Captives of Cheyner Close (25 page)

They were punishing them in rotation, administering one stroke at a time.

Waiting for her turn was agony. She just wanted to get it over with, almost willing the next stroke to land, welcoming the pain, because it meant she was one step closer to the end. The tanned heat in her buttocks she could cope with, but the bee-sting fire coursing through her breasts was so sharp it was
nearly
unbearable. Yet in a twisted way it also felt wonderful because it meant it was nearly finished!

Then the last stroke fell and it really was over.

She heard Warwick announce: ‘Your punishment is complete. We’ll leave you here to think over what you’ve learned this last week. At midnight you will have fulfilled your part of the bargain and no longer belong to us. Then you will be released.’

Tara heard the diminishing rustle of footsteps, the click of the outside light going off, and all was still in the garden.

She drank in the silence, the tranquillity, the cool air soothing her burning buttocks, wishing only that some of it could flow round her pincushion breasts. But it was over. She heard a hiss and splutter as one of the other girls relieved herself on the grass. It sounded very loud in the stillness.

The minutes slipped by towards midnight and freedom. And then back to the real world to do – what? She was not sure.

Then Tara became aware of a moving presence in the garden.

Even as she strained her ears, a pair of hands took hold of her hips, the head of a cock parted the lips of her pussy and slid up into her. There was nothing she could do as the man shafted her, not even struggle. Her breasts still bobbed against the pins as they coupled, but only lightly because of his steadying hands. She was actually responding when he came inside her. She heard him sigh, then he pulled out of her now hot slot, which let him go reluctantly.

‘Well done,’ a voice whispered in her ear, and then was gone. She was almost sure it had been Warwick.

And why not? He only said the punishment was over. They still belonged to the residents to do with as they wished until midnight.

A few minutes later fingertips brushed across her outthrust bottom. She tensed, but instead felt the frame begin to shake as somebody else received a secret visitor.

Cassie had flinched so hard when the fingers first caressed her pudenda that she inflicted more pricks on her sore breasts. The fingers were replaced by a probing tongue that took full advantage of her pouting and exposed private parts, making her shiver with helpless delight. As it did so another pair of hands caressed her body and then warm lips were pressed to her ear and whispered: ‘When you stop acting like a stuck-up bitch you’re quite nice.’

It was Hilary Beck.

With fingers and tongues the pair gently but inexorably brought Cassie to a contained but intense orgasm. She felt suddenly very alone when they finally left, and had to console herself by listening to the other nocturnal visitors as, one by one, they paid their last respects to their chosen playthings.

Gail knew who had come to her from the rough strength of his hands, even before his penis tunnelled into the depths of her lovemouth. She relaxed completely as he used her, not minding the few additional jabs her breasts received in the process. It was still her due to pay and she did so happily.

When he had done he whispered: ‘I’ve never had anything prettier than you in my workshop …’

Hazel thrilled at Roberta’s touch when it came out of the night. She wanted to say so much as the older woman kissed and caressed her, but her gag allowed only muffled sighs of pleasure. As her fingers stirred
the
slick hot depths of Hazel’s honeypot, Roberta said softly: ‘Be good, little puppy …’

Narinda Khan’s touch roused Cassie from her post-orgasmic reverie. She was surprised to get a second caller. It surprised her even more when she felt a man’s hands grasp her hips from behind and then a very hard stiff cock slide into her still wet pubes.

‘That’s Raj,’ Narinda said softly, taking Cassie’s shoulders in her hands while her husband set about enthusiastically screwing her. ‘Playing with you and your friends this last week has been getting him so excited I’ve had great sex every night. So as a reward I said he could have one of you. And he chose you because he felt sorry for you dancing so badly for Fred.’ She sighed. ‘Men are so funny. Perhaps you don’t agree. But at least he thinks you deserve something. Think how terrible it would be if a pretty girl like you was not even worth screwing …’

Sian’s slim body trembled as Tom Fanning sodomised her one last time. He did have a thing for girls’ arses, she thought dizzily, gasping from the stretching of her anus and the painful jiggling of her small breasts within the pin-studded bowls. But at least it was a familiar cock. And when he whispered: ‘You’ve got a much hotter bum than Cassie,’ she actually felt proud.

