Caged!

by Yolanda Celbridge

  ‘I say! I had no idea…’

  ‘You want to spank me, sir. Go ahead but don’t be surprised that you’re not the first.’

  ‘That bottom has had more than spanking,’ he stammered. ‘Those are cane weals. May I…?’

  His fingers hovered above the dark blue furrows that bruised Angarad’s buttocks. She snorted bitterly.

  ‘You’re going to spank me, remember? Please get on with it. Then you can report I can take it, and my bum can be flogged purple in Wrigley bloody Scrubs, and…there, I’ve said another bad word. Spank me, please!’

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘Mm!’ Angarad whimpered, her eyes shut tight, and her scarlet face screwed in a mask.

  Her bare buttocks clenched, squirming, as the male’s palm fell in harsh rhythm on the helpless bum-globes. At each spank, Angarad’s pubic bush writhed in the pool of come seeping from her slit on to the leather arm-rest.

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘Oh! Oh!’

  Shadwell sweated, his rolled shirtsleeves damp.

  ‘That’s almost a hundred,’ he said.

  ‘Surely past your minimum!’ she blurted.

  ‘I said it was up to you, didn’t I, Miss!’

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘Ouch! Ahh…!’

  ‘You want to be punished,’ he exclaimed.

  ‘No!’

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘Ahh…!’

  ‘I’d be a fool not to enjoy spanking such a lovely bottom,’ panted the male, ‘positively begging for it…’

  ‘No!’

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  Angarad’s bare fesses squirmed crimson, her spanker’s fingerprints etching deeply over her raw welts.

  ‘Oh! Oh! God, that hurts!’ she gasped.

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Are you busy, Shadwell?’ said a male voice. ‘It’s about that Stark girl…’

  ‘Come in, Dunton,’ said Shadwell. ‘I’m working on her now…’

  ‘What?’

  Angie reared but Shadwell pinioned her head.

  ‘Miss Angarad Stark, or rather, Miss Stark’s bottom’ — Shadwell laughed — ‘meet Piers Dunton, the crown prosecutor in your case and, by happy chance, a fellow-member of chambers.’

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘OOH!’

  Angarad’s spanked bare bottom threshed furiously.

  ‘Spirited filly,’ drawled Dunton, ‘and well used to the cane by the looks of things. Just the job for la Horsfall. Mind if I take her for a canter round the track?’

  Shadwell delivered a final dozen spanks, in machine-gun rhythm, to Angarad’s writhing bare, before yielding place to the slender, mop-haired young prosecutor.

  ‘Oh…Oh…not more…’ Angarad sobbed.

  Dunton snapped the string of her panties, baring her bottom entirely, then parted her buttocks.

  ‘Her arsehole’s well slack,’ he drawled.

  ‘Steady on, Dunton!’

  ‘I’d say she’s been bummed recently,’ Dunton said, ‘as well as caned, or flogged. Better tell me how, girly. Are you in the fetish scene?’

  ‘No! I swear! Some people I know are…I didn’t want it to happen! I hate being beaten! You must believe me…!’

  ‘Proof is in the pudding,’ said Dunton laconically as he unbuckled his belt, a heavy leather strap, three inches thick and half an inch wide, with inset metal studs all along; he folded it in two, with the studs facing outwards. ‘How did she take to spanking?’

  ‘Fair to middling.’

  ‘Let’s see how she takes the strap.’

  Thwap!

  The leather jarred Angarad’s livid bruised arse and she shrieked.

  ‘No! Oh, God!’

  Thwap!

  ‘Oh! Oh! No…!’

  Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!

  ‘AHH!’

  Angarad’s naked bum-flesh was a writhing tapestry of bruises and welts, overlaid by the brute leather. The studs left deep indentations at each of the young man’s strokes, delivered from above shoulder height.

  ‘Who caned you, girly?’ panted Dunton. ‘Who buggered you? Truth, now. Don’t you want a good report…?’

  Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!

  ‘Ah! Ahh…!’

  At the thirtieth stroke of the strap, Angarad, choked with tears, broke down and sobbed her whole story. Her strapping did not stop as she spoke and was interrupted by her yelps, and her bottom’s continued, frantic twitching.

  ‘…I’ve always tried to do the right thing, and now it seems I’m being punished for it! The ten thousand was going to save my foster-parents — they have a small delicatessen that the Gauntco supermarket is going to destroy and…oh, it doesn’t seem fair!’

