by William Avon
They reached the woods where Arabella halted the little group. She unhitched the frame from her horse and left it leaning against a tree, then looked at Melanie.
“Now, you are going to give Mister Thomas and Mister Gerard some sport,” she told her. “They never had their reward for capturing you the day you arrived, remember?”
“Yes, Miss Arabella,” Melanie answered brightly, her heart leaping with relief and her nipples hardening and standing up even as she spoke. “I shall be honoured to serve them.”
“Good. But first we need to warm you up...”
Arabella rode up and down the field leading Melanie along behind her while Thomas and Gerard took turns to ride past and smack Melanie with their paddles. The enticing targets of her unprotected breasts and buttocks naturally received most of the blows. Melanie gasped at each stinging impact and her eyes misted with tears, but she tried to show her mettle by maintaining her stride and accepting the punishment bravely, as she would in a real hunt. It was just the prelude for what was to come, the thought of which was already lubricating her lovelips.
The ‘warming’ session ceased when Melanie’s chest was heaving and she was sheened with sweat. With her tender flesh flushed and tingling, Arabella led her into the shelter of the woods.
Thomas and Gerard dismounted.
“Free her hands, Arabella,” Thomas said. “It’s only sporting.”
For a moment Arabella seemed ready to argue, but with a shrug she complied, releasing Melanie’s hands.
Briefly freed of her bonds, Melanie stood between the two men, ready to enact the culmination of the hunt - the capture and subjugation of the prey.
The men circled her, grinning in anticipation. Melanie smiled back, feinted to one side, then lunged in the opposite direction, trying to get between them.
She managed to run five yards before Gerard, with a diving tackle he must have learned on the rugby field, brought her down. His hands caught her ankles and held her fast, despite her desperate kicks and twists. Thomas’s heavy body fell across her back and bore her down. Then she was wrestling with them, three figures rolling on the ground, the men grunting and cursing in frustration and delight as they clasped Melanie’s sweaty, dirt-streaked naked body and strained to control her.
“By God, but she’s strong!” Gerard exclaimed.
“Secure her, Arabella, quickly!” Thomas pleaded.
With a heave the men rolled Melanie over and forced her arms behind her back. There was a slight jangle of chain and she felt handcuffs click about her wrists. Her flailing legs were stretched wide apart. Arabella pushed a spreader bar between them and snapped the spring lock cuffs mounted on its ends about her ankles.
With a whimper of defeat, Melanie ceased to struggle and lay still; a pinioned animal panting for breath, her chest heaving. Her body ached and her skin smarted, but inside she felt a glow of satisfaction. She knew she had given good sport.
The hunters sat back on their heels for a moment to catch their breath and to examine their prize, turning her round between them. Their touch was firm, but not ungentle, and they praised her even as they handled her intimately.
“Well run, girl,” exclaimed Thomas as he squeezed her warm full breasts experimentally; pinching and lifting a dark, plump nipple and letting it snap back, watching her flesh tremble and still.
“Thank you, Master,” Melanie panted.
“Yes, a fine show,” agreed Gerard, running his hand over the smooth swell of her belly, teasing the deep pit of her navel, then sliding his fingers into the tight, dark curls and moist recesses of her cleft. Hands ran down the curve of Melanie’s slender waist and out across the fullness of her hips.
“Fine strong haunches,” said Thomas.
“Lovely full rump,” Gerard commented, his fingers digging into her flesh and parting her buttock cheeks firmly. Melanie felt the surprising coolness of the air touch the tender pucker of her anus. “A dark, tight little hole here, that might repay investigation in due course,” he concluded.
Melanie heard Arabella laugh at his remark. Twisting her head around she saw Arabella seat herself in the hollow of two great splayed roots of an oak tree. She was going to watch as the men used her.
