Slaves to the Girlspell

by William Avon

  “The phallus I used felt dead once it had done its thing,” Amber said. “How do you make it work again?”

  Miss Newcombe unscrewed the handle from the shaft of a phallus and held out the two halves. “You re-set by screwing them together again.”

  Amber groaned. “I didn’t think to try anything as simple as that!”

  “But what are they?” Melanie asked. “Is there some sort of mechanism inside them or are they...?”

  “I don’t know what they are,” Miss Newcombe admitted, pushing furniture aside to leave a clear space on the floor. “Perhaps they’re part of a science the world has forgotten. I do know the phalluses only transport people who truly belong here. You have all fitted in rather well, have you not?” She gave them a searching stare. “In fact, I suspect you are in two minds whether to go back or not. You have found excitement, challenge and satisfaction here. Home may seem rather dull by comparison.”

  It was the truth and the girls knew it. How easy to accept their bondage and submit to masterful people, such as the woman who even now looked down at them with her assured gaze. With an effort, Melanie said: “If we’re going to go, let’s do it quickly.”

  Tight lipped, Amber nodded in agreement.

  “If I’m really a natural slave, then maybe I should stay,” Sue asked hesitantly.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” Amber reassured her. “You can be my secret slave back home. Would you like that?”

  Sue gave a shy smile and nodded.

  Miss Newcombe had taken several items from a locked cabinet. One in particular caught Amber’s eye. “The phallus box! How did you get that?”

  “I took the phallus from your bag the boys had hidden in their dormitory the first chance I had,” Miss Newcombe explained. “I gambled that after only a couple of days, the box it came from would still be in Hoakam woods, and I was right. By default, a phallus will automatically take its user back to its parent box. I brought it with me and returned the phallus to your bag. Now it’s here, I can adjust the settings to send you back...” She pressed on the hidden catches and opened the box, then tapped a combination into the keyboard built into the lid. “There. Now let’s get you all arranged properly.”

  She laid Sue’s bike on its side and dragged Sue over to it, tying her securely to the frame. “It’s remarkable that you brought something as large as your bike and baggage with you,” she told Sue. “You obviously have a talent for transporting inanimate materials, and that can be put to good use.” Sue smiled uncertainly. Miss Newcombe dragged Amber and Melanie onto the open floor, laid them beside Sue and strapped their holdall and backpack onto them. “Usually the only inanimate objects that can be carried are the clothes one is wearing and small items such as your bags.”

  Miss Newcombe produced two lengths of stick and a reel of adhesive tape. She fastened the ends of the sticks to Sue and Amber’s ankles, so that they pointed upwards between their thighs. More tape secured the handle sections of two phalluses to the upper ends of the sticks, so they brushed their pubic lips. Miss Newcombe laid the heads of the matching phalluses on their stomachs.

  Holding the last phallus in her hand she added: “Other living beings can be carried with you quite easily, provided there is plenty of skin contact.”

  She hitched up her skirt and pulled off her pants, then stood astride Melanie and squatted down so that she sat on Melanie’s face. She squirmed her hips to settle herself in place, squeezing her thighs together. “I want to feel your tongue inside me, girl... that’s better.”

  Reaching over she screwed the heads onto the handles of Sue and Amber’s phalluses, pushing the carved heads into their clefts, then assembled the phallus she was holding.

  The air warmed and thickened. Distant sounds faded away. Each girl felt a tingle spring into being in her loins. The blood surged through them and their nipples stood up, becoming rock hard in seconds. The tingle became an ache, then a sense of terrible emptiness. Their lovelips thickened and ran with lubrication as the need to be filled overwhelmed them.

  Clasping a plump dark breast in one hand, Miss Newcombe plunged the phallus into the waiting tunnel of Melanie’s vagina and began to work it back and forth. Sue and Amber instinctively, helplessly, bent their knees in a frantic effort to drive their stick-mounted phalluses deeper up into them.

  Hard ivory parted soft flesh. The air filled with the intimate scent of sex. The girls rode a gathering wave of desire to its summit...

  Everything blurred. There was a monstrous wrenching, twisting sensation. Something seemed to snap within them as they climaxed ecstatically...

  Then the cottage living room was empty.

  Home

  THE enclosing, perfumed warmth of Miss Newcombe’s thighs lifted from Melanie’s shiny wet face and she gulped down fresh air. She felt the shaft of the phallus drawn from her sheath. Her head lolled to one side drunkenly as she recovered from the shattering orgasm. Her whole body felt gloriously drained. She saw Sue, bike and baggage still attached, lying beside her.

  Still breathing deeply, Melanie blinked at her surroundings, which slowly resolved into a scene of unexpected familiarity. “My living room... We’re in my flat!”

