Captives of Cheyner Close

by Adriana Arden

  A door had been let into one side of the pen, but it was padlocked shut. The other entrance was through two smaller sliding doors only high enough to pass through on all fours, linked by a narrow tunnel built out of wooden slats. The doors were locked by large vertical sprung bolts that could only be operated from the outside. At the moment both doors were open and their bolts raised.

  ‘I really thought this whole bloody nightmare was over,’ Cassie moaned as they knocked again on the cottage door.

  ‘Where is he?’ Sian wondered.

  ‘Either in bed deliberately ignoring us, or else in the woods having a good eyeful,’ Tara said.

  Uneasily they surveyed the looming mass of trees arrayed about the cottage. From somewhere in its depths an owl hooted. The girls unconsciously edged a little closer.

  ‘We can’t blame him for wanting to get his own back,’ Daniela said. ‘If we had got in trouble with the police they’d have found him minding our secret camp. And he made some of our equipment. They’d probably have accused him of being an accessory.’

  ‘I’d have told them he was innocent,’ Tara said.

  ‘But what if they hadn’t believed you?’

  ‘We haven’t been very nice to him,’ Hazel said. ‘He must feel so insulted. The way we’ve been using him –’

  ‘Don’t go on about it!’ Cassie snapped. ‘Let’s work out what to do next.’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Hazel said, tapping the notice. ‘That’s what he wants us to do to show we’re sorry. The cage or pen is meant for us as well. He’s had a few days to plan something special. Maybe he got some ideas from the residents.’

  ‘No way am I playing doggy games for him!’ Cassie snorted.

  ‘It made a twisted sort of sense with them at the Close,’ Sian said. ‘We really messed about with their lives for months. We hurt them so they hurt us back and now we’re quits. But with Simon we only –’

  ‘Cheated and lied to him,’ Gail interjected. ‘Called him sick names he didn’t deserve. Got him involved in crime –’

  ‘All right, so we treated him pretty shittily,’ Sian conceded. ‘But letting him screw us – and worse – is way too much!’

  To their surprise Daniela said: ‘I think it will be good for us. I mean to help clear our consciences. Simon’s part of what we’ve been doing wrong. Treating other people like they don’t matter when they do. We have been acting like bitches. I want to draw a line under it. To feel, well, clean. I’d rather pay back more than I owe than less. If Simon wants to have some fun with me, I’m willing to let him.’

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ Cassie sneered. ‘You like that sort of thing.’

  ‘Maybe I do, but I also know I feel happier now than I have for months,’ Daniela replied calmly.

  ‘And I feel my cunt’s already had enough use to last a year, my tits are like old pincushions and my bum’s sore as hell!’ Cassie retorted.

  ‘It doesn’t look too bad,’ Hazel observed innocently.

  ‘There is another reason to go along with this,’ Tara said. ‘What if someday Simon gets an attack of conscience and decides to tell our parents, or even the police, what we’ve been doing? Letting him punish us in private not only proves we’re genuine, it also pretty well guarantees he’ll keep quiet.’

  ‘So being good little bitches for Simon makes us even, buys us insurance and washes our souls clean at the same time!’ Cassie exclaimed.

  Tara held out her hands to indicate their collective nakedness. ‘What else have we got to offer? Maybe we can bargain for a day’s slavery and be ready to go up to two. He knows we can’t be away from home much longer.’

  ‘At least he’s quite good looking,’ Hazel reminded Cassie. ‘It might be – fun.’

  ‘You call that fun?’ Cassie retorted. ‘You and Gail and Daniela are all masochistic, slavish, submissive –’

  ‘You came a few times as well,’ Hazel pointed out.

  ‘I didn’t have any choice!’ Cassie insisted.

  ‘I don’t think we should try to bargain,’ Gail said slowly. ‘We’re not the Elite any more. I think we should leave it up to Simon. Do whatever he wants. Accept any punishment. Like Daniela said: we need to do this for ourselves as well.’

  Hazel and Daniela were nodding gravely.

