‘The full bare,’ said Marcus to Angarad, who trembled.
He eyed her moist stocking-tops and smiled at her. Angarad shifted in her tight dress; no shifting could conceal her upthrust bare teat-flesh, nor the thighs and stocking-top, gleaming with tell-tale come. The sister fastened her maid in the rubber waist cincher, wrenching the slab of latex until it strained to bursting and the girl’s flesh was pinched in tight, serrated folds, beneath her rib cage. The three other maids accepted the same fate at the hands of males: the recently spunked black man, whose cock was already trembling half-erect, and Marcus’s brother-in-law, seeing to the girl beside his wife, and Marcus himself. Four of the five whipping-emplacements were occupied by shivering girls, bared for whipping, and each with a steady drip of come from her cunt into her sussies and stocking tops. Marcus folded each girl’s long tresses over her titties, squashed to the wall, thus leaving her shoulders bared.
‘The full bare,’ Marcus said to Angarad, ‘means chastisement of both buttocks and back. Whip or cane may be used on either portion, or both.’
Marcus stripped completely; Angarad shivered, unable to take her eyes off the bodies of the four naked victims. Marcus’s sister took position, holding a cat-o’-nine-tails above the fully bared back and arse of the first, shivering maid, now helpless in her bonds.
Crack!
The first whipstroke fell, the cat leaving a vivid pattern of dark red stripes on the girl’s upper back. She shuddered but did not cry.
Vip!
A four-foot rattan cane took the second girl clean across both buttocks, leaving a pink weal.
Thwap!
A three-tongued tawse began the punishment of the third, leaving a dull bruise across the whole bare croup.
Vap!
A second rattan cracked across the fourth maid’s naked shoulders. All four girls shuddered, their arses and backs squirming. A pattern emerged of ten strokes to back, followed by ten to fesses, and vice versa, so that no portion of the girl’s rear body went unbeaten. Strokes fell on the naked thigh backs, ripping come-wet stockings. As the punishments continued, with the whipped victims squirming against their ropes, the spectators accompanied the groans of the flogged girls with their own cries, as bare bottoms reddened under strap or spank, females bared their anal puckers to serial buggery, and sucked tool after arse-slimed tool. Angarad shivered.
‘I can’t believe this…’ she gasped, ashen-faced.
Marcus paused, and turned, his cock massively erect.
‘Your cunt believes it, Miss,’ he rasped. ‘Don’t you want to masturbate, at least? You are here to enjoy…’
The French windows opened, admitting a gust of freezing air; Tamsin reentered, dragging Bee by her hair. Bee’s body was a faint blue with cold and her teeth chattered. Tamsin placed her at the fifth, empty, flogging emplacement. She looked at Angarad and leered as Angarad’s fingers flew away from her crotch.
‘Slight change of timetable,’ she hissed, forcing Bee to crouch, with her bare buttocks spread high.
Tamsin plunged her fist into Bee’s cunt, lifting her, so that Bee was supported by Tamsin’s forearm. With her weight taken by her cunt, Bee wriggled and squealed; Tamsin put her back on the floor and withdrew her fist, dripping with cunt-slime. Tamsin applied the come to Bee’s anal pucker, poking well inside with two fingers, until the mouth of the arse bud gaped open. Tamsin took the girl again by the hair, pulling her on to her back, with her legs spread, straight in the air. She waggled her bum and hips, so that her rubber strap-on tools quivered. Bee moaned; Tamsin swooped on her like a hawk, plunging the two shafts deep inside her gash and anus, in a single, brutal movement. A second thrust drove the dildos right to Bee’s womb and arse-root, and she sobbed, her arse writhing, but unable to escape the impaling prongs. Tamsin’s bum began to jerk, as she cunt-fucked and buggered her sobbing slave. Caning the bare nates of his own victim, Marcus licked his teeth.
‘Make Bee howl,’ he hissed. ‘She won’t be truly subdued, until she hates me for marrying her.’
