Melanie Kingston strained
against the imprisoning straps of the riding machine, forcing the device to its
maximum extension. As sprung rods thrust her backwards the Major's cock slid up
the cleft of her coffee-brown buttocks, penetrated the rubbery oiled-ring of
her anus and buried itself to the root in her rectum.
She groaned in mingled dismay and delight at the intimate intrusion, her
breath rasping about the bit clenched between her teeth.
The Major's riding crop flicked across her sweat-streaked thigh and he
hunched over her, clutching her swaying naked breasts. "Last furlong,
girl!" he said huskily. "Give it your best!"
She thrust herself forward with all the strength of her legs, rebounding
from the springs with greater power, impaling herself again and again on his
hard rod of flesh.
She felt hot sperm spout within her…
Melanie woke with a start, blinking in the grey light of dawn as it
filtered through the door bars of her kennel. Her fingers were thrust into the
sticky cleft of her groin. It had been a dream! The Major hadn't ridden her
last night. All the pack girls had been allowed to rest - because today was
The realization banished the last of the sleep from Melanie's mind even
as she felt warm slickness welling up afresh between her engorged public lips
in anticipation. She was lubricating like a bitch on heat. But then that was
exactly what she was - a bitch of the Markham Hall girl pack; a collared
bondmaid or femling as they were called here,
destined to be the sexual prize of whoever could catch her.
The thought should have inspired disgust and horror, but instead it only
made her excitement grow more intense. She ran her finger deeper into her cleft
and felt her nipples prick up and harden. Once again, she was astonished at the
transformation she had undergone.
Just a few days before she had been a constable in the Hoakam district police service. Determined to prove that a
black woman police officer was as good as anybody else, she had tracked down an
ingenious cat-burglar named Amber Jones; catching her in the act of adding to
her secret stash deep in Hoakam Woods.
But Jones had resisted arrest. In the struggle that followed a stolen
oriental-styled black lacquer box Jones was carrying had burst open, revealing
a curious keyboard-like panel within its lid and three ivory phalluses. Both
women had immediately felt an inexplicable but overwhelming desire to use the
phalluses on themselves. Jones had briefly escaped with the box, but its
influence had drawn Melanie after it. When she found the box, one phallus was
missing and Jones' jeans and pants were lying discarded beside it, but there
was no sign of Jones herself.
Unable to resist the lure of the box, Melanie had used one of the
remaining phalluses on herself, stimulating an orgasm more intense than
anything she had known before. When she recovered, she found herself in woods
different from those she had been in only moments earlier. There was no sign of
the mystery box, only the inexplicable feeling that she had travelled a tremendous
distance in some unknown direction.
She soon found out how strange this new land was when she was captured
by the owner of the woodland estate, Major Havercotte-Gore,
and his niece, Arabella Westlake. Recognising Melanie as an 'outsider', she had
been stripped naked and whipped, then given a stark choice. She could either be
prosecuted for trespass and vagrancy, the punishment for which was public
auction and degradation as a bondmaid; or else she could volunteer for a year's
service in the Major's girl pack. This meant, by the customs of this alternate
version of England, that she would be worked hard and given to guests as a
sexual plaything and hunted for sport.
Melanie chose the pack as the lesser of the two evils.
She had been put into bondage, been intimately and humiliatingly tested
and examined, treated like a dog, run on a track naked, compelled to make love
to another pack girl and sodomized by the Major on his riding machine. But,
against all reason, she found herself enjoying her subjugation. She became the
First Girl of the pack and the Major's favourite, and his honest pleasure in
her exertions, both sporting and sexual, made her feel more valued and more
alive than she ever had before...
A key rattled in the outer door of the kennel room, interrupting
Melanie's thoughts. The door opened and the lights came on.
"Time to get up, girls," came the cheery voice of Alison
Chalmers, the kennel maid. "We've lots to do before the hunt."
There were stirrings from the other cells as the rest of the pack awoke.
With a clank of bolts Alison released the master lock of the tiered kennels.
Melanie pushed her door open and crawled out onto the coconut matting that
covered the floor. In a few moments there were twenty-two naked young women
standing with her; stretching, rubbing their eyes and brushing back their hair.
On the glossy black collars locked about their necks was a metal strip embossed
with the words: 'PROPERTY OF THE MARKHAM HALL HUNT PACK', and a number. Melanie
was number 9. The same number was imprinted in indelible ink on the
coffee-brown upper curve of her right buttock, framed by a pattern of chain
links and the Markham Hall crest.
