‘Yet you don’t, Miss Pollecutt?’ said Angarad. ‘I see from your own bruised fesses…’
‘That? Rollo tricked me and beat me, the sadistic pig, so I duly punished him,’ spat Tamsin, giving Rollo’s arse another kick. ‘A cry for help, really. It’s all men want! Every one a filthy sub…’
Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘…and twenty-one!’ cried Ingrid.
Clare Cubitt’s bare-bum caning was complete.
‘You whore!’ cried Clare, rising and snatching the cane from Ingrid. ‘Your arse’ll smart for that…’
Her own bum glowed a deep welted crimson, and she jumped, as Ingrid put her tongue out and spanked it with her hand, before spreading her legs and bending over for her own thrashing. The company watched as Ingrid’s pert buttocks danced under the stronger girl’s cane, slicing her deep in the bum-cleft with uppercuts that whipped her anus bud and moistening cunt flaps.
Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘Ohh!’ cried Ingrid, her buttocks squirming. ‘Not fair!’
Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘Ah…ahh…bitch!’
Angarad and Habren licked their teeth while Tamsin began to rub her pubis; then, putting a thumb to her swollen red clitty, masturbated openly. Ingrid groaned and sobbed throughout her twenty-one stingers, her bare buttocks jerking at the vip! of the cane, crisscrossing her flesh in a careful pattern of welts. By the end of the set, her cunt, like Clare’s, seeped come. Habren had her fingers lightly stroking her pouch, with copious come sliming her inner thighs; Miss Horsfall’s fingers were at her crotch, her skirt well dampened by her gash fluid, but Angarad pointed at Tamsin.
‘I believe Miss Pollecutt is masturbating,’ she said.
‘Scarcely a good example.’
‘Gracious, no,’ said Miss Horsfall, blushing.
‘If I may be so bold…?’ murmured Angarad.
‘Of course, Mrs Gaunt — as our new director — please…’
‘The bull’s pizzle, please,’ said Angarad.
She ordered her twin to stay still while she strapped the huge dildo on her naked cunt basin; Ingrid and Clare held the squirming Tamsin over the sofa, with her bare bottom high and her thighs parted. The pizzle stood massive, with Habren’s pubic forest almost obscured.
‘You beat this girl viciously, Miss Pollecutt,’ Angarad said. ‘Now, she may take her revenge.’
‘But I told you,’ Tamsin wailed, ‘Angie’s a sub! I’ve known her for ages! She’sa filthy, submissive little slut. Fifty with the rattan is nothing to an arse like hers…!’
‘And I thought you were my best friend in all the world,’ said Angarad mildly.
‘What?’
‘I am Angarad Stark. Habren, here, is my twin. She will now bugger you, Miss Pollecutt, until you faint.’
‘No…please…!’
Habren mounted the pinioned woman and oiled the pizzle with come gushing from Tamsin’s cunt. With one thrust, she had Tamsin impaled on the pizzle, sinking the leather to the root of her anus; she began to bugger the squirming dominatrix, whose face was wet with tears.
‘No! Ah! Oh! I didn’t mean it! You’re my best friend, honestly…!’ she wailed, as the leather dildo slammed into her anus. ‘Ahh…!’
Her legs buckled and a steaming jet of piss hissed from her cunt flaps. Isobel Coker unfastened her cane and dealt Rollo a sharp cut on his bare arse.
Vip!
‘You, sir!’ she ordered. ‘Lick up your friend’s mess.’
‘You can’t order me around, bitch!’ he snarled.
Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘Oh!’
‘She can,’ said Habren, impaling the writhing Tamsin’s anus on her arse-greased pizzle, dripping piss, ‘and, furthermore, as director of this prison, I command you to lick girl-pee, and enjoy it.’
Vip! Vip! Vip!
Sobbing and squirming under Isobel’s bare-bum lash, Rollo Cragg began to chew the carpet under Tamsin’s cunt, which still dribbled pee mingled with her come-gush. Angarad said Tamsin’s buggery must continue until Rollo had licked every drop of her piss from the carpet. The telephone rang and Miss Horsfall answered, passing the receiver to Angarad.
‘It is Angarad speaking, Miss Maclaren — my sister is busy. Yes, you may speak to either of us, for we are the same. I see. Thank you.’
‘No…no…no…’ sobbed Tamsin, as Habren’s arse jerked above her, slamming the dildo into her bumhole.
