The Girlspell III

by William Avon

  ‘No, don’t hide anything,’ Arabella said. ‘Clasp your hands behind your head. And for goodness sake spread your legs. That’s not how a bond slave displays herself, you know that. Let Styles and Burdock have a good look at you…’

  Biting her lip, Belinda obeyed.

  She had a pale-skinned body, with a small waist and slim legs making her hips look wider than they were. Her breasts were pert and set high and well-proportioned to her chest. They were capped by perfectly round pale pink nipples with distinct areolas and central nubs. Her bottom was smooth, narrowly cleft and its cheeks were pleasantly rounded. A thick dark fluffy mass of hair flowed up from between her thighs and spread out in a fan under her belly. Two pursed pink labial lips pouted from its dark heart.

  Styles and Burdock walked approvingly round Belinda as she stood naked and trembling before them. She could smell their sweat and was aware of the heat of their half-naked bodies. How she hated them and hated Arabella!

  They closed in on her, stroking her thighs, cupping and squeezing her breasts, pinching her bottom cheeks and tweaking and tugging her pubic bush. Belinda’s disdain shamefully dissolved into panic and fear and she squealed and whimpered at the feel of their rough, calloused hands as they tested her flesh.

  ‘You’re making so much fuss,’ Arabella exclaimed. ‘You’re not still a virgin, are you Belinda? Surely not. Check, her out...’

  They bent Belinda over, pulling her arms up painfully behind her to hold her in place. Slapping her thighs to keep them parted they probed the pouch of her sex from the rear, sliding stiff hard grimy fingers into her moist, warm, twitching passage.

  ‘Nope, she’s no virgin, Miss,’ they reported, while Belinda began snivelling quietly.

  ‘Good,’ said Arabella distractedly. She had been sorting through the tools and materials the men had brought with them. ‘It’s a pity none of my devices are ready,’ she continued, ignoring Belinda’s distress. ‘We’ll just have to improvise. Bring her over here…’

  At Arabella’s direction they bent a trembling Belinda across their sawhorse, so that her smooth belly pressed against the rough wood of its crosspiece. Pulling her legs wide they tied her ankles to the foot of the splayed horse legs with odd lengths of rope they had used to bind bundles of timber together. Her arms were pulled behind her back and her wrists were roughly bound. They nailed the ends of four foot lengths of wooden batten to the feet of the horse on the opposite side from those to which Belinda’s legs were bound. With Arabella holding Belinda’s head by her hair the men crossed the upper ends of the battens under Belinda’s neck, wiring them together so they wedged under her chin, forcing her to keep her upper body straight and head uplifted. Belinda squirmed but she was held fast. Her breasts hung freely beneath her while her hindquarters and pussy were dreadfully exposed and open to anything they wanted to do to them. Sick dread filled her and she sagged helplessly across the horse, awaiting her fate.

  Amber had found a couple of lengths of heavy fabric webbing that had been used to hold timbers in place on the men’s cart. She swished them through the air a few times experimentally and then gave them to Burdock and Styles.

  ‘We’ll warm you up with a little beating and then you’ll beg to be fucked,’ she told Belinda. ‘Nothing to break the skin, just enough to put a blush on those pretty arse cheeks of yours.’

  ‘No, please don’t,’ Belinda began to sob. ‘I can’t do this I can’t… umph!’

  Arabella had taken out a handkerchief, balled it up and stuffed it into Belinda’s mouth. ‘That’s quite enough of that! Save your pleas for later. Right, give her a good thrashing!’

