by William Avon
Bailey fitted Amber with a ball and strap gag, clipped a leash to her collar and led her out of her cell. He paused outside the next cell to collect Doreen, who was similarly restrained, then led both of them out of the door into the pillory yard.
Instead of the usual pillory devices a wheeled wooden platform with a smaller block mounted on it had been set up in the middle of the yard. Bolted to the back of the block was a vertical post with a short gibbet arm fixed to its apex from the end of which dangled a metal swivel hook. At the sight of it Amber’s stomach flipped. She was going to be sold on that box.
Beside the block platform was another lower platform with a pair of posts supporting a single iron crossbar at about neck height. Bailey led them over to it, twisted their collars round so the rings were at the back and looped their leashes round the bar and clipped the ends to their cuffed hands, forcing them to stand straight. Then he checked his pocket watch. ‘The auctioneer should be here soon,’ he said. ‘Now you both behave for him, understand?’
They nodded and he went back inside.
Amber had not had much chance to converse with Doreen during the last few days and their gagged state did not make an exchange any easier now. But as she was apparently a fellow thief Amber already felt some kinship with her. Now, as they surveyed the block once more, their eyes met and they exchanged a mutual glance of fearful anticipation.
Automatically and inevitably their eyes then flicked critically over each other’s naked bodies.
Doreen had a curling mop of collar-length brunette tresses. Her eyes were bright, sly and challenging, although her time in the pillory had dulled a little of their normal fire. Her dark eyebrows were sardonically angled and her nose was strong and straight. She had full, heavy breasts with neat pale brown nipples. Her hips swelled into womanly curves, accentuating her waist and giving her a delightfully smackable bottom. A flaring fan of close pubic curls spread from the peak of her pussy cleft and cupped her lower belly. The tongue of her inner labia pouted from the deep furrow of her vulva.
Normally Amber would have expected to give the girl a run for her money in the appearance stakes, but today handicapped by the marks of her recent abuse she knew there was no contest. She wondered how much Doreen would sell for. Hell, how much would she sell for? More importantly, would it be to the right person?
Bailey emerged from the police house in the company of a middle aged man in a neat black suit wearing a bowler hat. He was thin, slightly round shouldered, and wearing spectacles and a toothbrush moustache. He carried a clipboard and a furled black umbrella with parrot head handle hung over one arm. Amber blinked at him in surprise. This had to be the auctioneer, although he looked more like some minor clerk rather than a seller of girl flesh.
‘Only two this time, Constable?’ the little man said, looking Amber and Doreen up and down.
‘I’m afraid so, Mr Brownlow. I blame it on this panic we’ve had over this so-called slave thief gang. Everybody’s been keeping a closer watch on their property and its cut the crime rate right down. Even the usual vagrants have been giving us a miss. I’m just hoping things will get back to normal now the Major’s brown girl has turned up again. Not sure where she’s been but it doesn’t seem like the same gang had her who kept this one.’
Amber’s ears pricked up at this piece of news. So Melanie was back. That was good. That only left Sue. She realised how much she missed her loving company.
Brownlow was running his hands over Amber, prodding and patting. ‘And this was the one they held out in the woods? Hmmm… not a bad specimen underneath but these marks don’t do her justice. What’s her term of service?’
‘Six months.’
‘And an outlander, you said?’
‘Yes and quite a smart little piece with it.’
‘Well being an outlander might add some interest but I suspect you still won’t get much for her.’
‘I know,’ Bailey agreed. ‘We just want to shift her. Do the best you can.’
Brownlow turned to examine Doreen. ‘Now this is more like it,’ he said, weighing her breasts. ‘What’s her term?’
‘Nine months, the thieving little hussy.’
Brownlow moved behind Doreen and slapped and squeezed her buttocks as though inspecting a horse. ‘Well you should be able to get your money’s worth out of this one.’
‘I hope so. Time for a cup of tea?’
‘I think so.’
