by Penny Birch
All I could do was nod my head and let in hang in shame.
‘I suppose I should untie you,’ she went on, ‘although I’ve not seen Vicky, so it might be an idea to get off on your face myself. Anyway, I’m not sure I’ve got anything to cut the tape. It’s strong stuff, and if I pick at the end I might break a nail, which would never do.’
I looked up at her, wide-eyed, hoping she would make me lick her and then set me free. She frowned, scratched an ear and nodded.
‘I’ll be back,’ she said suddenly. ‘Don’t go away.’
She ran off, leaving me. As she had gone towards the base I was hopeful she was going to fetch a knife. Certainly she hadn’t just left me, not without taking the opportunity to tease me or humiliate me in some way. Sure enough, she came back within minutes, only not with a knife but with the heavy machete they’d used to make the stockade for Vicky. In addition she had the ball of thick string used to tie the stakes and a bag which chinked as she walked. She was grinning and I knew I was in trouble.
‘I’m fed up with zebra hunting,’ she announced. ‘Vicky’s too fast.’
I wanted to point out that the last time she’d wrestled Vicky she had ended up with her own monster-size strap-on dildo up her bum. The gag stopped me, which was probably just as well.
‘I fancy something more tender anyway,’ she went on. ‘Zebra’s so tough. Spit-roast girly should be just the thing.’
She had to be joking, but her jokes tend to go a long way and I felt my stomach tighten. I was hers to use, after all, and if I could be sure she wouldn’t actually kill and eat me, then that was about all. There was also the question of why she hadn’t alerted Morris to my plight. If she had he’d have taken over, which meant she wanted me all to herself and for something very private.
I squirmed a bit as she ducked low and put her shoulder to my tummy, but she picked me up with ease, taking my weight on her shoulder with my legs to the front and my bum stuck up in the air. Two playful slaps set my bottom quivering and she set off, holding the bag in her free hand and ducking low so we wouldn’t be seen.
It was impossible not to be impressed by her strength. I may be little, but she carried me clear across the base, walking or even running at a slow lope, and never once putting me down. Twice she stopped, once to make sure the runway was clear and once when somebody passed close by us, but I never saw who it was. Only when we were just yards from the far fence did she stop.
There was a wood beyond the fence, with thick green foliage hiding us from view. A dense birch stand cut us off from the base, thinning in the shade of the bigger trees to form a secluded clearing. Melody dumped me on the ground, gave my bottom another slap and stood back.
‘This I’m going to enjoy,’ she said, addressing me and then looking up. ‘I wonder where Harmony’s got to?’
Once more she loped off, leaving me without a word. I tried to get up again as there was a rusting iron structure nearby that I was sure could be used to break the tape on my wrists. I nearly made it, too, getting to my knees and reaching the object, all the while listening to curious calls that were presumably from Melody. I had even managed to get my bonds against a rough edge when she came back, her sister running behind her. They accelerated as they saw what I was doing, and I was pulled back into the open space.
‘Naughty, naughty, Penny,’ Harmony chided. ‘You wouldn’t run away and spoil our fun, would you?’
I shook my head miserably. They tied me to a tree, low down and under my armpits, also with my thighs roped tight around my middle so I was forced to kneel with my bare bum stuck up as I watched them prepare. Melody took the machete and began to cut birch, choosing straight, thick saplings and lopping off the side branches. Harmony gathered these and began to tie the finest into a bundle, making a long but delicate birch, clearly for use on my bottom, maybe all over me.
Melody soon had a half-dozen short, thick stakes and one longer one. Using the string, she made two squat pylons and set them some five feet apart. Laying the longer stick along the top she gave a thoughtful nod, then turned to me, grinning. She had made a spit, and not a joke one either, but a solid construction on which a pig or lamb could perfectly well have been roasted.
With her birch rod finished, Harmony had begun to gather dry wood and bark, perfectly seriously, as if it was for real. Melody joined her, piling the wood beneath the spit before arranging larger pieces on top. It was entirely functional, and only the absolute certainty that they could not really be intending to cook and eat me kept me from going into a blind panic.
