay well for.'

  'Or woman, eh, Jane?' Adam leered. The dark-haired first speaker drew a pistol from her belt and levelled it at him, her aim unwavering.

  'Want an extra ball down there, Adam Portfield?' she said quietly, and the man raised his hands, his smile fading slightly.

  'Janey, you know my humour,' he replied. 'And you know I have a fancy for you, regardless. T'was just my little jest. I meant nothing ill of it.' Slowly, the pistol lowered again. The woman replaced it carefully and gave a little snort.

  'That's one fancy you'll never realise,' she said, 'and we both know it. The man who ever takes me won't live to enjoy the feeling.'

  'Aye, well, there's a shame to it, but each to our own, eh, Janey?' Adam lowered his hands and then raised two fingers of his right hand and touched them to his lips. 'My loss, bonnie lass, but I'll always be here, if ever'n you take a fancy to change your mind.'

  'In your dreams, Adam Portfield,' Jane retorted, already turning away. 'Just take your goods and see to it that his high-and-mightyship gets our two guineas to us quicker than he paid for the last wench, else it'll be two guineas and a half he'll be paying. Just because we're females he'd better not think he can take advantage of us!'

  Adam stepped forward, taking a hold of Sarah's upper arm. 'No one who knows you would ever think that, Janey,' he said. 'Not in business, nor in any other way.'

  When the four women had mounted and ridden off into the darkness, Adam turned again to Sarah, studying her as he had before, but this time displaying a lot more interest and apparent pleasure.

  'Yes, pretty one,' he said as he thrust her towards the barn, 'you are worth every groat of the asking price. A week or two's work with you, and I reckon you could fetch twenty times that price, to the right buyer.'

  Kitty was astonished at how many other girls and women there seemed to be in the place, for this was the first time she had been allowed to see outside the two or three rooms within the barn-like structure, where she had spent all her time since first arriving here.

  Still with her arms strapped securely to either side of her training harness, and now with a broad collar of leather about her neck, which forced her to keep her head abnormally erect, she was led out by one of the youths who formed the core of Adam's assistants, thin chains attached from her collar to the collars of similarly un-attired females in front and behind her and then, when two coffles of ten girls each had been formed up, they were made to trot around the perimeter of the large meadow that stood behind the barn.

  The young handlers used whippy canes to make sure none of the girls tried to slack, ensuring they maintained a brisk pace in the early morning sunshine and that they all remained silent throughout, though Kitty could not help noticing that four of the girls also wore thick gags. She assumed this additional indignity had been imposed as some sort of punishment and resolved that she, at least, would not incur any displeasure.

  Memories of her encounter with Adam were still very fresh in her mind and, as she recalled the events of the night before, she felt herself becoming first warm and then wet. She shook her head, trying to block out the images, not wanting any of the younger men to see the evidence of her wantonness, but one in particular, a fair-haired lad whom the others called Daniel, seemed to have singled her out for particular attention.

  Falling into step alongside Kitty, he flicked at her bouncing breasts with the tip of his cane and then flic
ked it against her buttocks.

  'So you're the one Master Adam calls Titty Kitty, eh?' he laughed. 'I can see why; such a lovely pair of bubbies and so nice and firm, too.' He stretched out one hand and stroked her right breast, which was nearer to him. Kitty felt herself trembling at his touch.

  'Well, Titty Kitty,' he said, 'when the morning exercise is over I shall take special charge of you; see if you're as good a poke as my cousin reckons.' Kitty looked sideways at him, an expression of surprise and alarm on her face. Seeing this, Daniel sniggered.

  'Oh, thought you were cousin Adam's private property, did you?' he cried. 'Well, you'll soon learn that things don't work like that here. All you wenches are common property once Adam's had first poke - all except the two little piccaninny wenches, and they're reserved for his lordship.

  'Mind you, that won't stop him tupping you, too, not once he sees you, Titty Kitty,' he added, leering. 'So you'll get yourself a mouthful of aristocratic cock meat before you're sold on, don't you worry about that.'

  'Sir,' Kitty panted, lowering her eyes as she trotted, 'may I ask a question?'

  'Well yes, you ask away, Titty Kitty,' Daniel said agreeably. 'What can I tell you, slave girl?'

  'I'm to be sold, I know that,' she said, still not looking up at him, 'but when will that be?' She trotted another couple of paces. 'And where shall I go?'

  'Ah well,' he replied after a few seconds, 'that's a fair question, but the answer will depend. With those nice bouncing boobies his lordship will probably hold out for a good price, so I doubt you'll be shipped out to the Indies with the next major consignment.

  'On the other hand, whoever bids best for their disposal might well decide to pay a decent price for you as an extra, so who's to say? Or you could end up going east, to the Orient. The Bey's agent is due quite soon, I believe, and he'll be interested in a fair rose like you, I'm sure.'

  'An Arab, you mean?' Kitty said plaintively. 'You mean I am to be sold into a harem?'