Louisa Jessop had pulled Daniela’s gag out so that she could kiss and lick her bared breasts while Stan had her from behind. Daniela was delighted to be sandwiched between the two of them once again and hardly noticed the extra pricking her captive breasts received as she bobbed and swayed on her sprung mount.

When they were done Louisa kissed her and whispered: ‘Don’t be a stranger …’

Tara gasped through her gag, jerked out of her doze as a garden hose was played over her groin, washing away the drying sperm which had trickled down her thighs. The hose moved on, eliciting squeaks and yelps from the others as they received their sluicing down in turn.

Her blindfold was removed and she saw Narinda Khan illuminated by the outside light. She worked her way round methodically removing blindfolds, releasing the straps that held them bent over the frames, then freeing their ankles.

They straightened their aching backs, cautiously lifting their breasts from the pin bowls, a little fearful of what they might find. Narinda had come prepared with a wet sponge smelling of antiseptic and a towel. After the sweat had been wiped away only a blush and a few small pinpricks remained. It had felt so much worse.

Warwick appeared, having stowed away the hose. He checked his watch and then removed their gags, cuffs and finally their collars. ‘It’s midnight,’ he said. ‘You’re all free.’

For a minute they just stood there, fingering their now bare necks which felt oddly exposed. They smiled foolishly at each other.

Warwick handed Tara a torch and pointed to the bottom of the garden.

‘We’ve put a stepladder over the fence to make it easy. You can walk back to your camp across fields.’ He smiled wryly. ‘You should know the way well enough.’

‘But … what about our clothes and things?’ Tara asked, just stopping herself inserting the word: ‘Master’.

‘Oh, we took them round to Simon Pye this morning and told him when we’d be releasing you. I’m sure he’ll have waited up. How he receives you is up to him. You see, you’ve paid off your debt to us, but you still have to square things with young Simon. Of course, if your consciences are clear, then you have nothing to worry about.’

Eleven

BAD GIRLS ARE BITCHES

BITCHES DO NOT SPEAK

BITCHES OBEY THEIR MASTER

BITCHES KEEP LOW

BITCHES BEG TO PLEASE

THE NOTICE, BOLDLY
written in red felt-pen, was taped to the back door of Simon Pye’s cottage. It was clearly visible under the porch light, but otherwise the windows of the cottage were curtained and dark. The girls huddled together under the tiny porch roof while they rang the bell and knocked, but there was no response.

Their tent, shower and portable toilet were now stowed away in the back of the hired MPV, still parked where they had left it. The vehicle was securely locked and there was no sign of the key, or their clothes.

However something had been added to the back garden since they had left it a week before. Tucked in to one side of the cottage was what might have been an animal pen, built out of salvaged timbers, chicken wire and ragged sheets of bituminous roofing felt. The floor of the pen was covered with straw and was just high enough to sit upright within. Resting against the inside of its front wire wall was a low galvanised
metal
trough. Beside it was a plastic bucket of water with a length of clear plastic tube sticking out of it like a large drinking straw. In the far corner there was an empty metal bucket.

A door had been let into one side of the pen, but it was padlocked shut. The other entrance was through two smaller sliding doors only high enough to pass through on all fours, linked by a narrow tunnel built out of wooden slats. The doors were locked by large vertical sprung bolts that could only be operated from the outside. At the moment both doors were open and their bolts raised.

‘I really thought this whole bloody nightmare was over,’ Cassie moaned as they knocked again on the cottage door.

‘Where is he?’ Sian wondered.

‘Either in bed deliberately ignoring us, or else in the woods having a good eyeful,’ Tara said.

Uneasily they surveyed the looming mass of trees arrayed about the cottage. From somewhere in its depths an owl hooted. The girls unconsciously edged a little closer.

‘We can’t blame him for wanting to get his own back,’ Daniela said. ‘If we had got in trouble with the police they’d have found him minding our secret camp. And he made some of our equipment. They’d probably have accused him of being an accessory.’

‘I’d have told them he was innocent,’ Tara said.

‘But what if they hadn’t believed you?’