It was bad enough, though, just from the casual way in which they were going about their preparation, as if spit-roasting their friends was a perfectly normal way to spend a sunny afternoon. My position didn’t help either, naked and tied with my bottom spread to the air, nor the way they looked, with their rich brown skin gleaming with oil and sweat and not a stitch of clothing between them. Had I been able to speak I would have given my slow-down word, at least to give myself a chance to set some limits for them. I couldn’t, or more than mewl and make muffled grunting noises, all of which I tried, but to no effect.
The fire was built up to Melody’s satisfaction, along with a big pile of spare wood, certainly enough to roast a good-sized pig without collecting more. She gave the horrible construction a critical nod and lifted the long pole off the top. Harmony dump a last log on to the woodpile and picked up the machete, then began to stroll towards me, swinging the thing in her hand.
‘Lunchtime, I’m afraid, Penny darling,’ she said, and brought the machete hard down on the rope running between my chest and the tree.
I felt it jerk as it cut and rolled to the side. A second cut freed my wrists and she pulled the tape away as Melody joined us. My arms were taken and pulled to my front, tucked in under my ankles and tied off, leaving me trussed. Harmony cut my ankles free, only to immediately replace the tape with rope and tie it off to my wrists.
With me safely hog-tied she stepped back, smiling down at her handiwork. I was more helpless than before, and more exposed, with my thighs tight up to my tummy and my pussy and bottom spread wide. The pain in my bladder was worse, too, with my legs squashed so firmly against it.
I knew it was a joke, albeit an elaborately prepared one, but I was still trembling and having trouble getting enough air in through my nose. Melody was standing over me beside her sister, leaning on the six-foot stake, both of them grinning as their eyes wandered over my helpless body. I saw Harmony reach out a foot and felt the toe of her shoe on my bum, prodding the meaty bit as if to test how succulent I was going to be.
Melody bent, catching me by the ropes around my legs and pulling me fully on to my back. Holding me in place, she slid the pole in, between my thighs and under my hands, then up between my breasts and out at my neck, forcing me to throw my head back. The birch bark was rough in places and scratched, but I barely noticed, aware only of the significance of being staked and thinking how I would feel on the spit.
They lifted me easily, one at each end of the pole, and walked to the spit, lowering the pole into place until I was hanging over the fire, trussed and bound, completely helpless, just as if I were in reality to be roasted for their midday meal. They left me like that, shivering and with the muscles of my middle jumping in reaction to what was being done to me, as Harmony fetched her birch. She began to whip me, gently at first, on top and whisking the twigs up underneath me to catch my back and bottom, including my pussy lips, where they poked out from between my thighs. It tingled, bringing the blood to my skin and making me jerk each time a twig caught my sex. My breathing got harder, until I was puffing and snorting through my nose, while I was sure that if she went on I would finally lose control of my bladder.
I did, just as she brought the birch down across my bum. The stream just burst from my pussy, spraying out in every direction, including over both the twins. Harmony squeaked and jumped back; Melody just laughed as my pee spattered out on to the stake, then in a long ar
ch behind me as my wiggling bottom changed its direction. I was sobbing into my gag as it happened, the pee running out of my pussy and down between my bottom-cheeks to drip from their crests and the small of my back.
Neither girl spoke, but just watched me piddle until it dried to a trickle and finally stopped, when Melody shook her head in disapproval. Bringing a bottle of water from her bag, she rinsed me down, then cleaned both her own legs and her sister’s where my pee had splashed on them. It was pretty humiliating to have wet myself so blatantly, but all part of the overwhelming feelings building up inside me. It might have been pretend, but I was trussed on a spit for real, and I had only my trust in the twin’s humanity to let me be sure they wouldn’t do it.
As Harmony finished the beating with a few firm birch-strokes to my legs and bum, Melody went back to rummage in her bag, bringing out a big, green pepper grinder and a bottle of fancy olive oil with two chillies and some cloves of garlic floating inside it. She shook the bottle, making the contents bubble, stepped back to me and unscrewed the lid. I could only stare as she poised it over my naked body and began to pour. I felt the warm oil on my skin, dribbling down my limbs and on to my tummy, then my breasts and neck. Harmony came close, sliding her hands in to rub the oil over my body, basting me like a suckling pig.