  ‘She’s right,’ Tara agreed, knowing in her heart what careless presumption had already cost her. ‘We let him decide.’

  ‘All right,’ Sian sighed, ‘I suppose there’s no other way. At least we’ve had plenty of practice.’

  ‘There’s six of us and only one of him,’ Hazel said. ‘How many times can he have you?’

  ‘It isn’t the sex that’s worrying me,’ Sian replied. She turned and raised her voice, as though addressing the wood and any hidden watcher they might contain: ‘OK, we accept! We’ll be your bitches! Let’s get this over with!’

  There was no answer.

  Gail said: ‘If we’re really sorry and genuinely ready to accept our punishment, we shouldn’t need to be told what to do next.’

  She walked over to the pen, got down on her hands and knees and shuffled inside. Through the wire they saw her sit up and look around. ‘Come on,’ she called to them. ‘It’s not that bad.’

  Hazel and Daniela followed her into the pen. Sian shrugged and went in after them, with a reluctant Cassie at her heels. Coming last, Tara backed into the tunnel, sliding the outer door across as she went. Its bolt snapped down, locking it shut.

  ‘Why did you have to do that?’ Cassie demanded.

  ‘So we’re not tempted to change our minds,’ Tara said, pulling the second door closed so that its bolt dropped as well.

  They huddled together for mutual warmth. The low roof kept the dew off and the night air was still. As they got as comfortable as a bed of straw allowed, slumber began to steal over their tired bodies. It had been a busy day, Tara reflected.

  ‘At least we get to sleep without being tied up and screwed half the night,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Yeah … inside an animal pen …’ Sian yawned.

  ‘Remember, when we get through this, I’m never talking to you again,’ Cassie reminded Tara sleepily.

  Tara blinked, bleary-eyed, waking slowly.

  Her exposed flesh was chilled, though the straw under her had kept the rest of her body moderately warm. But as she stiffly raised herself onto one elbow the stalks stuck to her skin, which she found was indented with its latticework pattern. Still, she had slept, and surprisingly deeply.

  Now it was another dew-fresh morning. She could see out through the mesh of the cage into the garden … and saw things that had not been there the previous night. A sack and a bamboo cane lay by the outer door of the cage, while only a few paces further was a garden cart with low planking sides, riding on four small bulbous rubber tyres. A pair of heavy ropes had been fastened to the base of its towing handle. The ropes had hooks on their ends and a pair also spliced into their lengths.

  Then Simon Pye appeared from round the corner of the cottage and walked towards the pen. He was carrying a large saucepan.

  Tara scrambled across the pen, setting the others stirring and yawning. She grasped the wire mesh, staring up at Simon as he looked down at her. His lips were tight and there was a look of determination and self-assurance on his normally placid face she had never seen before.

  ‘Simon … I just want you to know how sorry I am for the way I’ve treated you in the past,’ she said, trying to keep her voice level. ‘That was wrong and you didn’t deserve it. If it had come to it I would never have let you take the blame for making those things for me. And I promise I’ll do everything I can to stop my father selling off Manor Woods. I’m not trying to get out of this and you can do what you like with me now, but I just wanted you to know how I feel.’

  Hazel had joined Tara. She said: ‘I’m so sorry for the way we treated you. It was stupid and wrong. I’ll do whatever you want to make it up to you.’

  Gail was also pressing herself a
gainst the wire. ‘I hope you can keep on living here, Simon. These woods are lovely. I’m sorry for mixing you up in our stupid games … and you must do what you want to me.’

  By now the rest had crowded about them. Daniela spoke up: ‘I hope you stay here as well. We deserve to be punished. Have fun with us until you feel we’ve properly paid you back.’

  Sian sounded genuinely contrite. ‘I should never have called you “stupid” like that. I was being a stupid cow myself. That’s on top of the way we’ve used you and were never even properly grateful. So you just … do what you have to to make it right.’