‘Habren, Miss Maclaren has contacted London,’ Angarad said, ‘and found that our real name is Pollecutt. You are undoubtedly buggering a distant relative.’
‘Shall I stop?’
‘No.’
‘You bitch!’
Tamsin’s clitoris rubbed against the sofa back with each jolt of her cunt basin, and the trickle of come from her cunt had become a flood. Angarad dipped a finger in the juice and tasted it.
‘We all get what we want, Tamsin,’ she said. ‘Tell me — why was I really sent here? You, Will, Marcus…he was the only spectator at my sentencing! How many were in on it? You knew I was a Pollecutt, didn’t you? What do you really want? Tell me or Habren will bugger you till you faint, then I’ll whip your arse raw.’
Tamsin shook her head, her face crimson and glazed with tears.
‘Pollecutt’s Box…’ she mumbled.
‘Is that what you really, secretly want, Mistress Pinkarse? Or do you want to be caned and buggered and peed on, like the submissive slut you really are? Eh?’
‘You bitch!’ Tamsin spat. ‘Ah! Ah!…You, Angie…I wanted to be you!’
Her belly heaved in orgasm as Angarad’s finger touched her swollen clitty, just once. Come streamed down her thighs, puddling the floor, which Rollo’s tongue strove to lick clean of Tamsin’s fluid under the slicing of Isobel’s cane, now at the forty-sixth stroke to his bare arse.
‘I thought Isobel was the key,’ Rollo whimpered, ‘until Tamsin told me about Angarad. The box must be at Wrigley Scrubs. It must be unlocked with the true key, as breaking the lock will release phosphorus, igniting on exposure to air and burning the entire box and contents. Once we have the title deeds…we were going to cut you in on it, honestly…but we don’t even know where the box is…Tamsin, that silly cow…!’
Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘Ooh!’ Rollo howled.
‘Oh, I know where the box is,’ said Angarad, ‘and now I know the key.’
16
Vandals
Three girls, stripped to bra and panties, swam in the River Wrigley, past the muddy bank and the bridge to the village, and came to the rocky outcrop where Angarad indicated they should land. She stripped naked and handed her underthings to Habren, then slid, wriggling slowly, through the fissure in the rock. Habren and Isobel followed, the bras and panties left neatly folded on a boulder. They waded through the slime of the cave, until Angarad reached up to a ledge, groping for the box. The girls climbed to hack at the box’s encrusted base, until they could lift it down.
‘Pollecutt’s Box,’ Angarad panted.
‘But the key?’ said Isobel.
‘Either of us,’ said Angarad, and took Habren’s waxen amulet from her neck.
She prodded the prehensile opening of the lock; heard clicks and squeezes and, suddenly, the waxen model of her anus plunged all the way into the box. The lid twitched and disengaged half an inch; with delicate prising, the box opened fully. Inside lay a scroll of parchment, wrapped in oilcloth. Habren unrolled and began to read.
‘It’s clear enough,’ she said with a whoop. ‘There’s a lot of stuff about ancient peoples of the Sahara, before it was desert, with flagellant goddesses and the globetrotting Vandals — he thinks that the English are all Vandals who landed in Durham two thousand years ago! — but these lands are only lent to the crown and whatsoever females can open the box, share title to Wrigley Scrubs, village, house, estate, the lot — in perpetuity.’
‘I’m so glad — it’s awfully sweet, like a fairy-tale — but I don’t see why I’m here,’ said Isobel.
Isobel blushed.
‘Really! Well, yes — but I hardly know Miss Habren…’
‘You know me,’ said Angarad. ‘You know us…’
Habren snatched Angarad’s amulet from her neck and pressed its whorled tip to the slit of Isobel’s pouch. Her thumb found Isobel’s clitty and began to wank the girl off.
‘What —? Mm…I don’t understand…mm…’
Isobel’s gash began to seep come, rapidly soaking Habren’s fingers. She masturbated until Isobel’s cunt flaps were writhing, opening and closing like a fishmouth, then plunged the waxen amulet all the way inside the girl’s pouch, until only Habren’s fingernails were visible.
‘Oh, yes!’ Isobel cried, now wanking her own clitoris.
‘God, yes! It fits perfectly! Oh, I’m going to come…’
‘Rollo took a wax impression of your cunt,’ said Angarad. ‘That was to be your key, Isobel. You share Wrigley Scrubs with us.’
Isobel’s fingers were a blur as she masturbated, with Habren ramming the waxen dildo at her wombneck.