Gerard grasped her hips and pulled Melanie backwards and up onto her widespread knees. Thomas knelt before her, unbuttoning his bulging riding breaches, releasing a thick, purple-headed penis, which seemed to spring to attention before Melanie’s eyes. Gerard gave her a little push and she toppled helplessly forward. Melanie could smell saddle leather and the heavy male scent of his arousal as he lowered her head onto his erect member. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Hot, hard, silky flesh pushed past her lips. She sucked and licked dutifully. Thomas pressed her head down further and she swallowed the head of his rampant tool, feeling her throat bulge. A tug on her hair and she was allowed to pull back enough to draw breath. She began to work her tongue and lips harder round his organ, rolling down his tight foreskin to expose the smooth plum at its head.
Behind her, Gerard opened his fly buttons, and she felt the head of his erection brush across her bottom. Then he grasped her hips firmly and drove into her moist slit, stretching the fleshy sheath to accommodate him. She gasped as he penetrated her, and almost choked on Thomas’s cock.
Arabella sat on the oak root with her legs splayed and her hand working busily under her skirts. Her eyes were wide and intent on the scene before her.
Thomas and Gerard worked Melanie’s bound and helpless body to and fro between them, falling into a steadily increasing tempo. Back and forth, back and forth, the pistons of flesh plunging remorselessly inside her. Just time to take a breath as Thomas’s thick rod cleared her throat, even as she was impaled by Gerard’s longer shaft reaming into her cunt again.
The raw lust grew within Melanie and a warm knot began to tighten in her stomach. How perfectly natural it all was after the pain and exertions of the hunt and capture. She was their prize, properly won and now to be enjoyed... and to enjoy.
Thomas came first: hot sperm spurting down her throat. She ground her face into his stomach as he spent so that her nose was buried in the tufts of pubic hair peeping through the vent of his soft linen underwear. Melanie felt Gerard’s urgent ejaculation blossom forth inside her and knew her own need had to be satisfied. Desperately riding his last thrusts into her slit, she came herself; bucking and jerking wildly, pulling at her bonds, and finally collapsing onto the grass.
Exhausted and happily satiated she lay there: a packgirl at peace. The living trophy of the hunt and her captors united briefly by their spent passion.
“Now it’s my turn,” Melanie heard Arabella say brusquely, “How’s her tongue, Thomas? I hope you have warmed her for me. Over here, girl. Crawl!”
Still in a post-orgasmic daze, Melanie obeyed automatically; awkwardly bracing herself by pressing her face and chest into the grass until she could lever herself upright enough to shuffle forward on her widespread knees, moving in undulating jerks rather like a caterpillar, squashing and scraping her tingling breasts across the grass. She was aware of Gerard and Thomas watching her progress from behind, and realized what a sight her raised and naked bottom and widespread thighs must present to them. Even as she edged towards Arabella, she felt Gerard’s sperm start to ooze from her lovemouth and trickle down the insides of her thighs.
Arabella watched her uncomfortable and humiliating approach with a strange mixture of impatience and delight. When she was close enough she thrust out her boots.
“Kiss them!” she commanded.
Painfully, Melanie levered herself upright enough to lift her head from the grass, acutely aware that she was thrusting out her hips and bottom even more than before to keep her balance. She felt the mens’ eyes upon her helplessly exposed cleft as she bent forward and kissed the shiny black leather toes of Arabella’s boots. Ar
abella smiled, then suddenly parted her legs wide and drew her skirt up to the tops of her thighs, so that Melanie found herself staring up between the two shapely columns of pale flesh to the nest of golden curls at their apex and the swollen vaginal lips that they framed. So Arabella wanted her to lick her out. Well that wasn’t so bad.
But Arabella was edging her bottom forward even as she leaned back. The dark pucker of Arabella’s anus appeared from beneath her mound of Venus.
“I want your nose in my cunny slot and tongue in my bottom hole,” Arabella said.
Melanie faltered, instinctive revulsion at odds with her training to obey.
“Well?” Arabella demanded, in a more menacing tone.