  Burdock and Styles took up positions one to either side of Belinda’s bound and bent body, taking a buttock cheek each. Drawing back their arms they swiped the fabric straps across Belinda’s bottom. There came twin smacks as the blows landed on her flawless posterior, sending shivers through her flesh and leaving blushing pink stripes in their wake. Belinda howled through her gag as tears filled her eyes. There were far worse things to be beaten with but that was of no consequence. She had never been so fearful, helpless and exposed before and that magnified her pain. It seemed to her that her bottom cheeks were being flayed to the bone. Loosened by fear a fitful, spluttering stream of hot pee hissed from her cleft back from between her stretched legs into the old straw beneath her. The men laughed and continued to beat her, varying the angle of their strokes to catch her buttocks where they were fullest, making them jump and settle, painting their undersides even deeper pink. A few swipes passed between her legs, curling about her inner thighs or licking upwards to caress the pouch of her sex, messing up its fine thatch of hair where it was not already sodden by her messy urination. And with every stroke Belinda jerked and sobbed and mewed pitifully. The shreds of her pride and anger had melted away and the only thought she had in her head was that she would do anything to make it stop. Anything!

  ‘Halt!’ Arabella said.

  Suddenly the dreadful straps were gone and Belinda was left only with the simmering, throbbing aftermath. She slumped limply across the sawhorse, her tears dripping to the ground, feeling for a dizzy moment a twisted pitiful gratitude to Arabella for ending her torment. Except this was not the end…

  Arabella felt the heat in Belinda’s rosy bottom and stinging pubes, fingering her smarting buttocks and sliding a curious finger into her pussy slot. Satisfied she moved round to the other side of the horse, motioning the men to follow her.

  ‘Show her what she’s got coming to her,’ she told them.

  Grinning, they unbuttoned their flies and pulled out their stiff and swollen cocks and shook them for Belinda to see.

  Arabella stood beside Belinda’s head as she goggled at the pair of erect and meaty shafts. ‘You made them like that. Now I’m going free your mouth and the first thing you’re going to do is beg Mr Burdock and Mr Styles to screw you. After they’ve spent inside you you’re going to beg to lick them both clean, and after that you’re going to thank them for having you, understood?’

  Belinda nodded wretchedly. Arabella pulled out the wadded handkerchief.

  ‘P… please will you screw me?’ Belinda begged.

  Styles took her first, gasping her hips and ramming his shaft into her unwilling pussy. He was not gentle but pounded into her, grinding against her sore bottom. Already aroused he climaxed quickly and she felt his hot seed spouting within her. Then came the terrible words she had to utter: ‘Please may I lick you clean?’

  He pulled out of her and came round with his cock still slimy with his sperm and her juices. She tried not to gag as he thrust it into her mouth and she tasted the revolting mess. He reached under her and clasped her dangling breasts, kneading them and pinching her nipples, threatening without words pain if she did not do a good job. Fearfully she lapped and sucked his manhood clean, choking as she had to swallow the dregs down.

  Then it was Burdock’s turn to take his pleasure in her lovemouth, making her bound body rock in its frame, and then have her pitifully beg to clean him up. He was no better or worse to serve than Styles, which was to say it was equally the most shameful and degrading experience of her life.

  But even as she performed her disgusting function she felt another cockhead pressing at her nether lips and forcing its way between them. It started to pound away inside her, driving her onto Burdock’s cock as though she was skewered between them. Styles was having her again while Burdock was still in her mouth. She was being filled from both ends. Burdock was pulling on her tits as if he was trying to milk her. It was too much to take! She was… she was… ahhhh!

  Belinda bucked and strained at her bonds, half choking on Burdock’s penis, as the orgasm ripped through her. For a few wonderful seconds she was transported beyond pain or care. Then she collapsed in a half faint, shaking with sobs of misery.

  The next thing she knew was that her mouth was
free of cock and Arabella was taking hold of a fistful of her hair and pulling her limp head up so she could look into her red, misty, shame-filled eyes. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it? You didn’t want to but you came in the end, and that’s all that Jemima’s mystery men will care about. As far as they’ll know that’s the way you like it, playing out your fantasy as a reluctant slave to the full. Now tomorrow you can go to Jemima and say: “Take me to meet your friends...”‘

  Chapter Twelve

  Return to Harness

  Major Havercott-gore strode along the road from Shaftwell village back to Markham Hall deep in thought. He’d been to the police station jail to question Amber in case she’d seen anything of Melanie during her captivity. But it turned out she had hardly seen anything at all and there had been no indication from her captors’ behaviour to suggest they had another prisoner. He was not sure whether to take comfort from the news or not. From the state of Amber’s body, which he had examined closely, it was evident she had been badly mistreated. At least he could hope that Melanie had escaped a similar fate.