Melanie felt the brush of silky naked limbs against her flanks and
exchanged happy, anxious smiles with her sisters in bondage. She saw her own
tremulous anticipation mirrored in their faces. Nipples of all sizes and hues
were swelling and hardening at the thought of what was to come, and the air
filled with scent of barely contained female excitement.
Alison's long switch flicked across rounded buttocks.
"Get along to the ablutions sharply, girls," she said.
"Then straight outside for morning exercise. No dilly-dallying now."
In a chattering file the pack girls were herded towards the toilets. The
prospect of the hunt was overwhelming. Thoughts of duty and speculations about
the whereabouts of Amber Jones melted from Melanie's mind.
Amber Jones was roused by
the toe of a boot prodding her side.
"Wake up, girl. I've brought you breakfast."
Amber squinted through bleary eyes. Narrow slots of low morning sunlight
slipped past the sacking hung over the windows of the old loft, illuminating
the disused three-sided planking storage bin she was lying in. Standing over
her was a well-scrubbed and freckle-faced young man carrying a covered bowl.
Still half asleep, she mumbled: "Go away, Nigel. I'ss too early... You know I had a busy time last
Nigel Gosset prodded her again, this time less
"You do what we tell you, girl. That was the agreement."
Amber came to her senses with a start, remembering where and what she
was. Hastily throwing back her blankets she rolled onto her hands and knees and
bowed her head over the young man's feet. The heavy chain padlocked around her
left ankle jingled.
"Sorry, Master," she said. "Your femling
was not thinking - she really did have a busy night. Please forgive her."
She felt his eyes pass over her naked body, perhaps lingering on her
buttocks which bore the crimson stripes of a recent caning. Gosset
had helped put some of those stripes on her flesh. He was also responsible,
together with four of his friends, for the well-used soreness of her vagina.
She shivered at the memory even as a familiar tingle began to grow in her lower
"Sit up," he commanded.
Amber obeyed, sitting back on her heels and automatically clasping her
hands behind her neck. The posture thrust out her neat, shapely breasts, which
were also crisscrossed with cane marks. More stripes decorated her stomach and
upper thighs. She felt the pulsing in her nipples, causing them to smart even
more fiercely. Gosset watched her teats harden with
open fascination, then reached down and squeezed a hot breast.
Amber bit her lip.
"Does that hurt?" Gosset asked.
"A bit, master - but in a nice way. Don't stop."
"You like what we're doing to you, don't you?"
"Most of it," she admitted. "More than I thought I
"You really wanted the cane last night."
Amber blushed but could not help replying frankly. "I know. I don't
normally go out of my way looking for pain. But when it's mixed in with sex...
well, it's different. It makes the pleasure more intense somehow - even if it
is pretty exhausting."
Gosset put the bowl down and took
off the lid to reveal a steaming helping of porridge. "You'd better keep
your strength up then - because we're planning a lot more of both for you
With a fluttering stomach Amber ate. Gosset
watched her with frank interest, as befitted the young master of an attractive
sex-toy. She felt a warm slickness growing between her love lips.
How had she got herself into such an incredible situation, she wondered?
But then who could have guessed what the puzzle box would contain. And it had
been sheer bad luck that PC Kingston had turned up just when she'd discovered
the box's concealed lock. What power within it had compelled her to use one of
the phalluses contained inside when she should have been making her getaway? Of
course, she had got away, but rather further than she had planned! Using the
phallus had somehow shifted her into a parallel England where outsiders had no
rights and were considered fair game by one and all. Soon after arriving she'd
been captured and gang-banged by three of Gosset's
friends. Escaping from them she'd run straight into the arms of Constable
Bailey, who proved only too adept at dealing with young female lawbreakers.
Convicted as a vagrant and illegal alien, she'd been sentenced to public
flogging and pillory in the police yard, then sale at auction.
Amber finished her porridge. Taking a deep breath, she shuffled over to
her waste bucket and squatted over it. She didn't try to hide anything and kept
her splayed legs facing Gosset, who watched intently
as the pee spouted from her cleft. A bulge began to grow in the front of his
Gosset, together with the others
who had first waylaid her, had sneaked into the police yard one night with the
lockpicks they had found in her bag. They offered to give her the tools to
break out of her cell if she agreed to be their sex-toy. Amber had accepted,
thinking she had more chance of escaping from them than official captivity.
Besides, they had the phallus which might hold the key to returning home.