They went back inside. Amber and Doreen exchanged helpless shrugs. A few minutes later the girls saw Tom Soams open the yard gates. A few people had already been waiting outside and they came in. Tom gave each of them a numbered wooden bidding paddle and they strolled over to where the two girls were on display. They looked them over closely from all sides but did not touch them. Amber heard a few mutters over her fading injuries compared to Doreen’s smooth flesh and felt a strange flash of resentment at being judged inferior. I’m as pretty as she is, she wanted to tell them.
By the time a dozen or so people had gathered in the yard Amber was beginning to get anxious. Then she spotted Miss Newcombe, quite anonymous out of uniform, standing at the back. Right, this had better work, she thought.
Bailey and Brownlow came out of the jailhouse door and came over to the stand. Bailey was carrying a hand bell. Brownlow mounted the block platform and nodded to Bailey, who rang his bell. ‘Come to order, please! The auction will now commence.’
Brownlow consulted his clipboard. ‘We have two bondslaves on offer today, ladies and gentlemen. The first is an outsider girl by the name of Amber being offered for a six month term of servitude. Bring her up please…’
Feeling numb and unreal, Amber let Bailey undo her leash and lead her up onto the block, where he secured her leash over the gibbet hook. He pulled her gag strap out so that they could see her face in full. She stood with her legs apart and head high. She felt a dozen pairs of eyes boring into her and fixed her gaze on the tree tops over the yard wall.
Brownlow did his best to make light of her condition. ‘As you can see this strong and intelligent girl has recently been harshly used, but it is an indication of her health and fitness that she is healing so rapidly that in only ten days there will not be a mark on her…’ he prodded Amber with the tip of his umbrella and she shuffled round to show off her hindquarters ‘…except for any you care to place, of course.’ He related her age and pointed out the best features of her body: ‘Fine pliant breasts… tight waist… a full deep pleasure slot…’ When that was done he said: ‘Now what am I bid for this fine creature? Shall I start at ten pounds?’
Even allowing for the fact that Amber knew ten pounds bought a lot more in this pre-decimal old values version of England than her own, it did not sound much to pay for six months’ use of a sex slave. She felt absurdly undervalued. For a terrible moment she thought nobody was going to bid and then she saw a numbered paddle go up and felt a ridiculous sense of relief.
‘Thank you, Sir. Do I hear ten pounds ten?’
Brownlow managed to coax the bidding up to fourteen pounds and ten shillings and there it stuck.
‘Come now, is that a good price for such a responsive girl?’ he asked. As he spoke he reached out with the head of his umbrella, hooked its beak into her furrow and worked it back and forth. Amber gasped and squirmed as a shudder of delight coursed through her. He’d known the exactly spot to stimulate, avoiding her still tender vaginal passages and going right for the clit.
‘Fifteen!’ somebody called out
‘Fifteen pounds ten!’ said another.
Brownlow continued to stimulate her and she squirmed like a fish on a hook. She was being masturbated in front of a dozen people and she was wetting the head of his umbrella and her nipples were standing up and it was sick and desperately exciting. The tension was building with the price. Oh no, he could not possibly be trying to do
that! But he was, holding her perfectly on a knife edge as he teased her straining bud.
As Brownlow cried: ‘Gone! For eighteen pounds and ten shillings!’ she orgasmed, spraying the block with her juices. The winning bid came from Miss Newcombe.
Bailey returned a rubber-legged Amber to the display frame and put Doreen up in her place.
Brownlow opened on twenty and had the bids up to thirty before he began playing with Doreen’s pouting sex. She responded with reluctant but intense passion and eventually sold for forty five pounds as Brownlow’s umbrella handle got another soaking of girl juices. Her buyer was also Miss Newcombe.
Ten minutes later Amber knelt beside Doreen in the police station office while the formalities of their transfer to Miss Newcombe’s ownership were concluded. It had all been as simple as that, thought Amber dizzily. She’d been sold at auction at a bargain price, which she was not sure how to take. Still it had enabled Miss Newcombe to acquire Doreen at the same time, which must have been her plan all along, since she had come prepared with two sets of collars and leashes, cuffs and gags to replace their police issue set.