  Serving in his capacity as the local JP the Major had recommended that the remainder of Amber’s sentence in the pillory be commuted and she be put up for auction at the next session. As PC Bailey had said people wanted nice fresh girls with clean skins to pelt with pillory shot, not one covered in old welts and bruises. Putting Amber out in her current state would seem cruel and might suggest to the uninformed that the police did not know how to look after their prisoners properly. But if they waited until she had completely healed she’d only be taking up space and not earning her keep. Best cut the losses to the public purse and sell her off, even if they would not get a good price for her, and let her new owner take responsibility for her recovery.

  But then who had taken Melanie? He had assumed it was all the work of the same gang, but they would hardly have taken Amber and let a quality creature like Melanie go free. If they were holding her for ransom then why hadn’t he heard from them? Irritably he swiped a pebble off the road with his walking stick. None of it made any sense.

  He was passing a copse not far from the gates of the Hall. Pinned to a tree facing the road was one of the “Missing” notices he had had printed up and posted about the district. Above the red numerals of the substantial cash reward he was offering for information leading to Melanie’s safe return it displayed an image of her face. It had been copied from the photographs of her filed in Platt’s office together with her declaration of pubic servitude and service to him. She had signed it the day the Major caught her, a confused trespasser on his grounds, and she had run so well in her attempt to escape. The poster was already looking a little bedraggled. Was that an omen? Should he give up hope?

  Then a figure stepped out from behind the tree. It was a young woman in a sunhat and light dress, with lean, strong and very brown limbs. She took off her hat and the Major staggered and nearly fell.

  It was Melanie.

  ‘I’m back, Master,’ she said simply.

  They sat together on a grassy bank in the shade by the side of the road. Although outwardly their postures were innocent, Melanie deliberately faced the Major lithely cross-legged with the front of her dress rolled up enough to expose her bared pussy to his gaze in a gesture of submissive respect. That was quite proper because she was legally his slave and her body was his to use as he pleased. But for the moment he did not assert his rights. He was too relieved simply to have her back. Besides she had a story to tell of her time in her own strange version of England.

  ‘I can’t tell you who was responsible for taking me away the night of the Ball, Master. But I can assure you they’re not the threat you think they are. The whole business was more a means to settle scores with Arabella. She’s made a lot of enemies around here. I was just caught up in it all. I didn’t want to go but I had no choice. Then things got even more complicated and I was returned home. I didn’t plan that either, but once I was back in my own England I couldn’t come back here and I had duties to fulfil, like I told you.’

  ‘Yes, you said you were an officer of the law,’ the Major said.

  ‘I still am, back there. But now other people are after me, and they really are dangerous. They want the puzzle box that brought me here the first time, except that I don’t have it. They didn’t believe that and hired men to break into my home. They slid a knife up my pussy as an inducement to tell me where the box was.’

  The Major glanced down at her pretty bared sex anxiously. ‘You weren’t damaged?’

  ‘No, I was ready for them. I broke a few bones with my truncheon and chased them out onto the street.’

  ‘Ha! That’s just the fighting spirit I expect from my brown vixen!’

  ‘Realizing I needed advice I then made contact with somebody who could help and they returned me here. Please don’t ask me who that was, Master. They could also be in danger.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. This is where you belong,’ the Major said fervently. ‘I’ll keep you safe.’

