Slaves to the Girlspell

by William Avon

  Platt saw the genuine distress in her face and his heart softened. “It wasn’t your fault, Alison. She did have the right to take her. You couldn’t have known it would come to this.”

  “But I had a feeling. There was a nasty look in her eyes. You’d never have let her take Melanie out like that, would you Mister Platt?”

  “No, but then I’ve had more experience with the world than you, Alison. You’ll learn how to stand your ground. I promise, next time you’re left in charge, you’ll have the Major’s authority not to let anything be done with the girls that you’re not happy with.”

  “If the Major will ever trust me with them again,” Alison said miserably.

  The visitor was shown into the Major’s study.

  Major Havercotte-Gore had enough to occupy his thoughts at that moment without entertaining unexpected callers, but good manners required that he be polite, especially if the visitor was female. He rose to greet her with hand outstretched.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Moncrief. Jemima, isn’t it? Please take a seat.”

  Jemima sat shyly on the edge of the chair as though anxious not to disturb anything about her. She looked very fresh and bright in her light plain frock, white socks and polished patent shoes. In her hand was a small posy of flowers.

  “I’m so sorry to call on you like this, Major Havercotte-Gore,” she said hesitantly. “But I felt I had to come... to apologise.”

  The Major looked surprised. “Apologise, Miss Moncrief? What have you to apologise for?”

  Jemima lowered her eyes as though ashamed. “For what Arabella did to your bondslave Melanie.”

  “But that was none of your fault. It was all the doing of my unhappy niece and Belinda Jenkyns.”

  “But you see, Arabella has talked to us about Melanie for days. She kept on about the... the things she would like to do to her. I feel I should have known something like this would happen when she got the chance. I should have... warned you.”

  “My dear Miss Moncrief, you could have done nothing to prevent this. If anybody else is to blame it is myself. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to leave this morning, I would have thought to give instructions about how the girls could be used in my absence.”

  “Oh, please don’t blame yourself either, Major,” Jemima said. “Everybody knows how much you care for the girls you own. It must be terrible to see one hurt like that.”

  The Major felt touched by her understanding. “It has certainly been a great shock. Melanie’s going to be unable to serve for several days, I fear. It’s going to leave me with even fewer packgirls for the Ball. But that’s my problem, Miss Moncrief.”

  “Do please call me Jemima, Major.”

  The Major felt himself smiling rather foolishly. “Certainly, if you wish... Jemima.”

  Jemima held up her posy. “I hope it’s all right. I brought them for Melanie. I thought they might cheer her up a little.”

  “That’s most kind of you.”

  The Major felt himself unexpectedly warming to Jemima. He realised she had grown since he’d last seen her. Where there had been a girl there was now a young woman. Quite an attractive one as well, in a slightly impish way. And there was something engaging about her manner (such a contrast to Arabella). Deferential, almost meek, but at the same time, somehow... provocative? Yet she also seemed to brim with innocence.

  Jemima had been glancing round the study. Now she pointed at some photographs on the wall. “Oh, you have pictures of your slaves. May I have a closer look? Thank you... oh, aren’t they beautiful? This must have been taken at last year’s Ball. Look at them all laid out like that, and so cleverly decorated. It must be so hard for you to arrange. And then catering for all those guests...”

  And the Major found himself explaining what was required, all the weeks of planning, the conferences with his staff, hiring extra servants for the day, decisions about the menu... As he escorted her to the kennels, it was only natural for him to show Jemima the Ballroom and describe how the girls would be placed.

  By the time they reached the kennels Melanie was asleep on the Sick Room bed. Alison found a jar for Jemima’s flowers and with some wire they were hung on the bars where Melanie would see them later. Platt was flattered by Jemima’s interest in the workings of the kennels, and soon found himself showing her around his little kingdom.