‘Oh! Oh! Yess…!’ Isobel sobbed as her cunt gushed come over her fingers, and her titties and belly heaved in orgasm, Habren and Angarad cupping their palms under her gashes to catch her come, with which they rubbed their own wet slits, masturbating rapidly, until their own gasps of orgasm succeeded Isobel’s. The three wanked girls embraced, kissing.
‘There shall be some changes made,’ said Habren. ‘Sir George’s text tells of the Vandals and their communal punishment days, like festivals. For example, miscreant women had to lie naked, with their breasts in river mud and, when the caner passed, each girl had to immerse her face in the water the whole time of her bare-bum beating. After flogging, they would be hoisted in a net and ducked together. Birched nude at the block, clamped on the rack for flogging on tits and bum…or girls wrestling for “sotweed”, that’s snout, nude, with their pube forests tied together — there are all sorts of lovely things in the past.’
Isobel shyly extruded an oilskin pouch from her bumhole.
‘It sounds just like the book of punishments at Wearbridge! Let’s celebrate with a smoke,’ she said.
The girls lit up.
* * *
‘Isobel, I’m so proud of you,’ cooed Gemma Cragg. ‘You say you designed this labyrinth all by yourself! What a thrilling punishment maze!’
Marcus and Bee nodded their agreement.
‘I’m sure I recognise some of my own computer game,’ said Will. ‘I’m intrigued you are familiar with the great Vandal maze of Oum el Hanch.’
‘You should catch up with Rollo,’ she said. ‘He was in absolute knots of excitement and couldn’t wait,’ said Isobel. ‘After you.’
They stepped before her, inside the labyrinth.
‘Of course, if you were girls under chastisement, a gauntlet of molten wax and canes would await you at the far door, which is the only other exit,’ she added, stepping back smartly and slamming the door shut on her captives. ‘Now, it is your only exit,’ she cried, above their shrieks.
* * *
‘They say that stud Aggar has tooled every slag in the prison,’ whispered Ingrid Fage to Clare Cubitt. ‘I mean, in the bumhole. He has a cock much bigger than Oswald’s.’
‘Well, he hasn’t done me,’ said Clare crossly.
‘Oh…I was hoping you might tell. He hasn’t done me, either.’
‘If that bitch Coker catches you smoking, or wanking, she gives you a choice — strokes or a bumming by the stud.’
‘Let’s sneak into the strokes’ bog and wank off.’
The two girls rouched in a cubicle, alternately dragging smoke from their rollies and blowing it into each other’s soaking cunt, as they frotted their clitties. Isobel’s footsteps tapped outside.
‘Oh! Oh! Wank me harder! Suck my clit! Oh, yes…!’ cried Clare and Ingrid in unison.
Isobel flung the door open.
‘Scandalous behaviour!’ she blurted. ‘You have a choice, ladies —’
‘Bumming, please, mum!’ chorused the two slags.
* * *
Ignoge Brand’s face was wet with tears. She lay nude, face down in the mud on the bank of the Wrigley, beside the groaning Goiswinth Moss and Althea Tite, equally nude, and their raised bottoms shivering. Beside them stretched Amy Patel, Belinda Garce and the other bottom strokes. Edra Forge’s face was plunged in the river, as her naked bum-flans quivered under the tap-tap-tap of Aggar’s cane; bubbles threshed around her head, until she had taken twenty-one strokes and was permitted to raise it. At once, the naked black man fell upon her arse, prising apart her clenched buttocks, oiling his cock with come from her quim, and plunging it into her anus. He clutched her cunt, thumbing her clitty as he buggered her to a squealing orgasm. Without spunking, he rose and it was Sarah Bunn’s turn to plunge her head underwater, for a bare-bum caning of twenty-one, or ‘a guinea’, as Habren had nicknamed it.
‘That cock,’ gasped Goiswinth. ‘I’m scared.’
‘We’re strokes, aren’t we? I don’t see why we should take punishment,’ wailed Ignoge.
Sarah’s bare buttocks writhed, reddening rapidly under the male’s cane. When her set was over, she spread her arse-cheeks, already slimed by her spurted come, enabling Aggar to penetrate her anus in a single thrust, and began to masturbate herself, shrieking almost at once in a prolonged climax.
‘Don’t you?’ said Althea Tite.