  Melanie smiled sadly. ‘I wish it was that simple, Master, but I don’t think even you can guarantee my safety. I’ve only now realised what these people can do. Think of the day you first found me. The phallus had transported me into your grounds and I didn’t even know it, because I’d arrived inside the boundary wall which didn’t exist in my world. If somebody used one of these boxes the right way they could have got inside your study even if the door was locked.’

  The Major frowned. The fact that young outsider women regularly if mysteriously arrived in the land, usually in a state of some confusion, had been known for so long that it was accepted almost like an inexplicable but beneficial natural phenomenon. They made good, willing bondslaves and so were readily assimilated. Stories circulated about the strange land they came from which became half mythical. Some scientists had tried to research the girls’ origins but he’d never heard of any results from their investigations. Who cared when the girls were such pretty gift horses? Only now did he begin to appreciate that there could be more serious issues involved.

  ‘Back in my England I asked my Chief Constable if I could take indefinite leave from my job to find some answers,’ Melanie continued. ‘It was highly irregular but he agreed. Now I have to ask you the same question, Master. If I hadn’t another care in the world I’d like nothing better than to be part of your pack like I was before. But I do have cares and responsibilities and so we’ve got to come to a new arrangement.’

  ‘You know I could simply take you now by force and put you back in harness,’ he reminded her. ‘The law’s on my side. You still have nearly a year left on your old servitude agreement.’

  Melanie smiled again. ‘But you won’t force me, Master, because you’re an honourable man who recognises that sometimes duty must come first.’

  ‘You’re right, damn it!’ he agreed ruefully. ‘But it’s also because you are my prize pack girl who I’m letting talk to me as I have no other and I have an urge to indulge you.’

  She bowed her head forward so he could stroke it. ‘That is so kind of you, Master,’ she said with a catch in her throat.

  ‘Very well. What’s this new arrangement, then?’

  George Platt looked up from his desk in the Kennel Yard office as the outer door opened. Seeing it was his employer entering he rose respectfully to his feet. Then he blinked and stared at the young woman the Major was escorting inside.

  The Major beamed mischievously at Platt’s look of astonishment. ‘Our lost sheep has returned, Platt, bringing a tale behind her.’

  ‘Hallo, Mr Platt,’ said Melanie. ‘It’s nice to see you again. I hope the pack are all well?’

  ‘Yes… they’re fine, girl,’ Platt spluttered. ‘Sir, how did you find her?’

  ‘Oh, she just stepped out of the woods like a nut-brown dryad,’ the Major said carelessly. ‘The important thing is she’s bac
k. And she’s willing to sign a new servitude agreement for five years. What do you think of that?’

  ‘Well that would be wonderful, Sir.’

  ‘But it’s got to have a special codicil. Get out your typewriter, Platt. We’ve got a new agreement to put into the proper form.’

  Half an hour later Platt watched as Melanie signed her updated Declaration of Voluntary Servitude, with its strange codicil pinned to it.

  ‘A bondslave free to come and go as she wishes, Sir?’ he exclaimed. ‘Whoever heard of such a thing?’

  ‘Better than one who’s never here at all,’ the Major pointed out. ‘She’ll make herself available for training and all the important events on the calendar, circumstances permitting. You’ll inform the staff that there will be times when she will be free to leave the Hall grounds.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ Platt, said dutifully. It was all very irregular but on the other hand he was pleased to see his employer back to his normal good spirits. And Melanie was undeniably something special and they were still two girls short.

  ‘And send some of the boys out to take down those posters,’ the Major said with satisfaction. ‘They won’t be needed now. And I must inform Bailey to call off the search for her.’

  ‘And the reward, sir?’ Platt asked.

  ‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten about that.’ He chuckled. ‘Well, I suppose, as Melanie retuned herself safe and sound, it properly belongs to her.’

  Melanie smiled at the Major affectionately, as though they were sharing a private joke.

  ‘We don’t usually keep such sums amongst the girls’ possessions, Sir,’ he pointed out. ‘Should you keep it or should I pay it out to her when she asks like… well, like pocket money? And what would the staff think?’