by William Avon
Bailey was pleased to note that Doreen’s eyes, peering out above the gag that stopped her mouth, appeared suitably miserable. Come lunchtime he knew she’d be begging to be put in some other device she hoped would be slightly less degrading and offer him anything in return. Of course he’d accept: that was traditional policeman’s perks. Then he’d put her in the device that, for the sake of variety, he’d been going to transfer her to anyway.
An outside tap and hose were coiled by the wall which Bailey used to wash down girls after a day in the pillory. Bailey positioned Amber in front of the wall over a large drain grating and handed her the bar of yellow soap. ‘I think you’ll need this to get the worst off.’
Amber practically hugged it to her. ‘Oh God, that smells wonderful! Thank you, Constable.’
As he hosed her down Amber scrubbed and washed herself from top to toe, hair included, working up a lather with a vigour suggesting she wanted to clean away every trace of her captivity. Despite their soreness she rubbed the soap into her vagina and anus as far as she was able. When Bailey said: ‘Bend over so I can flush you out,’ she did not hesitate but stood with her legs spread, reached behind her and pulled her sex lips wide open. She gasped as the cold jet bubbled in her tender, pink clitoral valley, but did not try to evade it. She also pried her buttocks apart to expose her bruised anus so he could flush out her rectum.
When she was done and towelled dry Bailey looked her over with approval. With the layer of grease and dirt gone and her hair fluffed and shining she looked a lot better, although her clean skin did now throw the stripes and welts of her beating into sharper contrast. He led her back inside and put her in an empty cell, furnished with a simple tubular frame bed.
Amber hesitated a moment as he unclipped the leash from her collar and then knelt on the bed with her lash-marked bottom upraised, exposing the clean fresh split peach of her pubes and the dark pit of her anus ready for mounting. She looked round at Bailey.
‘I haven’t forgotten about your perks, Constable. I know it’s traditional. But please can you be gentle… I’m still so sore inside.’
Bailey hesitated, staring at Amber’s pale, fearful, bruised face and her trembling abused body. Then he unbuttoned his flies, moved round to her head and pulled her face forward into his crotch.
As she gratefully sucked and lapped him into erection he stroked the hair of her bobbing head gently. ‘I’ll go easy on you for a few days, girl. Somebody’ll have to decide what to do with you first. Bit of an odd case, you are. Just don’t you go getting yourself stolen away again.’
Fifteen minutes later, alone in the cell and with the taste of Bailey’s sperm washed from her mouth, Amber was already drifting off to sleep. After barely sleeping last night on her coarse and stinking sacking pallet she was genuinely exhausted and the sparse jail bed even with its thin mattress felt like sheer luxury.
Her official return to custody had gone very well. Perhaps almost too well.
Of course her display of misery and confusion had been an act, but not much of one. Miss Newcombe had been right about making it seem convincing by playing it as far as possible for real. She had even managed to get Bailey feeling sorry for her. But the game had unforeseen consequences. The rush of gratitude she had felt to Bailey as he took her back into custody had been disturbingly genuine. She felt safe locked in this cell. Even the police collar locked about her neck seemed perversely comforting. She had thought she was pretty tough but for a few days she had known pain, suffering and isolation. It had not exactly made her long for more of the same, but it had made her accept a lesser degrees of servitude and bondage with disturbing ease. Had she come out of the perverted deception the same person as she had been at the beginning?
Chapter Nine
Jemima’s Confessions
‘So tell me again what it was like finding the Jones girl?’ Belinda asked.
Jemima sighed good-naturedly and told her story again.
They were walking through the village together. After her sensational discovery Jemima’s parents had been both proud and concerned and told her not to go so far into the woods alone again until the gang were caught.
Jemima’s discovery of Amber Jones in the woods had given Belinda the perfect excuse to call on Jemima and take an interest in her. On the other hand it reduced one of the reasons for trying to make friends with her in the first place and ran counter to their previous assumptions. If Jemima had been in league with the slave thieves as Arabella suspected, why had she reported where Amber had been concealed to the police? That made no sense. However Arabella insisted Belinda must press on as planned. There was still Sue and Melanie to be found, who was the ultimate prize. Return Melanie to her Uncle and all would be forgiven and forgotten.
