by William Avon
Her incoherent sobs became words forced past her gag: ‘…please use me… put your things into me… I’ll suck you…’
Jackson caught hold of her hair and twisted her head round towards him. ‘You want us inside you?’ he demanded. ‘In your front and rear holes? In your mouth?’
‘Yes… anything… please yes!’ Jemima begged.
They unbuttoned their flies, freeing their stiff cocks. One after another they plunged them into the eager orifices of their pretty captive, forcing their shafts between her lovemouth and the tight greased pit of her anus and her ring-stretched lips. Their pumping, straining manhoods glugged and squelched within their flesh sheaths as she sucked on them until they spurted hotly inside her and her eyes rolled up in ecstasy.
Such is the resilience of youth that the boys each had her a second time until they were drained. Jemima was left half insensible, eyes closed, her blushing sweat-sheened breasts rising and falling in tiny ragged shudders while sperm dripped from her red-rimmed vagina and anus onto the floor.
The boys had not realised Sally had been gone from the cellar until she came back down the stairs.
‘You done, then?’ she asked cheerfully, grinning at their now flaccid penises coated with Jemima’s juices. ‘Tea’s ready. You get started while I clean her up.’
The boys made themselves decent once more and gathered up their coats, but they remembered the lesson learned from their first outlander captive. Bending over Jemima’s bound form they each kissed her and said: ‘Thank you for letting us have you.’
The Cranborough boys were learning to be gentlemen.
As the boys trooped back upstairs, weary but happy, Sally removed Jemima’s gag, fed her some water and then began to sponge her clean. She did not unstrap Jemima as she knew she was in no hurry to be released from her bondage.
After a minute Jemima said: ‘Oh…’ fluttering her eyes open and smiling weakly, ‘that was… wonderful!’
‘You do like it rough,’ Sally observed as she flushed sperm out of Jemima’s ravaged vagina.
‘Well, you did sort of introduce me to it,’ Jemima reminded her.
‘Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to take to it like a duck going for a swim!’
‘Only because I know it’s safe with them. They follow the rules, like Amber taught them…’ she added with a shiver: ‘not like Arabella did.’ Then she frowned. ‘Do you think we’ll see Amber and Sue and Melanie again?’
‘Miss Newcombe will decide that, when the time’s right.’
‘Have they really gone back to their home?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘What do you think they’re doing now?’
‘I dunno. The outlander world’s meant to be real odd. I mean they talk like us, but they don’t have bondslaves. They do things different there…’
Chapter Two
A World Away
The slave chains jingled about Sue Drake’s naked body as she prepared tea in the kitchen of Amber’s small rented cottage on the edge of Hoakam Woods.
Sue had a mane of wavy blonde hair tied back on a ponytail, a pretty heart-shaped face and bright blue eyes. She had full breasts with large red-brown nipples. Her waist was trim, her buttocks softly rounded and her hips wide. The happy vertical smile of her newly depilated naked lovemouth showed for all to see.
Steel-reinforced rubber-lined cuffs were locked about Sue’s wrists and ankles. They were joined by six lengths of chain that connected them with each other and to the front of a belt of similar construction that was locked about her waist. Another rubber and steel collar band encircled her neck. From a ring on the front of it hung a metal tag with her name stamped on it.
Sue moved with care so that her chains do not catch on anything, but she made no attempt to remove them. The truth was she found their weight comforting. Two weeks ago she would have been horrified at the thought of wearing them. Now she knew she belonged in chains. In the days since Sue had returned from that strange alternate version of England, and all the wonders and horrors she had experienced there, she had quit her job, put her town flat up for rent and returned to stay with one of only two women in the country who understood why she now wanted only to be a loved, and loving, slave.
When the tea things were ready she carried the tray carefully through to the sitting room, where two young women of about her own age were seated. The first was pretty and black, with coffee-dark skin, clear deep brown eyes, and an athlete’s build. Her crinkly jet hair was pulled back from her smooth forehead into a dark ponytail. Her name was Melanie Kingston and she was the local policewoman, although currently she was dressed in a casual loose blouse and blue jeans.