It began to tingle, then burn where the birch had hit my skin, making my whole body hot. Plenty went on my pussy, the chillies making my flesh swell and burn until I was squirming ineffectually against Harmony’s hands. She just laughed at me, easing two oily fingers up my pussy, then three and at last her whole hand, working it inside me as my vagina stretched, hot and oily around her fist.
‘Stop playing with your food,’ Melody chided.
Harmony giggled and pulled her hand free, leaving my pussy gaping and tingling from the oil. Melody turned me, back-up, and held me as her sister poured fresh oil on to my skin and rubbed it in, also on my whipped bottom and the sensitive groove between my cheeks. As the oil began to burn against my bottom skin she slipped a finger deep into my anus, rummaging inside. As she fingered me my ring began to sting, pulsing as if I was having an orgasm.
She laughed as she pulled her finger out, then tickled the little hole with her nail, bringing fresh contractions to my muscles. My body seemed to be on fire, my pussy and anus swollen and pouting as each hole dribbled oil on to the fire beneath me. The panties in my mouth were sodden with saliva and I was panting so hard I was scared I would go into a fit, but they kept on, basting me thoroughly and then grinding pepper over my skin to worsen my woes. When they let go I swung back down, removing the awful sight of the firewood beneath me but not taking the image from my mind as they peppered my chest and legs and pussy.
Melody was whistling some pop song, so cool, so nonchalant as she bent to her bag and pulled out a big box of cook’s matches. I could only stare, my whole body already burning, my lungs bursting for more air. She kneeled, put a match to the box, struck it, let the flame rise on the wood and put it to the firewood beneath my squirming, helpless body.
I panicked, losing all control and twisting my body so hard that the spit upset, sending me to the ground. I heard Melody’s yell and saw her jump back, and then she was laughing and I saw that the firewood had been pushed away from beneath me as I was turned on the spit.
Ten
I’VE NEVER FELT inclined to vegetarianism, but I couldn’t face a single mouthful of the roast pig for which the spit had really been intended. It was just too close to home.
Amber wasn’t too pleased with the twins for roasting me, but with the Metropolitan crew around she couldn’t really say much. After all, it was way beyond anything Amy would have considered acceptable, even in jest. What did happen was that Rathwell spanked the twins for leaving him out of the fun, side by side with their bare black bottoms turned up and everything showing as he gave each of them a dozen firm slaps. Amy objected, Isabel also, but were forced to back down when not Morris but Melody defended the punishment.
Personally I was so high on both endorphins and adrenalin that I could barely stay still for a second. With my panties a soggy rag and my other clothes scattered across the base I had nothing to wear, but for once it didn’t bother me. I wanted my indulgence and I wanted it heavy, although I was quite happy never to see a roasting spit again.
They’d caught Vicky, running her to ground at the southern tip of the base. She had tried to break for it, running straight at Paulette, only to have Amber cut her off. They’d tussled, but unlike me Amber had managed to hold her own, at least long enough for the others to come up. Once tied, Vicky had been given a dozen firm swats of Amber’s swagger stick across her zebra-striped bottom, then had been made to lick first Amber, then Ginny, all in front of the wide-eyed Paulette.
Anderson had finished off by mounting her, from behind, much as a zebra should be mounted, with Vicky kneeling and spread in the ecstasy of capture. She had come under his fingers with her pussy still full of cock before he rolled her over and came across her stripy face and breasts while she rubbed the mess of sperm and grease paint into herself. That had been too much for Paulette, who had fled back to the base, although I was disappointed not to have seen it happen.
They had brought Vicky back hung upside down from a pole, just for the look of the thing, and only then ended the fantasy. Rathwell had announced that he intended to stand everyone lunch, and they had eventually found the twins and me, disturbing us just as I was being persuaded that instead of calling them demented bitches, psychotic tarts and so forth I should be licking their pussies in gratitude for the thrill. They didn’t get it, but nor did I, leaving me on my hormone-inspired high.
