‘I wonder if they’ve got any surprises for us?’ Hazel asked innocently.
They felt so tired, Tara wondered if they were up to whatever evening event the residents had planned for them. Perhaps the residents realised the same thing or perhaps they just wanted to keep them off balance because, apart from being held in Gerald Spooner’s garden once again, it turned out to be quite different from what she expected.
They were used as living furniture.
Before the other residents arrived, they were led round to Number 9, where it was obvious from the bustle in the kitchen that a garden party was planned. From a beaming Jim Curry standing beside a pile of straps, boards, rods and pieces of carefully cut perspex, it was also obvious he’d been busy in his workshop again. By the time the other residents arrived, the girls had been positioned about the garden and were, literally, ready to serve.
Tara stood very straight and erect. She had no choice. Her ankles were strapped together around a vertical metal rod set in a blockboard base. A second strap round her knees ensured they would not bend. The rod passed on up between her clenched thighs and vanished between the inrolling cleft of her buttocks. Its head was nestled deep in her rectum. She soon discovered that it was an excellent way of encouraging somebody to stand with their back straight.
A flat ring of clear perspex circled her middle just above her hips. It was made in two halves that had been screwed together, nipping her waist tight between them, and made an excellent table for bowls of party snacks or simply somewhere to rest a drink. It was braced by a slim rod running from its rim down to the cleft of her pubes, where its end made an angle up into her vagina and was capped by a rubber ball.
Tara’s arms were folded behind her and strapped wrist to forearm. This both showed off the inward curve of her waist and kept them clear of the second tabletop she bore. This was formed out of a crescent of perspex slung hard up under her breasts, so their warm fullness actually rested on the cool clear surface as though being offered up for the delectation of the diners. A strap joined the tips of the crescent behind her back, while the front edge was supported by a short chain clipped to Tara’s collar ring. Her mouth was of course filled with her ball gag. Living furniture was expected to remain silent.
So she stood mutely serving her captors, reduced almost as far as it was possible for a living being to be to an inanimate object. She burned softly inside with shame, yet perversely certain at the same time that she made a beautiful and elegant side table that would grace any party.
The other girls had been arrayed differently.
Gail was kneeling with her legs spread, showing off her pubic mound. Her body was bowed over backwards, her stomach outthrust. A rod rising from a blockboard base beneath her was plugged into her anus, helping support her hips. Her upper body was braced by her arms, which she held rigidly straight and vertical, so that her hands pressed to the ground close to her feet. Straps linked her wrists and ankles.
The upthrust double swell of her pneumatic breasts provided the perfect level support for the perspex table top slung about her neck and shoulders. Looking though the clear top you could see her erect pink nipples pressed against its underside. Even gagged her face was perfectly calm, almost dreamy.
Daniela was also on her knees, but with her body bent forward so that her level back provided support for an oval of perspex. Her hands rested on the ground just in front of her spread knees. A chain ran from the strap that bound her wrists together back between her legs to the rod that linked her ankles. A second rod ran up from this rod into the soft cleft of her vagina, ensuring she kept her bottom up. The table she carried was secured in place at the front end by a strap that went around her head and between her teeth, thereby serving also as a gag, and at the other by a spring and hook which curled its tip into the pucker of her anus.
A similar hook and strap method had been used to fasten the table to Cassie’s back. She was standing with straight legs strapped to a wooden base and pole like that on which Tara was impaled, except Cassie’s pole went up between her thighs into her pubes. She was bent over at right angles from the hip, braced by her arms with her palms resting on her knees. Straps bound her wrists to her lower thighs. Tara noted that Cassie’s eyes remained closed most of the time she was serving, while her bared teeth showed very white about her gag strap, as though she would like to bite through it given the chance.
Hazel lay on her back with her legs in the air, wedges on either side of her baseboard preventing her rolling to one side. Her thighs were clenched and doubled up and her arms were clasped behind her knees, where her wrists were strapped together. A chain ran from this strap between her legs to her collar ring. Her shins were bent over so as to be level, and on this her table rested, strapped in place about her calves. A bracing rod from her ankle strap ran down to lodge in her anus. This enforced doubled-over posture exposed the pouting swell of her pudenda and their soft deep cleft to all who used her. Her eyes were bright and excited over her gag.