  Cassie’s words did not come easily, but she forced them out. ‘Calling you “Simple Simon” was nasty and I’m very sorry for it. I won’t blame you if you treat me worse than the others for saying it. I’d want to get back at somebody for talking about me like that. Do what you want now, as long as when it’s over I know that it’s for good and we’d be even. Please say you’ll …’

  Simon was frowning at them. He put down the saucepan, picked up the bamboo cane and tapped the inner pen door meaningfully. Only now did they see it had a copy of the notice on the back door of the cottage pinned to the inside. The line BITCHES DO NOT SPEAK seemed to jump out at them.

  They fell silent. Gail sat back on her heels, spread her legs and clasped her hands behind her neck in the position Warwick had taught them. The others quickly copied her. Tara felt her nipples rising automatically, standing to attention in a way that would have pleased the Major.

  When he was satisfied they understood, Simon tipped the contents of the saucepan through a slot in the wire into the metal trough.

  ‘Eat,’ he said simply.

  They crowded shoulder to shoulder as they bent their heads over the trough, not even attempting to use their fingers. It was salted porridge, which they ate greedily.

  When they had licked the trough clean and drunk from the water bucket, they re-formed their line, kneeling on display once more. Simon, who had watched them in silence, nodded slightly, as though approving of their posture.

  He emptied the sack out onto the grass where they could see. There were bundles of plastic-coated nylon clothesline, half a dozen large metal rings, what seemed to be small mesh baskets with pairs of straps trailing from them, plus several smaller lengths of rope and cord.

  ‘You’ve been bad, you’ve hurt people, you’ve been real mean bitches,’ he said simply. ‘So that’s the way I’m going to treat you. I don’t want to hear another word out of any of you ’til I say, because bitches can’t talk, right?’

  They nodded meekly.

  He slid open the inner door of the pen and pointed his cane at Gail. ‘You: get out here,’ he said.

  Nervously, she went down on all fours and shuffled into the tunnel.

  The cart rattled along the twisting path through the woods. Simon was standing on the platform holding its raised towing bar like a tiller, occasionally calling out directions to his team of sweating bitches. Tara gasped at every bump and turn, but she dared not fall out of step. She was part of the team, harnessed to the cart and to the other girls like animals. It was painful, degrading, exhausting and cruelly exciting.

  Tara, like the rest, was bound in an improvised harness of plastic-coated nylon clothesline. Its many coils circled her waist, crossed between her breasts and over her shoulders, looped about her upper arms, pulling them in to her sides, and bound her wrists behind her back. The cord was perfectly smooth but it was tight and cut into her flesh. A large metal ring had been tied to the coils where they crossed her navel, so that it dangled against her lower belly. Clipped to it was one of the snap-hooks spliced to the left-hand towing rope. This ran forward from the cart between Tara’s legs and then Daniela’s and finally Cassie’s, linking all their belly rings. The right-hand rope ran from the cart through Gail’s legs, then Hazel’s and then Sian’s.

  As they strained to draw the cart the ropes were dragged up between the slippery lips of their now sodden pubes, their twisted cords grinding and rubbing and teasing their swollen clits. Tara drooled round her muzzle at the sensations this generated. She was not gagged but muzzled like a real bitch. A plastic-coated wire cup, designed for some short-snouted breed of dog, was strapped in place over her nose and mouth. An extra thick wire crosspiece had been added inside the muzzle so that it acted like a bit.

  As if that was not enough, Simon had ensured each of his pairs stayed shoulder to shoulder and in step by tethering them together with short lengths of rope clipped between their navel rings and also lighter cords fitted with spring clamps linking their breasts. Tara’s right nipple was thus linked to Gail’s left, tugging painfully as their big sweating breasts bobbed and bounced in and out of synchronism.

  And so through the woods they went, following a meandering path that led eventually to the spot where a birch tree had fallen, opening a gap in the canopy overhead. Simon called a halt and jumped off the cart, while the girls sank down gratefully onto their knees.

  The birch was in the process of being cut up. Some of the main trunk had already been reduced to firewood-sized blocks, while the thinner straighter branches had been roughly trimmed into manageable lengths and were stacked in piles. It was these that Simon began loading onto the cart, while the girls trembled at the prospect of hauling such a weight.