‘Oh…no…’ Angarad moaned. ‘I didn’t want to…’
Her fingers delved beneath the hem of her skirt, found her sopping cunt-string and slid beneath it to the swollen wet flaps of her slit. She got two fingers inside herself, then a third, while her thumb pressed her erect clitty. Her other hand stroked her bare bum, still leathery from her spankings, and her index poked her anus bud. Come flowed down her wrist and stockings, and soaked the hem of her dress. Angarad’s eyes darted from her friend, gamahuching her squealing slave, to the naked bodies of the whipped girls, jerking like marionettes. She lifted her dress to her bubbies, with a trembling sob, as she exposed herself. Angarad masturbated, her hand slippery with gushing come, and her nubbin and cunt flaps swollen, but did not close her eyes when she squealed in orgasm. She did not resist when several hands fastened her, and drew her by wrists and ankles to the nooses of the fifth flogging-place.
‘Let the bitch have what she really wants,’ hissed Tamsin. ‘The full bare…’
‘No! No! God, no!’ Angarad screamed.
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
‘AHH!’
The cat-o’-nine-tails flogged Angarad’s naked shoulders, its thongs wrapping themselves to her breasts, and lingering, before slithering across her welts for the next stroke; the whipping jolted her teats against the wall, wrenching her wrists and ankles, already tight in their drawn nooses. Her fesses bulged, jerking helplessly beneath her vicious rubber corset. Her head sagged, drool dripping from her mouth.
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
‘Ohh! Bee, stop! Stop…!’
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
‘Ahh…! Ahh…! God, it hurts!’
‘It’s meant to hurt,’ snarled Bee, flourishing the scourge.
‘Haven’t you learned to say please, bitch? This is my treat, and you are going to enjoy it…’
As she flogged Angarad, Bee’s striped bare bum squirmed under buggery from the black male.
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
‘Uhh…! Oh, Tamsin, make her stop!’
‘Perhaps you should say please,’ panted Tamsin, making Marcus’s sister shriek with a double-dildo fucking.
Petite Bee, nude, delivered twenty strokes with the cat, until Angarad’s bare shoulders and upper back were bruised livid. Angarad shuddered, moaned and squirmed at each slap of the quirt on her reddening naked skin, her eyes opening to roll, then closing tight again. The black man’s belly slapped Bee’s buttocks until he grunted and spunked in Bee’s anus, with the cream bubbling at her anal lips. She lowered her whip, masturbating herself to orgasm with her fingers on her clit and cunt flaps, and the whip’s handle a dildo pumping inside her soaked gash. As Angarad sagged limp in her bonds, Marcus wielded a cane and began to flog her naked buttocks. At his first stroke, Angarad’s buttocks clenched and she screamed, as a livid blue welt striped her bare bum-flesh. Bee crouched; Tamsin, after fucking and wanking Marcus’s sister to climax, lashed Bee’s naked croup, while the crouching submissive sucked cocks en série, with canestrokes to her cunt if she failed to swallow every drop of their spunkings.
Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘Ohh…!’
The rattan seared Angarad’s squirming bare bottom, helpless under the restraining rubber corset. Beneath her, Bee’s chin drooled with spunk, while her shoulders and hair glistened with come from Angarad’s twitching cunt flaps.
‘My dear wife,’ said Marcus, ‘think what you look like! It’ll have to be a whipping and a ducking at the very least, when our guests have gone…’
Bee was unable to reply, with a cock discharging its load of sperm in her eager throat, but she masturbated more vigorously, her fist pulsing inside her flowing cunt.
‘You want it, don’t you, Angie?’ hissed Tamsin.
Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘Ah! No! Make him stop!…Stop…’
Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘Oh! God…’
‘You’re dripping come, Angie. Your cunt is a river
and your clit’s monstrous. Are you going to come, under cane?’
‘No…!’
Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘I think you are.’
Vip! Vip! Vip!
Angarad’s full bare was puffy with bruises and welts, her mottled buttocks ridged in coruscated furrows. Each stroke slammed her against the wall, bruising her titties; squirm as she might, her bonds held her, rocking helplessly.
Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘No! No! AHH! Yes…oh, God! Yes…!’
At the fortieth stroke of the rattan, her belly heaved as she wailed in climax, rubbing her distended clitty against the wall. The caning ceased; Tamsin’s fingers prised apart her clenched buttocks for Marcus’s cock to penetrate her anus. He drove into her powerfully, plunging to her root with a single thrust, his cock oiled with Angarad’s own cunt-slime, and buggered her for minutes, before spurting his spunk. Marcus withdrew, and his brother-in-law mounted Angarad, buggering her greased bumhole with only a few hard strokes, before his sperm frothed at her anal lips. Angarad’s anal shaft was filled to the brim with spunk, her belly slammed against the wall, and her flogged arse wriggling under continuous buggery, as each new ejaculate spurted to dribble down her thighs. She wailed.