  ‘Gauntco, eh, Rex? Things aren’t fair, are they, girly?’

  Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!

  ‘OHH!! Stop! Stop!’

  ‘Funny,’ said Shadwell, ‘my clients never seem to mind when you fit them up, Piers, for something they didn’t do, as part of the game, but they hate being fitted up for something they did do.’

  ‘This filly is too good for her own good,’ said Piers.

  Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!

  ‘Ahh! Ahh…please, please, stop!’

  Angrad’s buttocks were puce with welts by the time the belt ceased whopping her naked buttocks. Piers put down the strap but Angarad, sobbing, continued to writhe in her own come, mouthing ‘please…’, and with her fesses still clenching open and shut over her distended anal pucker.

  ‘All right,’ said Dunton pleasantly and unzipping his fly.

  ‘You’ve taken a good hundred, you little slut, so I’ll stop.’

  Holding her flogged buttocksy well parted, Dunton moistened her anus with come from her sodden bush.

  ‘What…? Ahh!’

  Angarad screamed as he plunged his erect cock two inches inside her bumhole.

  ‘Don’t you want it, Miss Stark?’

  ‘No…! I mean, I’m so confused!’ she shrieked, as the tool drove into her anus. ‘God, haven’t I taken enough?’

  ‘Jury’s out on that,’ said Shadwell, unzipping his own garment. ‘Spanking made your quim wet, Miss Stark?’

  A further thrust and Dunton’s massively stiff cock penetrated her anus right to the hilt. With only his balls visible, Dunton began to bugger Angarad with fierce, pounding strokes. She whinnied and writhed beneath him, her cunt-basin’s twitches spraying her thighs with come.

  ‘Not too slack, after all,’ panted the bugger. ‘Care for some, Shadwell?’

  Shadwell’s erect cock hovered by Angarad’s sweat-soaked tresses. He pulled her head up by the hair and pressed his helmet between her lips. With one thrust, his cock-shaft was at the roof of her mouth and Angarad, eyes closed, began to suck powerfully on the hard flesh. A further thrust drove his cock to the back of her throat, swelling her cheeks and obliging her to bob her head back and forth, while her buttocks squirmed under Dunton’s cock poking her anus. Her buttocks clenched, sucking on the bugger’s tool, as her throat sucked on Shadwell’s. Freeing one arm, Angarad drove her fist between her soaking cunt lips, opened her fingers and began to masturbate vigorously. Her come dripped down her wrist and glistened on her nylon stockings. She pushed three, then four fingers into her squirming wet slit, pummelling the neck of her womb, as her thumb pressed her swollen clitty.

  ‘Mm…’ she gasped, sucking one huge cock, with her bum writhing to squeeze the organ impaling her anus.

  Dunton began a spanking of her inflamed haunches, bruised purple from his belt.

  Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

  ‘Ngg! Mm!’ Angarad gurgled, her head and buttocks bobbing frantically, as both males began to grunt in the onset of spunking.

  Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

  Dunton’s thighs slapped her naked bum at each plunge of his cock in her anus; she opened her mouth wider and encompassed Shadwell’s tight balls, licking the sac with her tongue.

  Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

/>   ‘Mmm…MMM!’

  Angarad wanked herself off to a frenzied, shuddering spasm, come flowing copiously from her wet red slit, and at once the two males bucked harder, filling her holes with sperm. Frothy spunk dribbled from her mouth, down her chin and on to her breasts; from her anus, on to her come-soaked stockings.

  ‘Oh…oh…’ she moaned. ‘I am guilty…’

  ‘Just as well, then, that Shad’s on your side,’ said Dunton, wiping his arse-slimed cock on her panties. ‘In the civvy court, against your wretched parents, he’s up for his chums at Gauntco…!’

  ‘Ohh…!’

  Angarad’s sobs were her deepest yet.

  * * *

  ‘Enter,’ a voice called from within the judge’s chamber.

  WPC Constance Joule ushered Angarad into the presence of her judge. Faith Dummett was a slim woman in her mid-thirties, seated at her writing desk. She looked over her pince-nez glasses at Angarad, her full breasts rustling the tight cream silk of her blouse. Behind her hung her judicial robes; she was costumed in a sombre business suit of maroon wool. Angarad herself wore the same grey as on her visit to Shadwell the week before.