  When Jemima at last left the Hall a couple of hours later the Major stood on the front steps to wave her goodbye. He felt immeasurably cheered by her visit. In fact, he couldn’t remember when a young person had last been such delightful company. How had such a sweet girl ever been drawn into Arabella’s circle? he wondered.

  His brow furrowed. Arabella. Yes, he felt ready to face her now.

  Arabella paced up and down her room like a caged animal. Every few minutes she glanced angrily out of the windows. The bright fresh day beyond mocked her. She should be outside riding, not confined and shamed like some stupid child.

  Even the servants hadn’t had the nerve to meet her eyes when they had brought her lunch in on a tray. They must know what had happened. Were they secretly laughing at her? What would Thomas and Gerard think of her now? And Belinda would not have kept her mouth shut, so the girls must know. How long before the whole county knew?

  And all over a few scratches on a bondslave.

  If only her Uncle hadn’t come back early she could have had Melanie cleaned up and presented as a properly broken-in packgirl, justifying everything she’d done. The trouble was her Uncle was too soft on them. Even Platt had looked ridiculously concerned. How could they care so much about a creature that was simply meant to give pleasure? Begin caring for others that much and you might get hurt yourself. It was a stupid weakness.

  Without a warning knock the door opened and the Major strode in.

  Arabella turned to him with eyes flashing. “Uncle, you cannot keep me...”

  “Shut up, Arabella!” the Major snapped. “You will not say another word unless I give you leave!”

  Arabella’s mouth shut. There was an edge to his voice that penetrated even her cocoon of self-interest and allowed for no dissent.

  “I’m now going to do something I should have done before this as your guardian,” the Major continued. “Something my brother-in-law, God Rest Him, should have done years ago as your father...”

  Only then did Arabella realise he was carrying a short plaited leather thong whip.

  She shook her head in disbelief, but she could already feel fear supplanting her anger. He couldn’t really mean it...

  The Major pointed to the foot of her bed. “Kneel down there and raise your skirt!”

  She took a step back from him, biting her lip.

  The Major slashed the whip through the air so that it struck the bed with a startling crack.

  “Either you do as I tell you this instant, or I will call in the servants to do it for you!”

  He meant it!

  The colour draining from her face, Arabella obeyed; kneeling down over the edge of her bed. With trembling hands she reached behind her and drew her skirt up over her hips. Elastic gartered stockings encircled her thighs, lace-trimmed purple silk knickers stretched over the swell of her buttocks.

  “Take down your drawers,” the Major said.

  With a shudder, Arabella hooked her thumbs around their waistband and pulled them down around her knees.

  For a moment the Major surveyed her exposed bottom with the dispassionate gaze of a connoisseur of female flesh.

  Her buttocks were creamy smooth and quite flawless. They did not have quite the firm muscular swell that rigorous training developed in a packgirl, but they were adequately strong. Peeking from their cleft undercurve was the golden-fuzzed mound of her pudenda.

  “It shall be seven strokes,” he told her. “The pattern you used when you s
till had some sense - not like the travesty you inflicted on poor Melanie. Perhaps it will serve as a reminder...”

  The whip hissed through the air and corded leather bit into her soft skin with a pliant crack! Her bottom lifted and her flesh shivered. Arabella buried her face in the bedcover to stifle her shriek of pain.

  “She had broken, submitted, yet you continued,” the Major said.

  Crack! went the switch again. Now Arabella was clenching fistfuls of cloth in her hands.

  “That was simple cruelty. When the lesson has been learnt you stop, do you understand?”

  Arabella was nodding desperately even as the third blow landed.

  Crack!

  She bit a fold of the bedcover to stop herself screaming aloud.

  The Major changed his stance and struck her again.

  Crack!

  “Packgirls can be taught to behave properly...”

  Crack!

  “Perhaps that’s why I like their company.”

  Crack!

  “I would never use this on a packgirl,” he told her, “but then a decent packgirl would never have warranted it!”

  Crack!