Amber finished wiping herself with the crackling, school-issue toilet
paper and began to wash. She saw Gosset was getting
impatient, but she knew she had to keep him waiting just a little longer. Part
of their agreement was that she should be housed in reasonable conditions and
be allowed to keep herself clean and tidy. This old disused stable loft was dry
and reasonably warm, and she had food and basic toilet facilities. However, the
rest of her scheme hadn't gone quite to plan. She'd thought she could play
along with them, putting up with their demands while gradually turning their
adolescent lust to her advantage. But an unexpected development had occurred -
she was beginning to enjoy being their plaything!
Gosset's eyes were locked onto her
every movement as she quickly soaped herself over, causing the pliant globes of
her breasts to glisten, working lather into the cleft of her buttocks and the
silky hair-rimmed furrow of her love mouth. A hot bath would be delicious, but
all she had was a flannel soaked in a pail of cold water. She shivered as she
rinsed herself down, causing her nipples to crinkle and harden once again, then
began vigorously towelling off. Gosset's breath
rasped in his throat. He pulled off the old jersey he was wearing and ran a
finger around his collar.
Amber had dabbled in a little S&M back home, a world away. But here
sexual servitude was an accepted part of everyday life. And her captors, though
rank beginners, were learning fast.
The five young men had turned out to be senior pupils at Cranborough House, a local minor pubic school. At the
moment the boys were alone in the school apart from Sister Newcombe, the school
matron, having had their Easter holidays curtailed as part of the punishment
for an offence for which they believed Arabella Westlake had framed them. Amber
had already suffered an uncomfortable encounter with Arabella while she was in
the police yard pillory, and the desire for revenge on that cruel and spoilt
young woman was something she and the boys held in common. Amber had planned a
means of achieving this and securing her own early release, but it was getting
harder to keep focused on her objective. The boys were each having her
individually two or three times a day, when they could slip away from the
odd-jobs they were doing round the school which Sister Newcombe was overseeing.
Then at night they were sneaking out for an enthusiastic gangbang, sustained by
raw lust and the recuperative powers of vigorous youth. It seemed that however
many times they emptied their balls into her they kept coming back with more.
Amber finished combing through her short-cropped hair and turned to Gosset. The poor boy was half bent over, shuffling his feet
awkwardly and looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"There, I'm nice and clean and fresh for you," she said with a
smile, knowing what was to come. "Now, how do you want me?"
With a grunt of barely contained need, Gosset
took her by the shoulders and pushed her backwards onto the pile of blankets
and sacking that formed her makeshift bed. He straddled her chest, making Amber
gasp as his weight drove the breath from her.
The sides of the stall were studded with metal rings and hooks, from
which hung lengths of rope with ready-looped ends. With their aid Gosset quickly secured Amber's wrists so that her arms were
drawn out from her body. Extra tugs pulled them taut until Amber winced. Only then
did Gosset loop the rope ends about their securing
hooks, opening up the hollows under her arms to his gaze.
For a moment their eyes locked and Gosset bent
over and kissed her fiercely, as she had encouraged all the boys to do, probing
her mouth with his tongue, allowing her to savour the fresh cleanliness of his
hot breath. Then he sat back and, grinning maliciously, pinched her sore
nipples so that she yelped in pain.
But it was all right.
She would take almost anything from them once they had kissed her; as
long as there was that moment of true intimacy that reminded them that she was
a person. Now she was happy to be used casually, even selfishly.
He stood up again, the bulge in his trousers like a tent pole, and
kicked her thighs.
"Spread yourself... no, wider than that."
Amber strained to obey, splaying her legs until they made a right angle.
More loops of rope went about her ankles, leaving her heavy ankle chain in
place. The boys were determined she would not escape from them a second time. Gosset hauled on the rope ends, pulling her tighter and
wider until the big tendons on her inner thighs stood out.
Now she was ready for him, bound in the most basic and blatant position
of sexual display and availability a woman could be made to assume, her crinkled
pink cunt lips glistening and gaping so that the dark mouth of her vagina was
exposed to his view. Amber thrilled as her instinctive feeling of helpless
outrage clashed gloriously with her sexual arousal.
Gosset drank in her spread-eagled
naked form for a second, then feverishly stripped off his trousers and
underpants. She had a brief glimpse of purple-tipped penis standing out so hard
and firm that it almost seemed to touch his stomach, then he fell upon her.
His silky-skinned iron-hard young cock penetrated her waiting hole and
slid up into the slick ribbed passage beyond until his full length was lodged
within her. Amber gasped as she was perfectly filled, then Gosset's
pale buttocks lifted as he withdrew. He lunged into her again, rapidly building
up a frantic rhythm, ramming in and out of her like a piston, his eyes screwed
up, using her without any thought for her pleasure; his only concern to release
the aching pressure in his balls.