  “Like the wallpaper...” Amber said faintly.

  Miss Newcombe smiled down at Melanie, putting the phalluses she had retrieved from them into a small bag. “After I examined you in the Hall kennels the day after you arrived, I asked Alison if I could check your clothes on the pretext that you might have had a vaginal bleed. You had your flat key in an inside pocket of your shorts. I knew your name and, after I crossed over myself, I consulted the telephone directory. I had to know who to contact about your ‘illness’ and to reassure your neighbours. Oh, and I watered your plants.”

  She lifted a corner of the rug on which they had materialised and picked up a small disk of ivory a few inches across, which she slipped it into the bag with the phalluses.

  “What was that?” Melanie asked in bewilderment.

  “A sort of homing beacon. They come with the travel boxes, under the tray holding the phalluses. It’s more convenient to arrive in a secure location than somewhere out in the woods”

  Amber, her face still flushed from her exertions, had focused intently on Miss Newcombe. Now she said simply: “Why?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Why bother with getting a handle on the boys, bringing us back here, with keeping this whole thing secret? You’re not doing it just for fun. What’s in it for you?”

  For the first time Miss Newcombe’s mask of calm self-assurance seemed momentarily to slip. Beneath it they glimpsed sadness, yet also an unshakable resolve.

  “No, I’m not in it for fun, delightful though playing the game has been. I have my reasons, very good reasons, for doing this. When we meet again I may reveal them. Till then you will have to be patient.” She looked at Melanie. “I suggest you tell your superiors that you saw an unidentifiable figure prowling about Hoakam Woods. Ask for a search to be made where Amber has concealed her ill-gotten gains. Say you were thinking about speaking up before you fell ill, and now you are certain there is something there.”

  “Just give me a couple of hours to wipe my prints from the silverware first,” Amber said quickly.

  “I can’t do it!” Melanie said.

  “You arrest me, I’ll tell them to check out where you’ve been for the past week,” Amber said bluntly. “Try explaining that away. Look, people get their property back and you get a commendation. I’m the one giving up a few hundred grand’s worth of dosh.”

  Melanie sighed. “I suppose I haven’t any choice.”

  Miss Newcombe had taken something from her bag. It was two halves of a phallus, carved in a fashion different from the ones they had used. She knelt on the floor, hitched up her skirt and splayed her legs, exposing her neatly-tr
immed mound of Venus. Assembling the phallus she slid it purposefully up inside her.

  Even so recently drained as they were, the girls felt the change in the air and the desire to offer themselves up to the pleasure it offered. But tied hand and foot they could only watch and squirm helplessly.

  Miss Newcombe rammed the horn of ivory into herself faster and harder, her eyes misting with pleasure. “You should be able to free yourselves... easily enough,” she gasped. “You’ll answer... when I call you again. Goodbye... ahh!”

  She threw back her head in ecstasy. Her figure seemed to blur and twist somehow... then she was gone.

  In the stunned silence that followed, Amber murmured: “Well... it sure beats the hell out of commuting.”

  She and Melanie wriggled about until they were back to back and began tugging at the ropes about their wrists. In a few minutes they were free. They released Sue from her bike and helped her to her feet. And there they stood; three naked women holding hands amidst an odd assortment of baggage in the living room of a modest flat.

  Amber laughed. “What do we look like?”

  Her hands slid around the others’ waists and she pulled them closer so their breasts touched and they could feel their body heat. She grinned at Melanie. “Where’s the bedroom?”

  “You can’t want to... no, not so soon!”

  Amber’s hands slid into the divide between their buttocks and down to puckered anuses still slippery from the petroleum jelly the boys had applied.

  “Are you saying no?” Amber challenged Melanie, tickling the sensitive orifices, reawakening memories of the uses to which they had so recently been put.

  “Yes... no, oh damn!” Melanie kissed Amber, then Sue. “The bedroom’s that way...”

  “Can I be tied to the bed, please?” Sue asked hopefully.

  “Just what I was going to suggest,” said Amber, trying not to show the thrill Sue’s words gave her.

  They walked through the doorway arm in arm.

  “Now I’m home, I can’t imagine how I ever let myself be made a slave,” Melanie admitted.

  “But we will be going back when she calls us,” Sue said.

  Melanie sighed. “Yes, even though I know exactly what it’ll mean for me.”

  “Face up to it,” Amber advised them, “we’ll none of us be the same again. So we might as well enjoy ourselves.”

  And they did, as only happy slaves of the girlspell could.

  Epilogue: In Another Place

  Sometime later in the kennels of Markham Hall...

  The police team had come and gone. The packgirls were out at work. The yard gates were shut and bolted. The sun shone. Peace had returned... and George Platt was giving Alison her first practical lesson in bondslavery.