“Please... Miss Arabella... I’ve never done that to anyone. Let me please you in some other way...”
Even as she spoke she was bracing herself for the expected slash of Arabella’s crop. But it didn’t come. She looked fearfully up into Arabella’s face only to see a cold smile of triumph.
“Obviously you need further training,” Arabella said, seeming to relish every word. “I’ll show Uncle how girls should be broken in. Something severe is called for. I think the thistles in the fallow field are tall enough to serve.”
“I say, that’s a bit steep, Arabella,” Gerard exclaimed. He and Thomas were standing now, brushing off their clothes. “Give the girl a thrashing if you must, but don’t start that again. You know the trouble you got into last time.”
Sickening realization dawned on Melanie. Arabella had planned this all along. She’d just been searching for the excuse to do something terrible to her to prove her methods of training, which she’d been pestering the Major about since Melanie’s capture. Fear broke down Melanie’s inhibitions. Stupid for her to have hesitated. She was a slave girl. She was meant to obey.
“Please, Miss Arabella,” she said cravenly. “Forgive me. I’ll do it now.” Melanie tried to push her head between Arabella’s thighs, but Arabella caught her collar and held her back.
“Too late, girl. It’s the thistles for you. Thomas, Gerard: give me a hand with her.”
But now both the men were looking at Arabella in stern disapproval.
“Sorry, Arabella,” Thomas said firmly. “We won’t have any part of this.”
“Look, you’ve already given her a fright, now let the girl please you,” Gerard advised.
“No, she must be punished properly!” Arabella insisted.
“Well you can’t take her through the thistles without us - and we’re not helping you.”
And the two men mounted their horses and rode away through the trees.
Arabella looked at them go with a face contorted by both rage and disbelief. In that moment Melanie saw the naked soul of the spoilt child that lay beneath the adult exterior. Then Arabella turned back to her.
“Don’t think you’ve got away with this,” she warned Melanie ominously. “You’re going to go for a ride you’ll never forget!”
The Thistle Ride
Jemima cautiously opened the front gate of the playhouse garden.
She was holding a handkerchief over her nose ready to give a convincing demonstration of sniffles, adding credence to the message that she had sent to Arabella yesterday reporting her indisposition. Actually Jemima did not want to be here. She wanted to be in the school stable loft, sharing in everything that she knew even now the boys were doing to Sue. But she had promised to find out what Arabella’s reaction to Sue’s disappearance was and what she might do in response. So Jemima had gone home as soon as she had been released, told her mother what a nice night she had spent at the Hall, and then hurried back here. She was looking forward to making her report to the boys. Amber had advised her to be a little reluctant to speak, and Jemima secretly thrilled at the thought of what they would do to her to persuade her.
There was nobody in the playhouse, but she heard voices from the back garden and went through. Belinda, Penny and Ernestine were sitting out on the lawn.
“There you are,” said Belinda impatiently as Jemima appeared. “Where did you go to yesterday afternoon?”
“I didn’t feel well,” Jemima said quickly, displaying her handkerchief for all to see. “I left a message for Arabella telling her I was going home. Er... where is she?”
“We don’t know,” Ernestine said. “Everything was open when we arrived, but there was no sign of Arabella.”
“And she’s taken the girl with her,” Penny added with a scowl, “so we haven’t anything to do.”
“Oh,” said Jemima, finding herself a seat. She thought for a minute, then said hesitantly: “of course, we did used to play at lots of other things before we found Sue. Why can’t we try them again?”
“Huh!” said Belinda contemptuously. “Those were children’s games. We’re too old for that now - except you! You’ll always be a silly girl, Jem.”
Just then the backdoor of the playhouse opened with a bang and Arabella strode out into the garden. Her face was set, her eyes were gleaming. Before they could say a word her gaze fastened on Belinda.
“Come with me!” she snapped in such commanding tones that Belinda jerked to her feet without question.
“What’s happening?” Ernestine asked.
“And what have you done with our slave?” Penny added.