Miss Newcombe paid over a bundle of large blue and white banknotes to Brownlow, signed some papers and got a receipt and a couple of certificates in return. Back in more fitting fussy clerk mode, Brownlow said: ‘May I remind you, Madam, that you must register your ownership of these two slaves at the town hall within the next seven days, and of course there will be the usual tax to pay on them quarterly.’
‘Thank you, I will be sure to do that,’ Miss Newcombe said.
Taking up their leashes she led her new slaves outside.
Parked by the pillory yard gates Amber saw her Mistress had been spending money on more than mere slave flesh. A shiny new attachment had been fitted to her bike.
The middle of a horizontal tubular metal rod about three feet long was bolted through a swivel mount to the carry rack over the rear wheel of the bike. Each side of the rod was fitted with handgrips and snaphooks. Curving down and back from the ends of these rods, on both sides of the rear wheel, were twin tubular struts that angled inwards to join at their midpoints, from which an adjustable vertical rod rose to saddle height, capped by a padded semi-circular hoop and strap. The struts then separated again and curved back to the horizontal to form a narrower “Y” fork that supported another bike wheel with pedals directly attached. Slung between the wheels was a long narrow wire mesh basket.
Amber and Doreen were fitted into the wheeled frames. They were bent forward over the padded hoops which pressed into their stomachs just above their hips and made to grasp the horizontal rod to which their wrist cuffs were clipped. The hoop straps went across the small of their backs, holding them firmly in place with their breasts dangling freely, their naked rears in the air and their sex pouches on show to anybody who stood behind them. Their feet were in turn strapped to the pedals of their respective wheels and they became part of the machine.
Cables like brake conduits connected to new handgrips had been fitted to the handlebars of the bike. These cables ran back to their frames with their ends dangling under the padded hoops. Capping the ends were black rubber mushroom plugs the bases of which were ringed by stubby but sharp-tipped metal studs. Miss Newcombe forced the plugs into their rectums, overcoming the resistance of their spincters, until they nestled between the lower curves of their buttocks with the spikes just brushing their skin. There was no need for her to explain how the device functioned.
Miss Newcombe mounted the bike, looked round to check the road was clear, signalled that she was going to pull out and twisted the handgrip. Amber felt the spikes jab her bottom at the same time Doreen did, and together they began to pedal. Propelled by their straining thighs and buttocks, Miss Newcombe rolled smoothly out onto the road, her own feet merely resting on her pedals.
Miss Newcombe parked her new slave-powered bike under a small lean-to roof to one side of her cottage. Amber was grateful she did not have to pedal any further. Although it was not a long journey from the village, her time chained to her sack bed and then recovering in jail had sapped her stamina. If she was going to have to do more of this sort of thing she was going to have to get fit again.
Unstrapping Amber and Doreen Miss Newcombe led them round to the back door by their leashes. She clipped the end of Doreen’s leash to a tethering ring set into the wall. ‘I’ll be back for you shortly,’ she told her. Then she took out Amber’s gag and led her inside the small kitchen.
The door had hardly closed behind them when, with a jingle of slave chains, Sally appeared. She rushed forward and threw herself at Amber, their breasts, separated only by the thin material of Sally’s pinny, flattening against each other as she hugged and kissed Amber passionately.
‘You two can talk for a minute while I get changed,’ Miss Newcombe told them, clipping Amber’s leash to the kitchen table.
‘You’re here at last!’ Sally exclaimed, after Miss Newcombe had gone and she finally relaxed her grip and allowed Amber to breathe. ‘Oh… you’ve still got the willow marks on you! Do they still hurt? You looked bloody awful when the boys took you away.’
Amber grinned ruefully. ‘I felt awful but I’m getting over it. At least I had a better bed to sleep in.’
‘Did Bailey give you any trouble for escaping?’
‘No, he was pretty good. He believed the whole mystery slave thieves story.’
