by William Avon
It was true that they were worked hard, currently either training for the County Show or else pulling barrows or rollers about the estate for the gardeners. They might also be called upon to serve the sexual desires of Hall guests. But when they rested they had no other worries in the world. They were kept in peak physical condition, fed well and simply but comfortably housed. They didn’t even have to wipe their own bottoms after using the special toilet block reserved for their use. A pot boy took care of that messy business, in the process flushing out and re-greasing their rectums ready for whatever use might be next required of those orifices.
Melanie knew they were slaves, albeit highly prized ones, and that with skin the colour of hers she of all people should be disgusted at their treatment. And yet she found it impossible to maintain any such resentment. Was that because they were the property of a man who truly cared for their welfare, even if it was in his eyes the welfare of humans demoted to the status of talking animals? And was it also because she felt such an inexplicable sense of respect and even affection for him?
That was another worry to add to her personal list of cares and responsibilities that she knew would have to be faced at some point. But for now she just wanted to enjoy the sun on her naked body and the scent of her sister bitches as their naked and regularly stimulated pussies exuded their intimate secretions. They had been trained to be uninhibited about their passions and displayed their feelings without shame. Right now she knew they were all feeling blissfully content.
Alison entered the packyard and whistled as one would to attract a dog. All the girls pricked up their ears, ready to respond. ‘Melanie: here, girl!’ she called out.
Melanie rolled onto her paws and knees and shuffled quickly over to Alison, the swing of her hips setting her plug-in tail wagging in a parody of eager interest.
‘Somebody to see you,’ Alison said, clipping a leash to Melanie’s collar. She led her through the door into the kennel room and then out into the inner yard. The Major and Jemima Moncrief were waiting for her.
Alison handed Melanie’s leash to the Major and went back into the office. The Major walked Melanie round in a circle so Jemima could admire her. ‘There, she’s fine now, you see.’ he said as if in reassurance.
Jemima watched her for a moment and then smiled brightly at her master. ‘Thank you so much for bringing her out for me, Major,’ she said. ‘Before, I only saw her when she was sleeping in the sick room recovering from Arabella’s thistle ride. She looked so sad.’
The Major smiled wistfully. ‘Yes, you brought her flowers, I remember, and said how sorry you were. That was kind of you.’
Melanie recalled the flowers that had been left on the bars of her sickroom bed, but she’d hardly had a chance to thank Jemima for them. The night of the ball following her removal from the Hall they had both been fully occupied with surviving the Cranborough boys’ celebratory orgy. The next morning Miss Newcombe had stepped in and she had been separated from Jemima and returned home.
‘I always wondered what she would look like when she was fit and well again,’ Jemima said. ‘She does look beautiful and very strong. I can see why she’s your best bitch. I’d love to own one like her someday. Do you think I could walk her round the yard to see what it feels like?’
‘Of course,’ the Major said, beaming as he handed over Melanie’s leash.
Jemima walked her round the perimeter of the yard, watching her with wide-eyed fascination. ‘She does keep to heel just like a dog!’ she exclaimed. ‘Isn’t she clever?’
But as they circled round Melanie was noticing the way her master was smiling indulgently not at her but at Jemima. And Jemima was flashing her bright smile back at him. There was unmistakably some sort of chemistry between them.
Melanie continued to walk to heel as she had been taught, but the evident familiarity between Jemima and the Major was stirring a sudden and unexpected pang of resentment within her. She knew that weeks earlier Jemima, as part of Amber’s scheming, had deliberately insinuated herself into the Major’s affections in order for the Cranborough boys to exact their revenge on Arabella and free her in the process. As she revealed later she had asked the Major to relieve her of her virginity, which he had happily done. At the time of this revelation Melanie had too many other things on her mind to worry about it. Now it seemed she cared more than she had realised.
She was like a dog fearing that her owner’s affections were moving elsewhere. The fact that such feelings were sick and pathetic made them nonetheless real. But why was she affected like this? She did not resent his interests in other girls of the pack and he’d had all of them repeatedly. But then they were her equals while Jemima was an interloper into the secure closed world of the Hall. Listen to yourself, she thought. Now who’s being prejudiced? Pull yourself together. Her bond with the Major was quite different and was stronger than any petty jealousy. She must not let it spoil her life at the Hall.
She had embraced the path of submission, and that meant she must accept her Master’s will in all things, including which girl’s orifice he chose to put his cock in. It was not her place to judge his friendships, especially with a nice girl like Jemima. If she wanted to please him and keep his affection she would be a perfect obedient bitch. Therefore if he wanted her to trot round at Jemima’s heel she would do so proudly.
Her head lifted and a fresh bounce entered her step, setting her tail wagging merrily.
Jemima drew Melanie to a halt, causing her to crouch alertly at her feet, and said to the Major: ‘She’s been so good. I have a sweetie here. Can I give it to her as a treat?’
‘Of course.’
Jemima held up a small nougat. Melanie sat back on her haunches as she had been taught, raised her crooked arms with her paw-sheathed hands flopped forward until they pressed against the undersides of her breasts and opened her mouth wide, her tongue hanging out in supplication. It was one of the great humiliations and thrills for a submissive: to beg for food from her master. But Jemima was not her master. Yet she had asked politely and her master had given permission. It was his hand by proxy.