  The last blow fell and the Major stepped back to inspect his handiwork.

  Arabella’s bottom was no longer the flawless thing it had been only minutes before. Two raw ‘X’s marked the centres of the fleshy curves of her buttocks, framed by two parallel horizontal cuts scored on the rounded slopes above and below them. Running through the middle of both ‘X’s and bridging her cleft was a final slash of scarlet and purple. Where the marks crossed, beads of extravasated blood were appearing on the welted skin.

  “You will stay in your room until you are fit for decent company,” he told her. “In the meantime you will receive no callers, nor have the use of any bondslaves. The servants will be instructed not to speak with you more than is absolutely necessary.”

  The door closed behind him and a key turned in the lock. As Arabella sobbed into her sheets, a drop of blood fell from the undercurve of her buttocks onto the carpet.

  “...and Alison has to stay in the kennels tomorrow night and sit with Melanie while she’s in the Sick Room, so she’ll miss seeing the Ball. Melanie was going to be the main tablepiece, but now they’re going to have to choose one of the other girls... I think that’s all... Oww!”

  Jemima was relating what she had discovered that afternoon. It was after teatime in the loft. The boys had an hour to themselves before they had to go to their dorm and get ready for bed, so while ostensibly ‘taking a walk’ they had come to hear the latest news. Jemima had struggled delightfully as they stripped her, then tied her hands behind her back and feet to the spreader bar. The bar was then hoisted on a length of rope up over a beam so that Jemima hung upside down with her legs apart and her inverted breasts jutting out enticingly. Paddle smacks on her conveniently exposed inner thighs and bottom sent her twirling merrily, while pinches and tugs on her nipples set her swinging to and fro.

  With her crotch almost at eye level, the boys were curiously probing the hidden depths of its thick-lipped upturned mouth. Jemima’s subsequent bucks and jerks added greatly to her gyrations.

  Amber watched them play with their willing victim with half a mind as she digested the information Jemima had brought with her. The scheme which had floated nebulously in her thoughts for days was now taking on a definite form. If the Ball went according to the schedule Jemima had laid out, it was possible. But they’d need to get to the Hall early in the evening, so Miss Newcombe would already have to be taken care of.

  “Can you keep Miss Newcombe occupied again tomorrow night?” she asked Sally. “She’s got to be out of the way so we can get to the Hall in time to take care of Arabella.”

  “Suppose so,” Sally said. “Though I’d like to see Arabella get what’s coming to her with me own eyes.”

  Sue, who was secured next to Amber, said hesitantly: “I’d rather like to see that myself, if it’s possible.”

  “Yeah,” Sally said. “We want to know she suffered good and proper!”

  Amber frowned. “Maybe we can work something out. Let me think a minute...”

  “Masters!” Jemima begged loudly. “Please take me! I don’t want to be a virgin any longer!”

  The boys laughed at her frustrated need as they clustered round Jemima’s suspended form; finding unexpected pleasure in denying her the release she craved. Sally grinned mischievously. She got up and went over them and said something to the boys, then bent down and spoke softly to Jemima. Amber saw her eyes widen and her already flushed face grew even redder.

  The boys looked at each other uncertainly, then Gosset unbuttoned his flies and released his straining erection. Standing before Jemima’s inverted body he caught her by the hips to stop her swaying, dipped his hips and pushed forward. Jemima’s mouth opened obediently and his shaft slid between her lips and down her throat. Clasping her buttocks and pulling her to him, Gosset hesitantly bent his head over Jemima’s glistening grotto.

  “That end don’t bite - stick your tongue in her!” Sally urged. “She’s a nice clean girl - enjoy her.”

  Gosset buried his face in the pretty pussy before him and began to kiss and lap at the treasures within, even as Jemima sucked and lapped at his cock. Amber smiled benevolently at the sight of the two teenage lovers joined in their suspended sixty-nine, knowing that this would only serve as an appetiser for the boys when her own turn came later. And as she watched the last pieces slotted themselves into place.