* * *
‘There’s something bloody good about being elected to parliament,’ said Darren Dodd, as Habren led him into the labyrinth. ‘The power, the manipulation of others…bloody socialists don’t understand how good it is to make people squirm, know what I mean? That’s why Pinkarse is such a delight, I’m really part of the club, now. Hey, you remind me of a girl I buggered in London. She was a right submissive little slut, like you. Warn you, darling, I’ll give you a proper thrashing and all.’
‘That’s what I’m here for, sir,’ said Habren, as she meekly led Darren into the cage. ‘You have power. You can chain me up, gag me…bugger me. Anything.’
She took off her bra and panties and, nude, placed her hands in the cuffs dangling from the ceiling. Her frizzy black wig, made of Tamsin Pollecutt’s pubic shavings, encased her coiled blond mane.
‘Would you rather bind me in rubber or strap me over the flogging horse, sir? There are plenty of candles to drip hot wax on my cunt and titties, and down here we are thoroughly soundproofed, so nobody will hear me scream. I’m sure you’ll make me scream, sir.’
‘Yeah,’ chuckled Darren. ‘I like to make girls scream.’
After he had caned Habren’s naked arse an hour, the girl gasped but had not yet screamed. Darren poured with sweat as he flogged her squirming, crimson bum-globes with the heavy rattan, his other hand holding a candle, lit at both ends, over her nipples and cunt. Wax crusted her breasts and belly and glued her cunt forest into a sculpture, like a rock covered in barnacles. The cage door opened and clanged shut. Angarad’s blond tresses swirled in front of Darren’s face, as Isobel, Ghislaine Bassin and Ignoge Brand pinioned him and released Habren.
‘What the fuck…? Let me go, you fucking whores!’ he cried as he was stripped, bent over a flogging horse and cuffed at wrists and ankles.
Habren took off her wig and the two twins, naked, stood before him, while Isobel fastened his cock and balls in a leather restrainer and raised a cat-o’-nine-tails.
‘Angie…?’ he gasped. ‘Oh my God…’
Habren pouted, rubbing her flaming red buttocks.
‘So sorry I didn’t scream, sir,’ she said. ‘You wanted a submissive little slut…perhaps my sister would have suited better.’
‘Your sister? What do you want?’ he blurted.
‘Why, Darren, nothing at all,’ said Angie. ‘Just you…’
Thwap!
The heavy quirt struck the male’s trembling
bare arse.
Darren screamed.
* * *
‘I never dreamed it could be like this…’ panted Oswald.
‘It’s so good. Oh, fuck me harder, Mistress!’
‘Gladly,’ said Isobel, sweat pouring from her nipples, as she rammed the bull’s pizzle between his squirming arse-cheeks. ‘For an extra eight ounces of snout…’
‘Anything…’
* * *
‘I never dreamed it could be like this,’ gasped Tamsin, as her freshly birched bare arse writhed under Aggar’s pumping loins. ‘Oh, that cock! Bugger me harder, split me in two, fuck my bumhole till I burst…give me your spunk, damn you! Oh, I’m coming again…!’
Aggar’s teeth gleamed briefly and he said nothing.
* * *
‘Habren, promise me you’ll never sleep with anyone else,’ whispered Angarad, her lips and nose nuzzling her twin’s wet cunt lips.
Their nude bodies were twined in honeysuckle.
‘I’ll never sleep with anyone else,’ Habren replied, licking Angarad’s anus bud and making her giggle.
‘Good night, me.’
‘Good night, me.’
* * *
Two women, nude but for billowing shame dresses which they had to clutch around their waists with shackled wrists, stumbled from the prison van into the snow. Their bare breasts were stiff and pimpled with cold, and each bore a wooden hobble bar at her ankles, the two bars roped together.
‘Prisoners Dummett, Faith and Joule, Constance for delivery,’ snapped the accompanying policewoman.
‘This is an outrage!’ wailed Miss Dummett. ‘Shackled, like a common criminal! I demand to speak to Adelaide Horsfall! She assured me that —’
‘You can see Miss Horsfall, after her public whipping at teatime,’ said Ghislaine Bassin politely.
Her fur coat flapped open over heavy rubber boots, showing her tabard top, rubber corset and luxuriant armpit hair.
‘Adelaide? Whipped? But — but —’
‘There have been some changes,’ said Ghislaine. ‘Horsfall was caught smoking. By the way, you wouldn’t have an ounce of snout on you? I could make your first dustings a bit easier…’
Caged! Page 27