‘It’s what you want, isn’t it, Angie?’ purred Tamsin. ‘A proper whipping and bumming, like Bee’s? You never said please stop, you bad, bad girl…Do you want to say it now?’
Angarad shuddered, helpless in orgasm, as the black male buggered her; mouth agape and drooling, she shook her head. Sweat, perfume, spunk, lashes and screams: her world melted to the whip, the cock and her buggered anus. Only with the pinking of dawn did the Pinkarse scene, and Angarad’s humiliance, cease. Hand in hand with Tamsin, she walked stiffly to Tamsin’s car, her anus still creamy with spunk and her cunt dribbling come into the gusset of pee-soaked panties. She shivered under grey clouds and a chill, presaging snow.
‘Oh, God,’ she snuffled. ‘I can’t believe it…I just came and came and came…! Have you had your bum caned at Pinkarse, Tamsin?’
‘Never!’ Tamsin spat. ‘That’s for subs, the dirty little sluts.’
‘Is that what you think of me?’ Angarad gasped.
‘Yes,’ said Tamsin. ‘Be happy! There are worse things.’
‘Name one!’ blurted Angarad, sobbing.
‘You could go to prison…’
6
Done and Dusted
Angarad sat trembling in the leather chair, before the desk of Mr Shadwell, junior partner of Shadwell and Cragg. She crossed and uncrossed her grey nylons, beneath a grey woollen business suit; her black shoes were brightly polished. Below, traffic snarled in the slush of Theobalds Road; in the oak-panelled lawyers’ chambers, all was serene, save for Angarad’s face. Rex Shadwell swivelled in his chair, fingertips under his chin, and stared down at the cars and the denuded trees of Gray’s Inn.
‘You probably think me a bit young,’ he said, then, before Angarad could reply, continued: ‘As junior partner, I undertake our legal aid work. Most of what we do is not criminal justice, but, since there is often a grey area between the financial and the criminal, it pays us to keep our nose in the Old Bailey…’
‘I’m not a criminal!’ Angarad blurted.
Shadwell sighed and smiled.
‘You are a defendant,’ he said. ‘I am a defending counsel, whose job is not to ask whether you, ah, did it, but to guide you in your best interests. Sometimes, your best interests are to plead guilty, which is what, I am afraid, I must advise in this case. You signed the document, making you solely responsible in the UK for Mr Darren Dodd’s offshore dealings, nothing more than an investment, umm, scam of several millions. Mr Dodd is untraceable, hence your indictment. You presented a cheque —’
‘Which bounced!’ Angarad cried.
‘— which, in itself, admits complicity in fraud. The fact that Mr Dodd dealt in software, illicitly obtained from your own employer, does not aid your case. A maiden betrayed by her Svengali is a familiar but, at best, mitigating circumstance.’
Angarad put her face in her hands.
‘Oh, God,’ she sobbed.
Shadwell allowed her to finish her spasm of tears, before clapping his hands and continuing.
‘Facts,’ he said. ‘Twenty-first-century courts view computer fraud very severely. You are looking at a prison sentence of at least three, perhaps five years.’
‘Oh, God! You brute!’
‘Not I,’ he said. ‘We might get part of the sentence suspended, and remember that tariff is only two-thirds of sentence, so you may be paroled after half your tariff. A sentence of five years may mean only twenty months.’
‘Ohh…!’ Angarad burst into renewed sobbing.
‘It is a fiction that so-called plea bargaining is purely an American practice,’ he said. ‘It exists here, but informally, in a more English manner. Courts do not like time-wasters with frivolous pleas of not guilty; the fact that an unknown benefactor put up your bail money, instead of letting you wait a short while for police bail, is suspicious. Perhaps Mr Dodd has felt remorse for your predicament?’
‘That bastard…!’
‘Quite. Do you agree to plead guilty? If so, we may look for light at the end of the tunnel. Don’t whine that you have no choice, for we always have a choice.’
‘I’ll plead guilty,’ Angarad whispered. ‘I feel I must atone.’
‘Then, Miss Stark, I have an idea of reducing your atonement to the minimum. It involves a deal with both the crown prosecuting counsel and the trial judge. No doubt popular fiction has informed you of different prisons, from the brutal to the sublime, as it were.’