  If Jemima could draw a plan of the kennels, and the boys believed Melanie was still in danger from Arabella... If they accepted Arabella might have something of value to trade for Sue, but as long as they didn’t appreciate the importance of the phallus to Amber’s own plans...

  Yes, it was blatant and daring, but it would work!

  Jemima didn’t have to work hard at pleasuring Gosset. In a minute his hips jerked and he spent himself in her mouth. And like a good girl she gulped it all down with a blissful expression on her face. Gosset pulled out of Jemima to make way for Harris to have his turn.

  “Have her quickly, Masters,” Amber said aloud. “We’ve got to clean Jemima up and send her home early. She’s got an important letter to post and then she’ll need her sleep. We all will. Here’s the plan...”

  The Day of the Ball

  The next morning at breakfast, which the boys had to prepare themselves and which was consumed in the school’s echoing dining hall, Miss Newcombe entered with a frown on her face. Guilt immediately re-surfaced in their minds about the outrageous liberties they had taken with her the night before last, and they exchanged anxious glances. Miss Newcombe had been perfectly normal the previous morning and had shown no sign of the sexual torture she had endured or that she suspected their involvement, but the fear that somehow she would find out the truth lingered.

  Miss Newcombe took her seat at the head of the table where they had laid her place and sipped at her tea, looking preoccupied.

  Jackson asked hesitantly: “Is their anything wrong, Miss Newcombe?”

  She blinked and looked up at them.

  “It’s rather unfortunate. I had a telephone call from Dr Gideon while you were washing. A patient of his, a Mrs Sayward at Hitchen’s Farm, over Boxley way, needs continuous nursing. The regular nurse has been taken ill and he was hoping I could fill in for her tonight. I said as it was urgent I would help if I could find a suitable person to take my place here, but so far I’ve been unsuccessful...”

  They did not hear the rest of the sentence as their minds were overwhelmed by the disastrous implications of what she had said. If somebody else was employed to watch over them tonight there was no chance they could be distracted as planned. Anybody Miss Newcombe trusted to deputise for her was certain to be a zealous type. The boys would have no option b
ut to be in bed at the proper time and stay there. There would be no way they could carry out their raid on the Hall.

  It was the thought of what they might be losing that galvanised Jackson to speak up. “You don’t need to find anybody to babysit us, Miss Newcombe. We can look after ourselves, you know.”

  Miss Newcombe smiled. “I appreciate you are only trying to help, Anthony, but the school regulations require a member of staff, or some responsible adult, to be on the premises at all times pupils are in residence.”

  Parsons said quickly: “But you’ve been leaving us here on our own sometimes while we’ve been working.”

  “Strictly speaking I should not have left you for any time at all,” Miss Newcombe admitted. “However there is a great difference between an hour or two during the day and the entire night.”

  “But if somebody badly needs looking after you must go to them,” Gosset said. “That must be more important than school regulations.”

  “Please trust us, Miss Newcombe,” Jackson said solemnly, “You gave us the bondslave handbook because you thought we were old enough to know about that sort of thing. Well, aren’t we also old enough to take care of ourselves for just one night? We’re not children anymore. We can be responsible - if we’re given a chance.”

  Miss Newcombe’s brow furrowed and she regarded them intently with her cool sharp eyes. The boys held their breath, desperately hoping that their faces showed only earnest intent and an honest desire to please.

  “If I was to agree to this,” Miss Newcombe said slowly, “you realise nobody must ever know you were here unattended. Should anything untoward occur in my absence...”

  “Then it would be our fault,” said Jackson firmly. “We’d own up to everything. We’d say... we’d say we tricked you into thinking that somebody was coming here to keep an eye on us.”

  “We wouldn’t ever do anything to get you into trouble,” added Harris, and the others nodded. That was one thing they could be absolutely truthful about.