The other was the woman Sue now thought of as her “Mistress”. Her name was Amber Jones and, until recently, she had been a successful cat burglar. She had short-cropped brown hair capping a high intelligent forehead and boldly marked eyebrows, a determined jaw line and cool, clear mischievous hazel-blue eyes. Her nose was delicately square tipped and slightly uptilted. She had a slightly leaner build than her guest and she was dressed in her favourite garb of black t-shirt and jeans.
It was the first time the three of them had been together since their sudden return and they had some catching up to do.
‘So, how does it feel to be back on the beat?’ Amber was saying as Sue entered. ‘I hope you got a commendation for “discovering” my stash. That must have boosted your clear-up rate.’
‘You know I hated lying about that,’ Mel said. ‘I don’t make deals with criminals.’
‘Well you could hardly have told them the truth, could you?’ Amber said with a grin. ‘If it helps, I never stole anything from anybody who couldn’t afford it, and a percentage always went to some good cause.’
Sue set the tray down on the coffee table between the two women and then knelt down on the small mat placed by the table for that purpose. Carefully holding her chains out of the way she began to pour out the tea.
Mel looked at her with uneasy concern. ‘Are you happy, Sue?’
‘Perfectly, thank you, Miss,’ Sue said.
‘I’m taking care of her like I promised,’ Amber said, reaching out and stroking Sue’s head. ‘You know this is what she wants. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t jump at the chance to be back in the Major’s girlpack again.’
Melanie blushed and did not reply.
Less than two weeks earlier, Melanie, working off duty on her own initiative, had tracked Amber and her stash down to Hoakam Woods. Amber had resisted arrest. They fought, accidentally activating a stolen oriental-style puzzle box containing three ivory phalluses to emanate a mysterious compulsion which had been impossible to resist. Even though she was meant to be escaping, Amber had used the first of the phalluses on herself.
The power of the orgasm it induced had somehow transported her into an alternate version of England: a world without computers, television or jet aircraft, but where female slavery was commonplace. There Amber had been caught by the boys from Cranborough House who had identified her as an ‘outlander’ and enthusiastically gang-banged her. Escaping from them, she had promptly been arrested by the local policeman, who had demonstrated that the prison regime for hapless females was even harsher.
Meanwhile the second phallus had transported Melanie to the grounds of Markham Hall, the property of Major Havercotte-gore the local squire. Apprehended as a trespasser she had been forced to join the ranks of his ‘girlpack’ a group of women kept as sex slaves and hunting trophies. To her amazement Melanie found she enjoyed the perverse lifestyle and her mastery by the Major, and she swiftly became his favourite.
Later Sue, on a lone cycling holiday to escape an unpleasant ex-boyfriend, had come across the last phallus in the box. It had carried her into Arabella’s cruel clutches, who kept her as her secret slave, together with her girl gang known disparagingl
y by the local boys as the ‘Snooties’.
The Cranborough boys had helped Amber break out of jail in return for her becoming their private slave for a term. Amber, plotting escape, convinced them to gather more girls into a secret ‘harem’. They had acquired Sally who had been a police cell-mate of hers, and then Jemima, a sympathetic member of the Snooties. Amber’s manipulations eventually culminated in Sue’s escape from Arabella and Melanie’s release from the Hall girlpack.
It was then the enigmatic and masterful Miss Newcombe had stepped in, revealing that she had been aware of their activities all along. She already knew of the power of puzzle box phalluses and used them to bring the three of them back to their familiar version of England which, it transpired, was also her original home. Then she had returned to the other world, taking the puzzle box with her and leaving them to rebuild their lives.