Jemima’s heart thudded, fearful that Arabella would somehow know she had been responsible. But Arabella didn’t spare her a second glance.
“She’s gone,” Arabella said simply. “We’ll talk about it later. This is more important. Come on, Belinda.”
And the two of them walked briskly away, leaving the other girls to exchange puzzled glances.
Melanie tried to move to ease the pain, but her bonds were too tight. She moaned but could not cry out: a gag strap stretched her lips back with cruel tension. Her bared teeth chewed on leather.
She was tied with her back to a tree, her arms wrenched out behind her and pulled upwards so high that she thought her shoulders would dislocate. There was a rope around her middle, cutting into her stomach and pinching it in painfully tight. Her legs were pulled wide apart and back around the tree, with her knees bent so she could not support her weight. Only her bonds held her upright. Her bonds... and the stick.
Arabella had rammed one end into the grass between the tree roots so that the stick leaned inwards at an angle. The top end was cleft in a ‘Y’ fork, like an extended thumb and forefinger. The ‘finger’ was lodged in her vaginal passage which was distending under the weight of her body, pressing up against her bladder. The ‘thumb’ was gouging into the upper fold of her vulva, pushing the cleft mound of soft brown flesh upward beyond its natural limits, stretching it agonisingly into a vertical grin. Her perversely aroused clitoris ground against hard wood. Arabella had smiled when she inserted the stick. It was a symbol of her power over Melanie; a reminder of her subjugation.
Now disgust mingled with Melanie’s fear and pain. How could she have been so stupid as to refuse her? The only consolation was that something like this would have happened sooner or later. Arabella would have made more and more taxing demands of her until she rebelled. She had obviously been looking for an excuse to punish her - ‘training’ her as she thought of it. At least Thomas and Gerard had refused to help. But they had still left Melanie to her fate. Perhaps it wasn’t done to interfere with the punishment of another person’s slave. Not polite. Not good manners.
Melanie found herself crying. The warm companionship of the pack, her delight at serving the Major, the challenge and joy of the hunt; all were melting away before the stark realization of her utter helplessness in the face of Arabella’s malevolence. How had she let this happen to her? She had to get away... but to get away was wrong. She was a slave.
She heard the beat of hooves. Two horses! She twisted her head around in the wild hope that it was
Thomas and Gerard returning. But it was Arabella, together with a dark-haired girl perhaps a couple of years younger than she was.
They dismounted and walked up to Melanie. The new girl looked her over in wonder, but also with a touch of the coldness Arabella showed.
“Oh, she is beautiful,” she said, turning Melanie’s head from side to side and squeezing her breasts. “I can see why you wanted her for yourself. Does she really run as well as they say?”
“Yes, but she needs more obedience training.”
“The sort of thing you did to the Drake girl?”
Arabella smiled cruelly, looking Melanie straight in the eye. “Better than that. Help me get her onto the frame.”
They pulled the cleft stick out of Melanie and released her bonds, leaving the rope ends bound about her wrists and ankles. Melanie fell forward onto her face, her arms and legs numb and useless. They dragged her over to the packgirl frame which was lying flat on the grass. Resting her on the netting they tied her face down, her hands fastened over her head to the bar at the apex of the ‘A’ frame which hitched over the back of a saddle and her feet on the rests over the axle.
“Now unhook the net,” Arabella said.
Belinda obeyed, leaving Melanie hanging in a bow from her wrists and ankles, her stomach and breasts brushing the grass. Mutely she watched as they fitted rods from the pack Arabella had brought with her to either side of the frame top, forming extended ‘handles’ about five feet long. Loops of leather trailed from the handle ends.
They brought their horses up and positioned them close together and then lifted the frame by the handles and rolled it forward so that they could hook the leather loops over their western-style saddle pommels. Now Melanie hung suspended from the frame between the two horses, hanging at an angle of some forty-five degrees. The girls mounted up and Arabella looked across at Belinda.