  The cart took about half the pile. Simon tied a cord in series to the middle of each of their nipple tethers, then began to lead them back along the path. They had no choice but to follow, straining to draw the cart along, whimpering as the heavy tow ropes cut into their vulvas even as they stained it with their secretions. They walked hunched over to reduce the angle through which the ropes grated across their tender flesh.

  The return journey to the garden seemed twice as far as the outward one, and they were gasping and panting by the time they arrived. But Simon gave them little time to rest. He unloaded the branches, jumped on the cart and turned them round for a second load. When they had delivered the remainder of the branches to the garden, he took them back once more to collect a load of firewood. The last trip almost finished them. It was the heaviest of them all. Pulling the roller over Gerald Spooner’s lawn had been light work by comparison. But they were just mute beasts of burden, and what they felt did not matter. With tottering steps they finally dragged the cart back to the garden and sank to their knees; breasts heaving and splattered with drool, hair lank with sweat, eyes smarting, thighs wet with lubrication and pubes raw.

  Once the wood was unloaded, Simon freed them from the cart but left them harnessed and nipple-tethered. He briefly removed their muzzles so they could drink, then allowed them to sprawl on their backs to recover, their legs spread wide to allow cool air to soothe their sore groins. Meanwhile, he began laying out the branches on a little secluded patch of lawn next to their pen and trimming them with a saw and axe. Through her multitude of aches and pains, Tara wondered what he was building and whether it had anything to do with them.

  Simon extended the arrangement of nipple tethers for lunchtime and also put one of the thinner birch branches to use. He cut it into two waist-high posts and hammered them into the ground in the shade of a tree. The stakes were far enough apart so that the six of them could kneel in a row, shoulder to shoulder, between them, with the short lengths of spring-clipped cord linking their nipples to those of the girl on either side. The two on the ends had their nipples fastened to the posts.

  Simon took off their muzzles and sat in front of them eating his own meal, while tossing them chunks of bread, cubes of cheese or slices of apple. They soon learned to catch the titbits in their mouths like dogs being fed treats, though if they moved too energetically they risked giving both their nipples and those either side of them a nasty yank. Anything they missed they had to hunker down awkwardly and pick up off the grass with their teeth.

  Nevertheless, their nipples were painfully erect and pussies shamefully moist as they watched Simon eat and snapped at the morsels he tossed them. They
were helplessly expectant, waiting for the moment when he would start screwing them, as he must be planning to do, secretly wondering who would be first.

  But he kept them in suspense while he put them through another degradation. He had dug a small latrine pit in a patch of rough grass near their cage. Replacing their muzzles he led them, still nipple-tethered together, over to it. One by one they had to squat over the pit with their thighs spread wide and pee and void their bowels while he watched.

  Cassie and Sian stared fixedly at the ground while they falteringly relieved themselves. Tara did not try to avoid Simon’s grinning face, but met his gaze calmly, trying to show she accepted this further indignity without looking as though she was actually attempting to defy him. Daniela and Hazel both gave Simon shy smiles through their muzzles, suggesting mingled embarrassment and excitement at him witnessing their private functions. Gail gazed at him with curious intensity, as though readily offering her shame in payment for past misdemeanours.

  When they were done he unselfconsciously wiped them clean with handfuls of grass, adding one more intimate defilement of their persons. Was this calculated? Did he know he was sowing the seeds of shame that would haunt them for months if not years? How could they ever see him tending their gardens back in Fernleigh Rise after he had wiped their bottoms clean? Yet what possible reason could they give their parents not to employ him again?

  Simon tethered them round a tree while he used a post driver to hammer a ring of six trimmed branches into the ground until they stood at about head height. He then nailed lighter branches across the post tops to form lintels, bridging the gaps between them. Tara chewed on her bit as she watched the structure take shape, knowing it was meant for them, fearful of how it would work yet perversely desperate to find out.