While Amber and Melanie took their tea, Sue knelt with her knees spread and arms folded behind her back, taking pieces of cake that Amber offered to her from her outstretched palm. Occasionally Amber stroked Sue’s hair and squeezed and rolled her breasts. Sue gazed back at her mistress with adoring eyes and uttered soft giggles of delight.
‘Had you any idea Miss Newcombe would spring that surprise on us?’ Melanie asked.
‘None,’ Amber admitted, idly tweaking Sue’s nipple. ‘Though now I come to think of it she was always around from the start. She turned up just after I was brought into the police station with some story about men in the woods. Oh, of course! She must have been watching the boys hunting for Arabella and was ready to give them an alibi.’
‘She’s certainly very convincing,’ Melanie said. ‘I told her a lot of personal stuff while she was examining me in the Hall kennels.’
‘She had everything planned, even down to fooling the boys into thinking she’d be away that last night. Did you see their faces when she turned up while they still had all of us tied to their beds? I thought they were going to pass out. Now she’s got them right under her thumb. And us too.’
‘Except... we don’t have to go back,’ Melanie said slowly.
‘Could you hold out against the call of those phalluses if she activated them?’ Amber asked scathingly. ‘Face it, we’ve changed.’ She saw the doubt on Melanie’s face. ‘Don’t believe me? Sue, get the ice cubes from the fridge.’
With a jingle of chains Sue scurried to obey and returned with a plastic bag of ice chunks.
‘Turn round, bottom towards me and hold your bum cheeks apart,’ Amber commanded.
Sue obeyed, spreading her legs and bending over to present her smooth pale bottom. Mel noticed it had a pink blush suggesting a recent spanking. Sue’s fingers stretched the fleshy cheeks wide so they could see the soft naked pouch of her sex, topped by the tight puckered eye of her anus.
Amber slid a lozenge of ice from the bag and, holding it between thumb and forefinger, rubbed it round Sue’s bottom hole, causing the sphincter to clench visibly. Sue gasped at the icy touch but held still.
Clasping Sue about the front of her thighs with one hand, Amber pushed the chunk of ice into Sue’s anus, driving it home with her thumb until the little round mouth had swallowed it. Sue gave a little whimper but said nothing.
Three more lozenges of ice followed the first up into Sue’s rectum. By now the girl was beginning to shiver.
‘Back in position,’ Amber commanded.
Sue knelt by the table once more; her lovely breasts trembling as the cold seeped through her entrails. A trickle of icy water dripped onto her mat.
‘Is that uncomfortable?’ Amber asked her.
‘Y... yes, Mistress.’
‘Good. Hold them in there until they melt.’
‘Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.’
Amber turned to Melanie, who had been watching in helpless fascination.
‘There, you’ve seen me stuff ice cubes up Sue’s rear just for the fun of it. She accepts it because she’s my slave, and you haven’t raised a finger to try to stop me because you know deep down you’d take the same treatment, or worse, from the Major. I’d put up with the same myself and love it, even as I was begging for mercy! When Miss Newcombe calls us back we’ll go, because we’ve learnt that there’s nothing as exciting as mastering or being mastered!’ She grinned. ‘We can never go back to what we were so we might as well enjoy ourselves.’
Chapter Three
Packgirls in Training
A line of six young women, naked except for cord mesh halters to contain their bouncing breasts, pounded steadily round the lanes of the oval grass running track. Their arms were bound behind them with leather cuffs so that their hands rested in the small of their backs. Unable to swing their arms the roll of their hips was thereby exaggerated, but nonetheless they all moved with rhythm and grace born out of long practice.
To ensure they completed a specified number of laps, each girl pulled a wire-spoked wheel behind her attached a small odometer. The wheels were mounted on curved lightweight tubular metal shafts to hold them clear of the girls’ flying heels. The ends of the shafts disappeared between the girls’ rolling buttocks where they were plugged into their anal orifices.