  He fought to keep his voice steady, trying to sound business-like and a little gruff.

  “Now, being a new girl I want to see how well you move. Bitches must be graceful on two legs as well as four. Trot round in a circle for a minute. Lift your knees high...”

  Alison was naked except for flat running shoes. A bridle harness was buckled about her head, her white teeth biting down on a rubber bit. Despite the stretching of the skin about her mouth she appeared to be smiling. Her shaggy mane of sun-bleached blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail to hold it clear of the unnumbered collar round her neck, clipped to which was the training rein George held. Her arms were confined high behind her back in a sheath binding that enclosed them from wrists to elbows, making her throw her chest out. Her breasts were pert and delightful...

  Platt tried to assess her body critically, as he would any other girl.

  Her breasts were small, firm, high-set mounds with light brown conical nipples, showing full in proportion to their setting. Her build was sturdy, arms strong, good shoulders and back, stomach well defined, hips not wide. Perhaps a good runner, she had strong thighs and very round bottom cheeks. Her pubic bush was neat and sparse, with dark pink inner lips already showing, a sign of eagerness, perhaps...?

  Alison trotted round him, her breasts jiggling neatly, tiny shivers running over the roundness of her buttocks. Platt swallowed hard at the sight, then moistened his lips: “Knees a little higher!” he ordered, and flicked the tail of the whip across her bouncing bottom, perfectly catching the undercurve of the twin cheeks.

  Alison flinched and gave a little gasp from behind her bit, but she held step and obediently lifted her knees an inch higher.

  Platt thrilled within himself. He had put his whip mark on that lovely, sweet girl’s body - and she had accepted it!

  He ran her until she began to bead with sweat, then reined her in.

  “That was quite good, girl. Now we’ll try it with a tail in. That alters the posture. You’ll have to learn how to show it off to the best advantage.”

  His pulse racing, he led Alison into cool leather-scented haven of the Harness Room, and bent her over the padded trestle he had placed ready. Spreading her legs wide he strapped her ankles to one pair of the trestle legs, then, freeing her arms from the sheath, he fastened her wrists to the other pair.

  For a moment he feasted on the sight of her docile body doubled over and so perfectly presented to him.

  Her neat tight cunt pouch glistened, the petals of her inner lips pouting as though about to bloom with the promise of treasures yet to be unlocked. Fighting to keep his hands steady, he pried apart her firm buttocks and examined the pink eye of her anus with its fine starburst of crinkles.

  “Hmmm. Looks tight. Ever had a tail plug or a dildo inside you girl?” he asked, knowing perfectly well the answer.

  Alison shook her head.

  “Then you may need a little stretching before we put a tail in. Don’t worry, girl, you’ll get used to it...”

  He dipped his finger into a pot of lubricant and slid it carefully inside her hot, tight bottomhole. Lovely! He could feel the elasticity of her secret passage and knew the delights it could give. He introduced a second finger, working her entrance hole wider.

  “Let yourself relax,” he told her. “A packgirl has to be easy to enter. Rears are naturally tight, no need to make it any harder. Just work your hips back and forward on my fingers... yes, good rhythm. Keep it up...” He gulped. “Now we’ll try something a little thicker...”

  He unbuttoned his flies and released his straining cock. He took up position between her pale moon cheeks and pushed forward, his plum sliding between the greased cheeks, touching the tiny pothole that was the gateway to heaven. A quick lunge. Penetration! The muscular ring of her anus stretched wide then slid over his cockhead and he sank all the way into her. Alison gave a tiny yelp and moan of surprise at the sensation, but she did not struggle; accepting the unnatural but so very rewarding violation of her person without protest.

  Platt closed his eyes and bit his lip in joy, easing gently in and out of her clinging tunnel. The moist heat of her! How he wished he could be the only man ever to use her like this! There would be no rushing Alison’s training. He would try out every device in the Harness Room on her. She would perform every service expected of a packgirl - and all just for him.

  He let the pressure grow slowly within him as he rode Alison to the climax, slapping her bottom to keep her working herself to and fro against him, ensuring every thrust penetrated her to the hilt. In time her rear passage would accommodate itself to him like a lock to a key.

  Alison’s breathing was rasping round her bit and she jerked at her straps as the stimulation she was receiving forced her to the inevitable. Her sphincter squeezed desperately tight round his shaft as though she wanted his cock plugging her for ever. He felt her go into spasm as his own need could no longer be contained, and he pumped his essence into her soft, welcoming entrails.

  And in that moment George Platt knew perfection.

  He had the best job anyo
ne could wish for. He was master of the sweetest, most pliant kennelmaid ever known, and keeper of the Markham bitches, the finest girlpack in the south of England!

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