  ‘The prisoner Stark, as instructed, ma’am,’ said WPC Joule, a tall brunette, with her tight black skirt and police blouse encasing big teats, thighs and buttocks that rippled to match Angarad’s own; handcuffs, a truncheon and restraining devices of black rubber or gunmetal, jostled at her belt.

  Mrs Dummett clicked her tongue.

  ‘Dear me, WPC Joule,’ she said. ‘Prisoner! Too harsh for such a well-formed young lady. I prefer…detainee.’

  She instructed Angarad to stand before her desk with her hands behind her back. Angarad did so, biting her lip. Faith Dummett brushed back a strand of her yellow hair and looked her up and down, while WPC Joule took stance at the door.

  ‘It is, of course, quite unusual for a detainee to meet her judge before trial and sentence,’ said Miss Dummett.

  ‘However, such is the importance of Wrigley Scrubs to the judicial system that I view your matter with less formality, Miss Stark. How I regret that you stand before me! But — we all make mistakes! — here you do stand. You have agreed to our…proposal.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Angarad murmured.

  ‘Reports from the prosecutor and your defending counsel are favourable,’ said Faith Dummett, wrinkling her nose. ‘I shan’t ask for details — men can be beasts — and I dare say you would prefer not to go into them.’

  Angarad nodded, swallowing.

  ‘You are fully aware of the experimental nature of the Wrigley Scrubs regime,’ Miss Dummett said, to which Angarad nodded again. ‘Good. After my own interview, I shall ask you to sign some papers, and we shall meet again in court, where Mr Shadwell shall suggest you plead guilty; I shall sentence you to a firm period of six months’ full rigour at HMP Wrigley Scrubs.’

  ‘Full rigour…?’

  Angarad paled, while WPC Joule smirked openly.

  ‘A legalism, Miss Stark,’ said Miss Dummett quickly, ‘to satisfy our male lawmakers…I and my dear friend Adelaide Horsfall, governess of Wrigley Scrubs, are of one mind: chastisement without reform is no chastisement at all. However, you are aware corporal punishment is applied, on occasions.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Angarad.

  ‘At Shadwell’s, you were spanked.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Bare bottom?’

  Angarad blushed.

  ‘As good as. I was spanked with my knickers on but pulled up very tight, with my string in my cleft and the spanks landing on my skin — that was by Mr Shadwell — then, Mr Dunton ripped my knickers off to strap me on the full bare.’

  Miss Dummett sighed.

  ‘You know the term, “full bare”, then. I was afraid so. Men…! It must have hurt.’

  ‘It did, ma’am, awfully!’ Angarad blurted. ‘It’s not so much the pain, or the number of whops that hurt, it’s knowing that someone wants to hurt me…’

  ‘Yes,’ said Miss Dummett. ‘I know you were at Ditton Grammar and are familiar with corporal punishment. I’m afraid I am now obliged to hurt you just a bit more, as your final test. Or rather, WPC Joule is. Your report says you took spanking, and the strap, well, but were not dusted — caned, that is.’

  ‘Why, no…’ Angarad gasped.

  ‘Adelaide Horsfall very occasionally approves the use of the cane on thoughtless girls at Wrigley Scrubs,’ said the judge, ‘and, Angarad — I may call you that? — since you are here because you were thoughtless, it is possible you may be thoughtless again. I must sentence you in the knowledge that your bottom can take punishment by cane.’

  ‘On…on the bare?’ Angarad gasped.

  ‘Of course not!’ said the judge. ‘On your knickers, pulled tight of course, but on the bare…? My!’

  WPC Joule grinned stiffly as she unhooked a short crook-handled sapling cane from her belt’s kit.

  ‘I have seen a girl caned on the bare,’ Miss Dummett said, brushing a speck of dust from her breast. ‘It was with Adelaide, actually. We were exploring Morocco in a Land-Rover, and we came to this village in the High Atlas…a young man and woman, found — you know, snogging — were punished in the public market.’

  She brushed her breasts, which quivered as she spoke.