Shadwell laughed; Angarad shrugged.
‘There are indeed comfortable prisons, and experimental prisons, just as there are prisons of Victorian vileness. It is my plan to send you for a short time to an…experimental prison, rather than a longer time in a vile, boring one. You attended Ditton Girls’ Grammar School, I believe.’
Angarad nodded.
‘Knowing of certain…practices there, I think you should not have much trouble agreeing to my plan for your immediate future, including this very afternoon.’
Angarad listened to the young lawyer, unspeaking but her face pale, scarlet or aquiver. She crossed her legs several times, as he began to describe HMP Wrigley Scrubs, Yorkshire, but after a while, leaned forward with her nyloned thighs pressed tight, as though they could wet her dry throat, or squeeze the fluttering from her belly…
Wrigley Scrubs was an experimental facility only two years old: so far, an unqualified success, and to be joined by others of its model. It developed the open prison of the twentieth century, to restore the moral sense and dignity of its inmates in a uniquely English way. White-collar criminals could only become worse if allowed to mingle with what Shadwell called ‘common’ ones. A short, sharp shock, as Wrigley Scrubs administered, had proved no use for the hooligan element; yet it worked with decent miscreants who retained some proper morality and understood, instead of resenting, correctional procedures.
‘Just what correctional procedures?’ Angarad asked.
‘You mentioned Ditton Girls’ Grammar…’
Shadwell smiled.
‘Imagine that HMP Wrigley Scrubs is just a kind of Ditton Girls’ Grammar, only with the rules of a traditional English girls’ boarding school,’ he said.
‘Ditton! That beastly place! Nothing could be worse than…gym and hikes and games and rotten food and horrible uniforms and…oh, no!’
Shadwell nodded with a wry smile.
‘I’m afraid corporal punishment is on the agenda.’
‘The cane?’
‘I do know that unruly girls are sometimes spanked,’ he replied. ‘I cannot imagine you unruly, Miss Stark.’
‘You’ve never been at a school where girls were beaten by other girls,’ Angarad hissed. ‘It will be more than spanking, with the saintliest girls beaten the most!’
‘Then, I suppose, you should try to be uns
aintly,’ said Shadwell. ‘The deal, Miss Stark, is this: six months firm at Wrigley Scrubs, or else taking your chances on a three or five year sentence in a maximum security prison, full of — shall we say, the lower element. At least twelve months in a dismal hole, or six months amongst decent people like yourself, with decorum, fresh air —’
‘And caned on the bare!’ spat Angarad.
Shadwell said nothing but stared at her, a faint, teasing smile playing on his lips. After half a minute, Angarad sighed and nodded.
‘I’ll take Wrigley Scrubs,’ she whispered.
‘That is, if Wrigley Scrubs will take you,’ said Shadwell, rising. ‘Miss Horsfall, the governess, is quite particular about her inmates. I can vouch for your decorum but I, and the crown prosecutor, must report to the court on your suitability for the system. If Wrigley Scrubs it is to be, then your immediate future must be a test for that prison.’
Angarad stared at the man, her face pale. Slowly, her lips parted and hung slack.
‘Oh, no…!’ she gasped.
Shadwell nodded and flexed his big, rugby-player’s palm, cracking it on the arm of his chair.
‘A short spanking, Miss Stark — the minimum, I assure you — for my own peace of mind, so I may assure the court and Miss Horsfall, that you…’
‘Oh, damn it! Damn me! Damn, damn, damn…!’
Angarad sighed, rose and positioned herself to bend over the arm of her chair.
‘I’ve said a bad word, so now I merit punishment,’ she said, trembling. ‘On the bare?’
‘I imagine that would be best.’
‘What is your minimum?’ she said.
‘I’d say that’s up to you.’
Angarad removed her suit jacket and folded it on the chair, still warm from her bottom. She unbuckled her shoes and spread her thighs, gripping the floor with her nyloned feet. She reached below the hem of her pleated woollen skirt and raised it over her blouse, so that it lay snug at the small of her back, exposing her crimson lace sussies and garter straps and pink satin knickers, high cut. Slowly, she unfastened each of her garter straps, then rolled the knickers down over her stockings, until they were stretched in a bridge halfway down her thighs. She lowered her head on to her coat, thrusting the naked globes of her bottom upwards for her spanking. Shadwell gasped.
Caged! Page 10