Jemima popped the sweet into Melanie’s mouth and she chewed on it gratefully. Jemima bent over and hugged and patted Melanie like a dog. As she did so she whispered in her ear: ‘Come to Miss Newcombe’s cottage tomorrow for tea.’
She led Melanie back to the Major and handed him her leash. ‘Thank you so much. She’s a lovely animal. I’d like to see her run some time.’
‘I’d be delighted to show you a training session. Then you can see the whole pack in action.’
‘That would be wonderful. Thank you, Major.’
Alison was called back out and Melanie’s leash was handed back to her. She walked Melanie back through to the kennel room. As she shuffled along by her side Melanie said: ‘Please, Miss Chalmers, would you tell Mr Platt that I’ll need to leave the Hall for a few hours tomorrow afternoon?’
It was while Jemima was visiting the Hall that Belinda was once again approaching the Pump Maid Inn at Lower Boxley.
She was grateful that Arabella arranged to see her in her room at the Inn rather than the dreadful barn. She could not have faced her henchmen again after what they had done to her. She glanced up at the girl chained within the frame of the Inn’s living sign as she approached the front entrance and shivered, but not from cold. She had a brief insight into what it would feel like to take her place in the sign. Suddenly the contraption did not seem as amusing as it had the first time she had seen it. She felt both ashamed and angry. Damn Arabella! She was going to give her a piece of her mind.
‘Did you know Melanie has come back to the Hall?’ she said as soon as she was inside Arabella’s room.
‘Yes I did,’ Arabella said calmly. ‘I’ve been paying Styles and Burdock to keep me informed on happenings in Shaftwell. How did you find out? I thought you were keeping clear
of the Hall circle.’
‘It was Earnestine and Penny. I bumped into them and they thought I looked depressed and tried to cheer me up with some local gossip. Apparently it came through some Hall stable lads drinking in the Three Bells. Nobody seems to know where she’s been, only that your uncle is a happy man again.’
‘I know,’ said Arabella bitterly.
‘Well did you also know that your Uncle gave Melanie the reward he was offering for her return and Sister Newcombe has arranged an account for her to draw it from?’
She was pleased to see the surprise on Arabella’s face. ‘What?’
‘Yes. They heard that direct from Mrs Skelton the postmistress. She didn’t approve, though she can’t do anything about it. It seems Melanie’s going to be allowed out of the Hall at times on her own, dressed like a free woman!’
‘And why is Sister Newcombe involved?’
‘Because she examined Melanie when she first arrived and she thought she’d be a trustworthy third party.’
‘My uncle must be going soft in the head!’ Arabella exclaimed. ‘You don’t give slaves freedoms like that!’
‘Well he does now. And that means I went through that filthy business for nothing!’
‘Not at all,’ said Arabella, recovering her composure. ‘We now know these men exist and that they most likely had something to do with the disappearances. Exposing them will still be a coup. Tell me everything that happened when you met them. And I do mean every detail.’
Resentfully Belinda did so, from her meeting Jemima at their agreed rendezvous by the churchyard to her being led blindly away soiled and shaken, having to pretend to Jemima that she had enjoyed the whole disgusting experience. And Arabella listened intently, almost hungrily, as she recounted each shameful moment. When Belinda was done she waited for some expression of concern for her wellbeing. But none came. Instead Arabella sat frowning deep in thought.
‘You might at least ask how I feel!’ Belinda said in exasperation.
‘What are you complaining about?’ Arabella replied. ‘You came twice, didn’t you? That suggests you got some pleasure out of it. Where’s your sense of adventure?’
Belinda was appalled. ‘That was not an adventure, they treated me like a bondslave and beat me and shafted me! Not once but again and again!’
‘Of course. You begged to be used, didn’t you? What did you expect? Now, you said Jemima was checking you were not being followed.’
Apparently it was no use expecting sympathy from Arabella. ‘Yes, all the time,’ Belinda confirmed wearily.
‘Then it seems neither she nor her mysterious friends are stupid, so we must be smarter. When will you meet them next?’
‘Well Jem said something about next Saturday afternoon, but…’
‘Then you must find out if you’re going to meet the men in the same place.’
‘No, because I won’t do it!’ Belinda said. ‘Once was quite enough! Listen: she’s on the lookout for anybody following us and we leave separately from the men and I can’t tell which way we go. They wear masks and they don’t chitchat. It’s a waste of time.’
‘It’s irrelevant where you and Jemima go afterward. I’m only interested in the men. And with both of you gone they may get careless.’
‘Well then you beg them to screw you, because I’m not going through that again for the sake of your social standing or precious revenge!’ Belinda said.
In answer Arabella took a letter from the drawer of the small writing bureau and showed it to Belinda. It was addressed to Markham Hall and began:
Dear Major Havercotte-gore,
I feel it my duty to inform you about the recent unfortunate behaviour of Belinda Jenkins, whom I believe you know…
‘I think my Uncle will still be interested to read this,’ Arabella said. ‘Suspicion will fall on you, especially now he apparently lets Melanie wander about alone outside the Hall. Can he trust you not to assault her if you meet on a deserted lane? The only way out is to discover who those men are.’