Those of us who’d been in the chase were all at least fairly grubby, while Vicky and I were a real mess. Most of us were scratched, too, but in no mood to stop, especially after reviving ourselves with lunch and plenty of water. Rathwell had had the sense not to serve out anything alcoholic, or we’d have just spent the afternoon asleep, but as it was the majority of us were keen for more.
Amber and Anderson had both enjoyed Vicky and were relatively cool, standing together and discussing bolas technique. Ginny was with the twins, giggling happily with pork fat running down her chin and into her ample cleavage, clearly ready for whatever fun came her way. Morris Rathwell was carving the pig with the machete and chatting to Claudia, apparently content but I guessed keen for his pleasure.
The other three Metropolitan girls were talking together, doing their best to seem cool about everything but not really succeeding. Amy had been fun on the beach, but nobody except Amber and I knew about that, and now she was being far more detached and professional than I’d expected. Paulette seemed more fun, as she had at least had the guts to join the hunt, for all her shock at watching Vicky being made to service her captors. Isabel was the worst, holding herself aloof with a pretence of purely detached, investigative interest that I was sure was false.
I was supposed to be interviewed about my love of spanking, but from a far more personal perspective than before. They would have photographed me, from behind, in a lacy camisole that left my cheeks bare. Amber would have punished me, and my smacked bottom would have been photographed to make a comparison with the first picture. It was pretty bold for them, I thought, but Amy seemed determined and apparently Mintower had no objections. The crucial thing was the context, and that excused printing a picture better suited to the sort of specialist spanking magazine that would normally have been anathema to the Metropolitan editorial line.
All that would have been fine, had I not been smeared with chilli oil, dirt and black and white grease paint, not to mention the effects of the birch and a good deal of rolling around on the ground. The pictures had to be postponed and Amy made me promise not to let anybody punish me so that my bottom could return to pristine condition. I did do the interview, describing not just the pleasure that came with the physical aspect of spanking and erotic teasing and torture in general, but also the rush I got from largely m
ental stimuli such as having my panties pulled down. By the end I was more turned on than ever and desperate to play.
Anything would have done, so long as it involved my utter degradation and a mind-wrenching orgasm. I was even happy about the crew watching, my embarrassment having turned to a positive desire. A full-blown birching would have been good, perhaps hung from my hands with just my toes on the floor, or a nettle whipping to leave my bottom bloated and throbbing as I masturbated in front of them. Neither was practical, nor any of the other corporal punishment options the base provided, simply because it would take more than a week for my bum to return to an even pale pink suitable for Amy’s purposes.
They were pretty shocked by the state I was in anyway, even Amy, who for all her belief in a woman’s freedom to express her sexuality was finding it hard to handle in reality. That made the idea of them watching all the better, and a sense of mischief was added to my arousal.
I could wait no longer, and persuaded Amber to declare open season on me, anything which marked my skin excepted. With the deal made I ran for the buildings, leaving them to finish their lunch. I was keen to be caught, quickly, and thoroughly used, but also anxious not to upset Amber, who had put up with about as much of my sluttish behaviour as she could be expected to. Not that what Vicky and the twins had done to me had been any fault of mine, but I wanted to show her that at the end of the day she was the one I was in love with. As I kissed her before running off I whispered the word ‘barracks’, which suited her vaguely military look and with luck would provide the right conditions to play.
The conditions were right, not exactly the satin sheets and candlelight ideal of romantic love, but right for me in a dirty mood. Each hut was a long half-cylinder of corrugated iron, closed at each end by now heavily decayed plywood set with windows and doors. Most were empty, their floors littered with broken glass and green with algae. Only at the end of the line did they become less utterly derelict, many still with cheap, iron bedsteads in place and even ancient mattresses. The best was second in from the back corner. Both the door and the windows were intact, with a thick growth of brambles shielding them, and peering inside I could see the rows of beds almost as the departing servicemen must have left them. That alone was stimulating in its way, although laddish army types are not my thing at all. They were still men, and single, some twenty of them to judge by the beds, and would doubtless have been hungry for girls.