‘And now you belong to the Mistress like me, all official, like?’
‘For the next six months I do, anyway.’
‘Well at least we’ll be together. It’ll be fun.’
‘I hope so. What else has been happening?’
They were still gossiping when Miss Newcombe, now in her school matron’s uniform, returned.
‘There’ll be time to reminisce further another day,’ she told Amber. ‘You’ll stay here as my maid until you’ve fully healed. Then you can do shifts at the school. Meanwhile I’ve got to take Sally and Doreen over to their new quarters in the stables. The boys are expecting them.’
‘Is it all still going ahead as planned, Mistress?’ Amber asked.
‘Yes, the headmaster has given his full backing and both the pupils and staff are co-operating. It’s already increased interest in new enrolment. The senior boys have been busy renovating the old stable block and readying it for occupation. Sally and Doreen will be trying it out. But the boys must show they can take care of slaves properly first before that can use them for pleasure. Meanwhile the ground keeper is planning to harness the girls to the heavy roller for use on the cricket pitch, so they’ll be kept gainfully occupied.’
‘Send the boys my love,’ Amber told Sally. ‘Tell them they can have me again when I’m fully fit.’
Miss Newcombe added: ‘But remember, Sally, not a word to Doreen about how we brought Amber back or any of our special arrangements with Jackson and his friends.’
Sally looked as aggrieved as her slave-status permitted her. ‘I know when to keep my mouth shut, Mistress,’ she said.
‘Well see that you do. Now let’s get you changed….’
She removed Sally’s slave chains and maid’s costume, and put her into a plainer collar, cuffs and leash.
Leaving Amber leashed to the table, Miss Newcombe took Sally out to join Doreen, and then led the two of them away.
Amber sighed. Well in a manner of speaking she was back home, which was better than a police cell. She looked about her at the ordinariness of the little kitchen. Except for its lack of modern electronic gadgets it could have been any cottage kitchen back home. She supposed she’d better find out where everything went if she was going to be the housemaid. Still it felt reassuringly safe and comforting. There were worse places to live as a slave. As Sally said, bits of it might even be fun. But it would help if she knew what Miss Newcombe’s angle was. There was a greater purpose
behind all her machinations, if only she could work it out.
Miss Newcombe returned after half an hour. ‘They’re all set up,’ she reported. ‘Now let’s sort you out. You’d better see your room for a start…’
She led Amber up the narrow stairs to a tiny landing, from which Amber saw the doors opening into two bedrooms and a bathroom. Miss Newcombe took her into the smaller bedroom.
A small dressing table and mirror and three narrow iron frame beds, fitted with chains and cuffs, took up most of the room. On a rack of hooks on the wall, beside a double-ended dildo and a spanking paddle, hung a set of slave chains and another of the abbreviated “French Maid” outfits that Sally had been wearing.
‘Sally has been learning what I require from my maid and has been doing quite a good job, allowing for her background,’ Miss Newcombe said. ‘I expect you to learn much faster. Now get onto that bed and sit with your legs wide...’
Amber obeyed. Miss Newcombe cuffed her ankles to the foot of the bed, freed her arms from behind her back, laid her flat and re-cuffed her wrists to the bed head. Then she stood looking down at her severely.
‘You know I have an ulterior motive for bringing you back here, while I know you look on this both as a personal adventure and perhaps a chance to acquire a few valuables along the way. But in this land our relationship is not a game, and while you are my property you will serve me faithfully and obey me in every respect. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mistress,’ Amber said, very aware of the strength of her character and the absolute power she had over her at that moment. It was frightening but also very exciting. ‘May I ask you something, Mistress?’
‘You may.’
‘I heard Melanie is back at the Hall, Mistress. Is she all right?’
‘She had an interesting experience,’ Miss Newcombe said. ‘You’ll hear about it in due course. She has negotiated new terms of servitude and was also given the reward money Major Havercotte-gore was offering for her own safe return, of which I am now custodian.’