Sian also lay on her back, but in acknowledgement of her slender suppleness, her posture was more extreme. Her arms were strapped behind her back, which was sharply bent with her legs pulled up and over so her knees touched her shoulders on either side of her head. Her lower legs extended straight into the air, the soles of her feet flat and level. A bar held her ankles apart and from it a chain ran down to her collar ring, preventing her from uncoiling. The table top rested between her feet and her tight bottom, where a short ball-capped rod secured it to her anus.
Of course these living tables were stroked and handled in a casual manner, as one might examine an interesting ornament at a party. Breasts were squeezed, hair tousled, slits fondled, nipples tweaked, but for the most part they were effectively ignored; taken for granted and treated as, well, part of the furniture.
At first this was a relief to Tara. They didn’t have to perform any more bizarre sex games and so they had more time to recover for their last night of solo service. All they had to do was stay still. Their various postures were not exactly comfortable, but the straps and rods did most of the work supporting them. They might be a little stiff afterwards, but that was better than riding pogo sticks or being used as golf holes or playing musical holly-chairs … wasn’t it?
The trouble was, even after less than a week, they had come to expect such treatment, like a conditioned reflex. Their present exposure was more than enough to trigger it. Tara could feel the growing excitement and readiness in herself and see it in the others
Expectation could be a terrible thing. Lapsing lyrical, their pussies were weeping; but was it out of shame at their humiliating exposure or sadness at not being used?
Tara hoped the party would end soon.
That night, Hazel knelt on a rug in Roberta Pemberton’s bedroom. Her gag had been removed but her hands were still cuffed behind her. The loop at the end of her leash was hooked over a brass knob of the bedframe. Roberta, wearing a red and gold silk robe, was sitting on the silk-sheeted bed looking her up and down. Her intelligent face, framed by a fluffy mass of light brunette hair, held a thoughtful expression. Her lips were pursed, her warm brown eyes narrowed as though assessing Hazel.
As she waited to do her mistress’s bidding, Hazel’s eyes flicked round the room. It was smaller than her bedroom at home but much neater. A few tastefully framed nude sketches decorated the walls.
Hazel felt both nervous and excited but not afraid. A week ago she had been terrified, but no longer. She had discovered things about herself she had never suspected existed and knew there was even more to be revealed. When Tara had reminded them that it would all be over tomorrow, the first thought that had come into her mind was ‘must it?’
‘You’re quite a little puppy, aren’t you?’ Roberta said unexpectedly.
Hazel focused her attention on her Mistress-for-the-night.
‘Mistress?’ she asked in surprise.
Roberta chuckled. ‘Not just because you’ve still got a little puppy fat to lose. And
don’t worry, it’s very appealing. But because I think you’re quite easily led. Being the youngest member of Tara’s gang, you wanted so much to fit in. And Tara is very persuasive and strong willed. You couldn’t help going along with what she said. I bet it felt exciting taking part in all those raids on the Close, or even what you did while I was walking along the road to Styenfold. Remember how you came past on your bikes in a line, freewheeling so I couldn’t hear you, then each of you called out some obscenity as you passed? But all the time you kept your faces perfectly straight and didn’t even look at me. From a distance nobody would guess anything had happened.’
Hazel gulped. Roberta seem to know her so well. This was the bit she hated to think about. She had felt a kind of shame about being naked and humiliated at first, but that had quickly turned into a weird sort of thrill. This was different. This was the true shame you felt when you knew you’d done the wrong thing.
Roberta continued: ‘Or the times you were helping at charity auctions and fetes, like such good little girls. You’d be behind a stall and smile sweetly right in my face. Then, when nobody else could hear, still smiling, call me a slut or dyke or worse. What it got you, of course, was the older girls’ respect. Acting tough, even if you didn’t mean it.’