An additional device mounted on the wheel arms ensured the girls maintained a minimum pace during their laps. The turning of the wheel worked a small piston which pumped air into a spring-loaded cylinder. An adjustable valve on the cylinder meant that the air rapidly bled away. If the pressure fell too low, the expansion of the spring moved smaller hinged arms with pins on their ends closer to the girl’s buttocks. The warning pricking encouraged the girl to pick up her pace. Any girl with several pinpricks on her bottom at the end of her prescribed number of laps would have to answer for her tardiness.
Beside the track was a strip of rougher grass, the turf ripped and trodden down by heavy use. Two teams of four girls, all as bare as the runners, were encased in harnesses of heavy leather straps that criss-crossed their upper bodies. Cuffs about their wrists drew their arms straight out behind their backs. Chains from the cuffs and harnesses were secured to ring bolts set in a wooden cross beam, from the centre of which a single chain ran back to a heavy staple hammered into a large trimmed log. Bowed over, grunting and straining, the girls hauled their burdens up and down the strip of grass.
Their efforts were overseen by a young woman dressed in a shirt and jodhpurs, who walked beside them. Her bright cheerful face was set in a mask of concentration as she noted each step her charges took. Every so often she would call out: ‘Pick up your feet, Jill,’ or ‘Put your back into it, Molly!’ As she spoke the long carriage whip she was holding would flick out and the tip would lick across a rounded buttock or swaying breast. The resulting yelp from the girl in question told that the instruction had been noted.
A feature resembling a sunken garden filled the space inside the running track and contained an obstacle course. Here more naked girls were being put through their paces. They jumped wicker fences and a water hazard, squirmed through a pole maze, wobbled over a narrow log bridge, pushed through an array of close set besom “bushes” that scratched their bare flesh, clambered over a five bar gate, skipped across log stepping stones, scrabbled under a net crawl, and finally pounded up and down a sequence of earth banks to return to the start.
Panting and splattered with mud, the girls struggled on round the course once more. Today they had to perform especially well, because their efforts and those of their sisters in bondage were under the personal scrutiny not only of their trainer, but their owner and master as well.
A wooden footbridge arched over the obstacle course and linked the opposite sides of the running track. On this bridge stood two men, each noting with practised eyes every bouncing breast and glossy buttock, each swelling thigh and sweat-dewed triangle of pubic hair. One was a tweed suited, ruddy-faced grey-haired man in his fifties with a bristling moustache. The
second was a few years younger, smaller, wiry and clean shaven, wearing a brown riding jacket and flat cap.
As the girls circled about them the two men exchanged brief comments about their progress with the mutual understanding of long association. Occasionally the brown-jacketed man made a note in his pocket book.
At length the older man said: ‘Well done, Platt. They’re coming along splendidly.’
‘Thank you, Major,’ said his head keeper. ‘I think they’ll be fit and ready for the Show.’
The Southern Counties show was to be held in a month’s time and it was the highlight of the year for all owners of sporting bondslaves. Major Havercotte-gore had high hopes for the Markham Hall packgirls in this year’s competition.
‘Have you chosen the extra help we’ll need to take along?’ the Major asked.
‘I thought young Billy Meddings, the stable lad,’ Platt said. ‘He’s shown some interest in the girls’ training — more than the usual for a boy his age, I mean. He’s bright, willing and steady. He should serve well.’
‘Very good. You’d better start training him up.’
‘I’ll do that, sir.’
For a minute the Major gazed contentedly down on the naked toiling figures. Twenty-one supremely fit and attractive young women: both a challenge and a delight to own and train. Then his face darkened. Ten days ago the Hall pack had been twenty-two strong. He thought wistfully of Melanie Kingston his ‘brown vixen’: strong and agile in the hunt and sensuous and responsive to ride. What a treasure she had been! But she had been taken by the same mysterious gang who had humiliated Arabella, and had probably been behind the removal of Amber Jones from her jail cell. The police were still making investigations and he had offered a generous reward, but nothing had come of it.
As though reading his thoughts, George Platt asked: ‘Still no news of her, sir?’