‘We haven’t been very nice to him,’ Hazel said. ‘He must feel so insulted. The way we’ve been using him –’

‘Don’t go on about it!’ Cassie snapped. ‘Let’s work out what to do next.’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Hazel said, tapping the notice. ‘That’s what he wants us to do to show we’re sorry.
The
cage or pen is meant for us as well. He’s had a few days to plan something special. Maybe he got some ideas from the residents.’

‘No way am I playing doggy games for him!’ Cassie snorted.

‘It made a twisted sort of sense with them at the Close,’ Sian said. ‘We really messed about with their lives for months. We hurt them so they hurt us back and now we’re quits. But with Simon we only –’

‘Cheated and lied to him,’ Gail interjected. ‘Called him sick names he didn’t deserve. Got him involved in crime –’

‘All right, so we treated him pretty shittily,’ Sian conceded. ‘But letting him screw us – and worse – is way too much!’

To their surprise Daniela said: ‘I think it will be good for us. I mean to help clear our consciences. Simon’s part of what we’ve been doing wrong. Treating other people like they don’t matter when they do. We have been acting like bitches. I want to draw a line under it. To feel, well, clean. I’d rather pay back more than I owe than less. If Simon wants to have some fun with me, I’m willing to let him.’

‘It’s all right for you,’ Cassie sneered. ‘You like that sort of thing.’

‘Maybe I do, but I also know I feel happier now than I have for months,’ Daniela replied calmly.

‘And I feel my cunt’s already had enough use to last a year, my tits are like old pincushions and my bum’s sore as hell!’ Cassie retorted.

‘It doesn’t look too bad,’ Hazel observed innocently.

‘There is another reason to go along with this,’ Tara said. ‘What if someday Simon gets an attack of conscience and decides to tell our parents, or even the police, what we’ve been doing? Letting him punish us
in
private not only proves we’re genuine, it also pretty well guarantees he’ll keep quiet.’

‘So being good little bitches for Simon makes us even, buys us insurance and washes our souls clean at the same time!’ Cassie exclaimed.

Tara held out her hands to indicate their collective nakedness. ‘What else have we got to offer? Maybe we can bargain for a day’s slavery and be ready to go up to two. He knows we can’t be away from home much longer.’

‘At least he’s quite good looking,’ Hazel reminded Cassie. ‘It might be – fun.’

‘You call that fun?’ Cassie retorted. ‘You and Gail and Daniela are all masochistic, slavish, submissive –’

‘You came a few times as well,’ Hazel pointed out.

‘I didn’t have any choice!’ Cassie insisted.

‘I don’t think we should try to bargain,’ Gail said slowly. ‘We’re not the Elite any more. I think we should leave it up to Simon. Do whatever he wants. Accept any punishment. Like Daniela said: we need to do this for ourselves as well.’

Hazel and Daniela were nodding gravely.

‘She’s right,’ Tara agreed, knowing in her heart what careless presumption had already cost her. ‘We let him decide.’

‘All right,’ Sian sighed, ‘I suppose there’s no other way. At least we’ve had plenty of practice.’

‘There’s six of us and only one of him,’ Hazel said. ‘How many times can he have you?’

‘It isn’t the sex that’s worrying me,’ Sian replied. She turned and raised her voice, as though addressing the wood and any hidden watcher they might contain: ‘OK, we accept! We’ll be your bitches! Let’s get this over with!’

There was no answer.

Gail said: ‘If we’re really sorry and genuinely ready
to
accept our punishment, we shouldn’t need to be told what to do next.’

She walked over to the pen, got down on her hands and knees and shuffled inside. Through the wire they saw her sit up and look around. ‘Come on,’ she called to them. ‘It’s not that bad.’

Hazel and Daniela followed her into the pen. Sian shrugged and went in after them, with a reluctant Cassie at her heels. Coming last, Tara backed into the tunnel, sliding the outer door across as she went. Its bolt snapped down, locking it shut.

‘Why did you have to do that?’ Cassie demanded.

‘So we’re not tempted to change our minds,’ Tara said, pulling the second door closed so that its bolt dropped as well.

They huddled together for mutual warmth. The low roof kept the dew off and the night air was still. As they got as comfortable as a bed of straw allowed, slumber began to steal over their tired bodies. It had been a busy day, Tara reflected.