By now Hazel was feeling sick and wretched. ‘I’m so very sorry, Mistress,’ she sobbed. ‘I know it was wrong now. It was just like the way you said. I wanted to be part of the Elite. You people didn’t seem to matter. Tara said you were only –’ Hazel paused and took a deep breath, sniffing back tears. ‘No, that sounds like I’m laying it all on her. I could have said no but I didn’t. It was easier to go along, to pretend what we were doing was clever when it was really cruel and stupid and I know it’s my fault … and if you want to hurt me back, I’d understand.’
Roberta was smiling sympathetically at her. ‘What I wanted above everything else was to hear you say sorry and mean it. And now you have. I understand how hard it can be. Sometimes there are pressures to do things you can’t resist. I’ve done a bit of acting myself. Not that you’d have seen any of it and I wasn’t very good, but I know about pretending to be something you aren’t … or not being something you are.’ She studied Hazel closely for a moment. ‘Would you like me to show you something secret?’
‘If you want, Mistress.’
Roberta took a magazine from the side table and laid it out on the bed where Hazel could see. It was a men’s magazine, and an old one by the look of the cover. Roberta flicked through the pages until she reached a particular photo set. Hazel goggled at it in amazement. The model’s name was given as ‘Samantha’ and her hair was longer and darker, but it was unmistakably Roberta Pemberton, perhaps ten or fifteen years younger than she was now. Roberta smiling at the camera as she cupped her breasts, or sat with legs splayed holding her pussy wide, or knelt doggie-fashion with her rear to the lens showing everything.
‘I needed the money, you see,’ Roberta explained, ‘and this seemed like an easy way of making it. I did a few photoshoots then I got into porn films. Some of the things we’ve put you through the last few days were my idea. Now you can guess where I got them.’
Hazel looked at her with new respect. She’d never have imagined anybody living in Cheyner Close would have had the nerve to do something like that.
‘You looked … lovely,’ Hazel said. ‘I mean, you look lovely now, Mistress, but even better then.’
‘Thank you.’ Roberta smiled. ‘But the most important thing was that I got out of the business before I was in too deep and nasty. Best decision I ever made. Knowing when something is a game and when it isn’t. When to play and when to be serious. When it might hurt you or somebody else, and when it’s safe to have fun. That means taking responsibility for yourself and your actions. And that’s being an adult, not a puppy.’ She reached out and stroked Hazel’s hair. ‘Even a very sweet one.’
Hazel’s heart thudded in her chest with delight at her touch, even as her loins turned liquid. Slowly she said: ‘But puppies do need to be punished sometimes, if they’ve been bad, Mistress.’
Roberta raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, they do.’
Hazel felt a lump in her throat. She understood. It was going to be all right. ‘This puppy needs to be punished,’ she said meekly. ‘To help her remember her lesson. Please, Mistress …’
‘I see. Well, I have one memento of my porn years that might interest you. It’s a prop from a very perverted but fun film I was in that I managed to acquire. Do you want to see it?’
Hazel nodded eagerly.
Unhooking her leash, Roberta led her though to the spare room. In the middle of the floor was a very large, brightly painted rocking horse, mounted on a sturdy frame. There were three or four slotted levers set in the horse’s rump just behind the saddle. It was a moment before Hazel saw the horse was clearly male, as shown by the huge erection protruding from under his belly.
Hazel giggled at the sight. ‘He’s lovely, Mistress.’
‘And there’s more to him than meets the eye. Get on and see.’
Roberta helped Hazel onto the saddle, which was real leather. As she straddled it she saw there was a slot in the top of the saddle. When she sat down her vulva and the lower cleft of her buttocks hung over it. Roberta slid Hazel’s feet into the stirrups, which were rigidly fixed to the horse’s sides, and then buckled straps around her ankles to hold them in place. When she was done she slid her hand up Hazel’s leg and thigh, across her lower stomach and down into the soft folds of her lovemouth.
As her fingers toyed with the bud of her clitoris, Hazel shivered and sighed with pleasure, her eyes half-closing.
‘Happy?’ Roberta asked.
‘Perfectly, Mistress.’