Belinda sagged in her chair. ‘All right,’ she groaned. ‘But just once more.’
‘If you do what I tell you there won’t need to be a third time,’ Arabella said. ‘First, confirm with Jemima that you’ll be going to the same place. Then this is what you’re going to do…’
Chapter Seventeen
Class Demonstration
The next morning the senior boys of Cranborough School gathered in the new stable block classroom. It would be fair to say that no lesson in the history of the school had ever been attended by such an eager group of pupils. The sense of anticipation was palpable. In the front row sat Jackson, Harris, Gosset, Parsons and Bickley, ready to show the rest how experienced men of the world took lessons on sex and bondslaves in their stride.
Before them was the teacher’s desk. To its left was a blackboard with a large chalk drawing on it of what most of them recognised as the female genitalia, together with a list of the anatomical names of its features. To the right of the desk was an odd angular object covered by a dustsheet. Slight movements came from under the sheet suggesting it concealed something living, but none of the boys contemplated examining it closer without permission. This was one lesson none of them would dare misbehave in. They all knew that upstairs above them right now were two naked girl slaves chained up and ready for their use, but only if they passed this class first.
Miss Newcombe entered and the boys sprang to their feet with nervous speed.
‘Good morning, Class,’ she said, taking her place behind her desk.
‘Good Morning, Matron,’ they said in painfully polite chorus.
‘You may be seated,’ she said, and they sat.
They had all liked their school Matron for her ministrations during various bouts of sickness and minor injury they had suffered and many had secretly lusted after her. Now she had been raised to the status of teacher and put in charge of the keys to previously unattainably pleasures. That lifted her status in their eyes very close to that of Goddess: she who was to be obeyed.
‘This class will introduce you to the basic anatomy and pleasure responses of a slave girl,’ she began. ‘You must understand the underlying theory before embarking on the next stage, which is the practical care and restraint of bondslaves, which will take place in the slave pen room upstairs.’
The class shifted in their seats in expectation of what was to come.
Miss Newcombe picked up a pointer and tapped the blackboard. ‘As you can see I’ve dawn up a diagram of those parts of the female anatomy which I suspect are currently of most interest to you.’ There were a few hastily stifled sniggers from the back. ‘So that you can relate them to the real subject I have also provided a live display model for comparison.’
She pulled the dustsheet off the object on the other side of her desk and the boys groaned with delight. It was a wooden lattice frame tilted back at forty-five degrees and mounted on a wheeled table-height stand. Strapped to the frame was Sue’s naked form.
She was resting with her back to the latticework. The pad of a broad bridle gag covered her mouth, held in place by thinner straps running under and across her cheeks to join at the bridge of her nose, round under her ears and across her head. Adjustable wooden wedges, bolted with wing nuts through the lattice just above her shoulders, pressed rubber pads against her temples, holding her head rigid. All she could move were her bright eyes which blinked and swivelled about the room as the cover was pulled off her.
A strap crossed Sue’s neck, going over the top of her slave collar from which hung a metal tag bearing her name. Her arms were bent outwards, crooked at the elbows and strapped back against the frame so that her hands were level with her shoulders. Broad straps passed over her chest below her full breasts and across her stomach just above her hips. Her legs were splayed wide, pulled back an
d up and bent at the knees, held in place by cuffs buckled about her thighs just above her knees and long straps buckled to the top of the frame. Straps running up from the lower corners of the frame were cuffed to her ankles, keeping her lower legs down and turned outward. This posture displayed her groin to its maximum possible degree, as was intended. The soft, cleft pout of her naked sex gaped at them, with the dimpled pit of her anus standing out below it like the dot of a fleshy exclamation mark.
Mounted on an adjustable rod below Sue’s groin was a black, nine inch, rubber dildo angled towards her cleft. The rod ran down through a sleeve and pivot joint to an elbow hinge just above the floor with another rod that ran horizontally backward through another pivot joint to the rear of the stand where it was capped by a foot pedal.
To make her exposure even more complete, elastic cords with small round-tipped hooks on their ends had been stretched from the lower sides of the lattice frame across her hips and under the taut swells of her buttocks. They were hooked about both the inner and outer lips of her sex, pulling them wide and exposing every detail of the glistening pink valley between them; the bud of her clitoris, the small hole of her urethra and the dark tunnel mouth of her vagina.
Their eyes goggled as they took in this show of bound and clinically displayed flesh. Jackson, Parsons, Bickley, Harris and Gosset leaned forward and blinked a second time as they slowly recognised Sue beneath her new tan and hairstyle. Their familiarity with her body did not stop them gaping appreciatively at her.
All the other boys had seen naked bondslaves on the street. They were part of the background of daily life. Some had already had some intimate experience with them. But few had observed one so closely and certainly not inside a classroom where they were being invited to stare and take in every detail. The results were inevitable, signalled by a lot of embarrassed seat shifting and tugging at the inside legs of trousers.