  ‘The young man was stripped to his loincloth and flogged on the bare back — fifty strokes with a bullwhip. Adelaide counted them. He wriggled most horribly! The young lady was caned, bent over a rail with her wrists and ankles held by other women, and her skirts over her head, taking the same number of strokes on the bare, from a male, with a cane over three feet long. I thought it quite awful, although Adelaide didn’t agree. She said the girl wept less than the male and could take it. Still, her bare bum was a frightful sight after they’d finished caning her. The women who held her laughed throughout her caning! When she had finished sobbing, they shared a cake with her as they examined her weals: proof, Adelaide insisted, that corporal punishment was healthy. Adelaide can be quite forceful in a good cause…’

  She sighed.

  ‘Her work at Wrigley Scrubs has convinced me I was right to agree with her,’ she said. ‘Therefore, Angarad, I should like you to bend over my desk, please, grasping both ends firmly and parting your legs. WPC Joule shall raise your skirt, pull your knickers as tight as they will go and administer four strokes of her cane to your buttocks.’

  ‘Four!’ Angarad gasped.

  ‘I know it sounds harsh, but…’

  ‘I’ve no objection, ma’am,’ Angarad blurted, taking position as ordered, her face two feet across the desk from the judge’s own.

  The policewoman lifted her skirt over her back and drew her knickers up tightly till the gusset bit her crotch. Angarad’s buttocks were totally covered by the fabric, apart from a portion of bare haunch, but so tightly were the cotton knickers pulled that the welts, etched on her skin by recent caning, stood up in relief.

  WPC Joule smacked her lips.

  ‘Well!’ she said, her fingers tracing bruises on Angarad’s bare haunches. ‘There’s been a cane at work here.’

  Angarad blushed deeply.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ she said. ‘I was spanked and strapped! I bruised my thighs falling in the snow.’

  ‘Is that the truth, Angarad?’ said Miss Dummett. ‘This is technically a court of law.’

  Angarad swallowed and nodded. With one hand, WPC Joule rolled a cigarette and lit up. She parked the rollie at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Very well. Cane the girl, please, WPC Joule. Four brisk ones, not too hard…’

  She smiled at Angarad.

  ‘…but not too soft, either. One!’

  Vip!

  Angarad winced and her buttocks clenched as the cane lashed her, the tight knickers mere gossamer over full bare.

  ‘Remember, Angarad, Miss Horsfall takes a very dim view of girls who tell fibs…’

  Miss Dummett’s left hand slipped below her desk and began to twitch. Sh
e blushed then asked Angarad if her first cut was smarting. Angarad nodded, eyes moistened by tears. Miss Dummett smiled and closed her own eyes for an instant; her shoulder and upper left arm moved rhythmically. She began to stroke Angarad’s right-hand knuckles, gripping the desk with her right palm.

  ‘There, there, dear,’ she said. ‘It’ll soon be over. Two!’

  Vip!

  ‘Uhh…!

  Angarad gasped as the second canestroke lashed deep in the welt of her first. Her raised bottom squirmed and clenched, with an oily film of moisture trickling into her tightened panties gusset from her quim. Angarad swallowed, closing her eyes in anticipation of the third. Miss Dummett’s voice did not give the command. Instead, she herself panted softly as her nylon stockings hissed, slithering together. WPC Joule sucked contentedly on her cigarette, blowing smoke over Angarad’s bare bum.

  ‘Hurt a lot?’ Miss Dummett gasped.

  ‘Awfully, ma’am. But I know I can take it.’

  ‘Three!’

  Vip!

  ‘Ahh…’ sighed Miss Dummett. ‘Just one more, Angarad. Your bottom’s wriggling a lot…I must warn you against squealing when you take the fourth. Adelaide does not like girls who squeal.’

  ‘I promise, ma’am,’ Angarad sobbed. ‘But I can’t help my bottom wriggling. The officer canes very hard.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Miss Dummett. ‘Four!’

  Vip!

  ‘Ahh!’

  Angarad screamed. The fourth cut was an upender, taking her right in the bum-cleft and thrashing her anal pucker and the swollen wet lips of her cunt, outlined beneath the tight panties. Miss Dummett’s hand gripped Angarad’s and she gasped, quickly and harshly, several times, her buttocks squirming in her seat. Miss Dummett gulped and said that Angarad must take the stroke again, but this time without screaming.

  ‘Ma’am,’ Angarad sobbed, ‘the officer caned me right in the slice! It hurts so! Oh, I don’t know if I can take such a stroke without screaming…’

  ‘You must. With your permission, WPC Joule will inspect your bottom for welts before proceeding.’