Roberta unclipped Hazel’s leash and reversed her collar. Smiling, she pulled out a hook which had been protruding from a hole under the horse’s tail. The hook was connected to the end of an elastic cord which unreeled from some inner recess until Roberta could clip it to Hazel’s collar ring, now dangling at the back of her neck. The cord resisted her leaning forward in the saddle, though she could stretch it a little. Roberta cupped Hazel’s breasts, sending another shudder of pleasure through her, and rolled her reddened nipples thoughtfully under her thumbs.
‘These still look a little sore,’ she said. ‘Perhaps they should have more rest.’
‘Please, Mistress,’ Hazel said. ‘I’m here to be punished.’
‘As you like.’
She lifted the reins from where they had been hung about the horse’s neck. Hazel saw they had a pair of spring clips fastened to them. These Roberta snapped about Hazel’s plump nipples, adjusting the slack on the reins until they began to lift Hazel’s pale soft mammaries towards the bit rings in the horse’s mouth. Now Hazel was confined by the tension of the elastic cord fastened to her collar and that of the natural elasticity of her stretched breasts. She could lean a little forwards by pulling on the rear cord, but leaning backwards would be torment for her breasts.
Roberta moved round to the levers behind the saddle. Hazel drew in her breath as she felt a thick rubber dildo pushing its way up through the slot in the saddle and into her anus. She squirmed by reflex, feeling her anal ring bulging under its girth, but of course she could not escape its impaling length. There was no choice, not that she wanted any, but to sit up even straighter in the saddle, her eyes watering.
‘That will hold you steady,’ Roberta told her, ‘while this will please you …’
A second dildo rose up beside the first, this time nosing into her pudenda. But it stopped when it had barely breached her tunnel mouth.
‘It’s worked by pistons under the rockers,’ Roberta explained with a smile. ‘The more he rocks, the faster and deeper it goes …’ As she spoke she slipped off her robe, leaving herself quite naked.
She still had a lovely body, Hazel saw with delight. Her hips might be slightly fleshier and breasts heavier than in the photographs, but her skin was clear, her legs were shapely
and her waist still held an hourglass curve. And she was clearly aroused. Large brown nipples stood up firmly from their parent globes, while the swelling tongue of her inner labia pouted from her pubic cleft.
From a small wardrobe, Roberta took out a riding crop and swished it through the air a few times.
‘Now, I want to see you ride until you come, young lady!’ she told Hazel, flicking the crop across the soft swell of her stomach and causing her navel to pinch inwards.
Thrilling to the sudden pain, Hazel began to roll her hips to and fro, thrusting out her tingling belly in an effort to get the horse rocking. Slowly it responded. She found its rhythm and began to work with it.
Roberta swished her crop again, this time catching the underside of her breasts, making them bounce at the end of their nipple tethers. ‘Harder!’ she ordered.
Sobbing with joyous fear, Hazel strained to obey, her swaying upper body tugging on her clipped nipples, stretching them and her breasts. As the rocking motion of the horse increased, the phallus aligned with her vagina began to bore deeper into her. To her delight she realised it bore a collar of bristling rubber prongs which teased her clitoris as it sheathed itself again and again into her hot wet depths. As her wooden steed galloped faster her juices seeped from her gulping vulva to stain the polished leather of the saddle.
The crop flicked across her flank, coiling round her buttocks.
‘This is the home straight,’ Roberta said. ‘I want to see you gallop over the finish line …’
Hazel rocked even further in her saddle, heedless of the torment she was causing her nipples, riding the plunging phallus to the end. She gave one last jerk and then shrieked with delight, dousing the shaft with her orgasmic exudation.
As she slumped in her bonds, panting from her exertions, Roberta whispered in her ear: ‘Wait till I get you into bed, little puppy …’
Ten
THEIR FINAL DAY of captivity in the Close began with the familiar routine.
They were brought to Number 2 from the other houses, stiff, sore and aching from last night’s use. Breakfast was laid out on the floor and they ate it eagerly from their bowls, hardly troubled that their hands were cuffed behind them, or that they had to flatten their breasts to the ground to lick it all up. Then they were taken outside for a full hour’s vigorous drill and exercise.
Captives of Cheyner Close Page 17