As always with the boys it was over too soon.
With a shiver and shudder Gosset spermed inside her. He managed a couple more reflex
thrusts, then collapsed over her bound body, head resting between her breasts,
his hot breath tickling her swollen nipples, leaving her internal muscles
contracting desperately around his shrinking cock as she tried to draw the last
particle of pleasure from it.
After a minute Gosset recovered. He withdrew
from her clinging cunt, climbed off her and reached for his discarded clothes.
"Please finish me off!" she begged him. "Just rub your
fingers up and down my slit!"
Gosset shook his head.
"Jackson said we should leave you wanting more. He thinks it'll make you
more ready to please later."
Amber groaned and tugged futilely at her bonds. "Aren't you going
to untie me?"
"But then you'd only bring yourself off. We know girls can do that
just like boys. Don't worry, we won't leave you very long. Harris will be along
soon. He's next on the rota."
Gosset finished dressing and
pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. Unfolding it he pinned it to a post of
her stall. It was a list of her five joint masters' names with periods of the
day set against them. "This is to make sure we all have you the same
number of times," he explained. "And we can put down marks for how well
you pleased us."
I'm on a fucking list! Amber thought. With marks out of ten!
But she had to ask: "Er... how well did I
do just now?"
Gosset wrote a figure in a column
with the stub of a pencil then grinned at her. "I'm giving you A
He stepped between her splayed legs and slid one foot forward. The toe
of his boot nuzzled into the split pouch of flesh at the junction of her thighs
from which a sticky trickle of fluid was seeping. Amber immediately dipped her
hips and squirmed desperately on her bottom, kissing the tip of his boot with
her cunt lips as though trying to suck the leather into her so it might bring
relief to her hardened love bud.
Suddenly Gosset pulled his foot away, leaving
her rubbing on empty air.
"You got a minus because you kept me waiting too long," he
With a whimper Amber dropped her head back onto her blankets. She heard Gosset climb down the trap door and pull it shut, then his
steps faded away on the ladder below.
This is what I've been reduced to, she told herself bitterly, trying to
ignore the terrible ache in her loins - being left so frustrated I'm ready to
work myself off on a shoe! And she'd been worried at first that the boys'
apparently insatiable intentions would wear her out! She'd happily take a
caning again rather than be left feeling like this. But then that was the idea.
And tonight, no doubt, caning was exactly what she would get. Did all boys in
this world have such a natural talent for torture?
Miserably Amber tried to distract herself by thinking of her revenge on
Arabella. Yes, that would be sweet. As long as they could find the girl from
her own version of England that she had deduced Arabella was keeping captive
somewhere. She must have found and used the last phallus in the puzzle box.
Amber wondered dryly if she was having as much fun as she was.
Sunlight glowed around the
dusty, faded curtains of the tiny window as Sue Drake woke in pain. Her whole
body seemed to ache. Certain places were worse than others.
She was bound face down on the underframe of a narrow bed, wrists and
ankles chained to the bed posts, her body resting on a lattice of canvass
webbing. The heavy pale bells of her breasts had been pushed through gaps in
the fabric so that they ballooned outward again under the bed; hanging like
fruit ready for picking. The scattered morning light revealed them to be scored
by crisscross welts and abrasions. Even the pendant nipples were reddened
beyond their normal colour.
A little way down from her sore breasts a length of broom handle emerged
at an angle from the webbing. Its lower end rested on the floor beyond the foot
of the bed, held fast by cords tied to the bed legs. The upper end was lodged
deep inside Sue's plump-lipped cunt, its shaft darkened by the female juices
its presence had stimulated. It was another degradation, another step in her
training to become the perfect submissive, which seemed to be Sue's predestined
role in life.
Yesterday, her Mistress had hired two men to misuse Sue for her
amusement. They had handled her cruelly and used her for their pleasure in
every way imaginable. Yet, after it was over, Sue had begged for more - and had
been granted her wish. Despite still being sore and bruised from that
encounter, twice during the seemingly interminable night Sue had succumbed to
the temptation the broom handle had offered - even though she was allowed no
pleasure without pain.
Rising from between the soft white hemispheres of her upward-facing
buttocks was a thick sprig of holly. Its trimmed stalk, too slender for her to
expel, was embedded in her anus. Every time she tried to pleasure herself on
the broom handle, the movement caused the holly to do its worst. The inner
cheeks of her buttocks and the soft swell of her upper thighs were ringed by
scratches and pinpoints of dried gore.
Pain and pleasure. The distinctions were becoming blurred in Sue's mind,
along with so much else.
She had no idea where she was or how she got there. She'd been on a
cycling holiday. Passing through Hoakam Woods she had
come across a strange black box with its irresistibly alluring phallus. After
using it she had fallen somehow. There was a bruise on her head. She must have
been unconscious. When she woke she found she was already a prisoner - a “femling” as they sometimes called women in sexual servitude
here. It all seemed too incredible. Perhaps she was actually lying in some
hospital bed dreaming all this? No, it was real - more real than anything else
she had known.
Down below her a key turned in a lock. Sue caught her breath. Footsteps
clattered on the wooden stairs. It was the sound Sue both longed for and
dreaded. The door of the tiny bedroom opened and Arabella Westlake walked in.
Sue's stomach knotted as she twisted her head round to look up at her
mistress. Arabella was dressed in culottes, riding jacket and boots. In her
hand she carried a horse crop. A smile twitched the corners of Arabella's fine
lips as she took in Sue's prostrate form. She sat on the edge of the bed and
ran her fingers down the hollow of Sue's spine. Reaching her bottom she pried
apart the fleshy buttock cheeks and examined the damage the holly sprig had
done. Sue whimpered as the movement drove more spines into her skin. Arabella
smiled and turned to the foot of the bed. Untying the cords that secured the
end of the broom handle, she drew it out of Sue with soft sucking pop.
"I see you were excited last night," she said, examining the
glistening darkly stained head of the broom handle.
"Yes, Mistress," Sue said in a tiny voice.
"Did it hurt when you tried to pleasure yourself?"
Arabella sniffed the stained handle, then flicked out a pink tongue tip
and licked it delicately, savouring Sue's intimate honeydew. "Good,"
she said. "Did you come?"
"Indeed. Despite the pain it entailed?"
"Would you like me to remove the holly now?"
"Only if it pleases you, Mistress."
Arabella reached up into the humid haven between Sue's thighs and
carefully plucked the holly sprig out of her femling's
anus. Sue gave a shudder. "Thank you, Mistress."
Arabella took the dog leash which had been hanging over the end of the
bed and clipped it to Sue's collar. Then she unlocked the padlocks that secured
Sue's chains. Sue almost fell off the bed as she tried to move her numbed and
stiffened limbs. Her breasts were ringed by white and purple welts where the
webbing of the bed had cut into them. On her hands and knees, she crawled
awkwardly after Arabella as she was led down the narrow stairs.
In the low beamed sitting room below, food and water had been set out in
two tin bowls. Sue drank and ate hunched over her simple meal, picking up her
food with lips and teeth and making no attempt to use her hands. Her sore
nipples brushed the floor. In one corner of the room her bike and cycle packs
rested against the wall; a reminder of the world she had come from. Would she
When she was finished, Arabella led her through the back door and into a
small overgrown garden, surrounded by a tall thick hedge. The sun was still low
and there was dew on the grass, but the day promised to be a warm one. From
outside it was apparent that the house was really a slightly reduced model of a
half-timbered thatched cottage. In fact, it was an elaborate children's
playhouse now fallen into neglect.
As she had been taught, Sue scraped a hole in earth of one of the flower
beds and squatted over it like a dog. When it was filled with her wastes, she
wiped herself clean with handfuls of long grass, then carefully covered the
hole in again. Shuffling back to Arabella she bent and kissed the tops of her
riding boots, then looked up at her mistress with wide eyes full of fear and helpless
Arabella ruffled Sue's thick mane of shaggy blonde hair as one would pet
a dog, admiring the curves of the girl's full, hourglass figure, noting how her
pale skin highlighted the marks of her various punishments. But Sue's face was
the greatest delight; so innocent and open, so easily made to contort in
distress or pleasure. Blue eyes that ran so readily with tears. She was a
creature made to be moulded and mastered.
For a moment Sue thought she saw in Arabella's gaze the unreserved approval
she sought with all her heart. To know that Arabella accepted the gift of her
submission and loved her for it was all Sue wanted. She would live happily
under her heel if she was granted that one gift. But then the look was gone and
cool composure returned to Arabella's features.
"I shall be busy for much of today and won't be able to attend to
you personally," Arabella told her. "But I have ensured that your
training will not be interrupted. The girls have their instructions. I have
something rather special in mind for you..."
And she showed Sue the new torment she had planned for her.
Outrage and disgust flickered briefly within Sue as she learned what was
to come, even as she admitted with helpless resignation that it was entirely
Sue said meekly: "If my suffering will please you,