‘Was it terribly scary?’ Belinda prompted after Jemima had finished.
Jemima’s pretty face creased thoughtfully. ‘Well, it was a shock, really. She looked terrible. And she was so dirty and smelly.’ She bit her lip. ‘It reminded me a bit of some of the things Arabella had us do to Sue. They were wrong.’
‘But we had found Sue on Arabella’s land. Well, her family land. She was a trespasser and an outsider. Arabella had the right to make her a slave.’
‘It was still cruel. It wasn’t the proper way to treat a slave.’
Belinda did not agree but she felt it was time to express some contrition. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. And we teased you about being soft on her. We were rather cruel to you. I’m sorry.’
Jemima smiled brightly. ‘That’s all right. It doesn’t matter now.’
There was something different about Jemima since the last time she’d talked seriously to her, Belinda thought, which must have been… actually come to think of it she had never really talked seriously to Jemima. She was the sort of person who was just there to make up the numbers and be sent on errands. Anyway Jemima was still polite and trusting, but Belinda sensed a little more self-confidence underneath her guileless expression.
‘So this Jones girl reminded you of Sue?’ she said, trying to keep the conversation going.
‘Not to look at,’ Jemima said. ‘But it was the way she was chained to that frame. A bit like Sue was tied to the bed in the playhouse. All spread out wide. She was so lovely and helpless…’ A faraway look came to her eyes. ‘You could see where they’d been using her. Her… cunny was so sore and bruised. They’d even caned her breasts. It must have hurt so much…’
Looking curiously at Jemima’s flushed expression and dilated pupils it dawned on Belinda that Jemima was getting excited by her own description of Amber’s suffering. Was it actually turning her on? Was she a secret slut? She was a meek little creature and she had responded oddly that time Arabella had got them to tie Jemima to a chair and forced Sue to lick her pussy out. If so that might give her the lever she needed…
‘Of course you know some girls enjoy being treated like that,’ Belinda said carelessly.
Jemima blinked and suddenly looked embarrassed.
‘Oh, I don’t mean bondslaves, I mean nice ordinary, respectable girls,’ Belinda added. ‘Not so far as being seriously hurt, of course, but just for fun.’
Jemima tried to look surprised. ‘Really, do they?’
‘Oh yes,’ Belinda said lightly. ‘Didn’t you know? Where did you think Arabella learned all those things she did to Sue? Not just from handling bondslaves. Tying up and spanking games, all that sort of thing. They don’t publicise it, naturally, because some people can be so stuffy and narrow minded, but it’s quite the rage in the right circles.’
‘I never guessed,’ Jemima admitted. ‘I thought only… special types of girl enjoyed that sort of thing.’
‘Well I think it depends on what school you went to,’ Belinda confided.
‘And have you ever… done anything like that?’ Jemima asked hesitantly.
Belinda contrived to sound offhand. ‘Of course. It’s such fun to play at being a bondslave for an hour or two. Not that you’d know what that feels like.’
Jemima took a deep breath. ‘Well… actually I have sort of done that.’
‘I don’t mean that time with Sue in the playhouse,’ Belinda said hastily. ‘Things got out of hand. I’m sorry about that.’
‘No, I mean… other times. Not with any of you.’
Belinda gazed at her in open disbelief. ‘Jem, I don’t believe you.’
‘Yes I have, it’s true.’
‘You mean being spanked and tied up? Even being naked? Surely not.’
‘Yes, I have. All that.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘No.’
‘Well prove it!’
‘How?’
Belinda took Jemima’s arm and strode off determinedly down the road. ‘You come with me!’
They reached Belinda’s house in ten minutes. It was a comfortable house with a large garden set back from the road. Instead of going in by the front door she led Jemima through the side gate into the back garden. At this time of the afternoon Belinda knew her father would still be at his office and her mother was out for tea with a friend on the other side of the village. There would only be the cook and a maid inside and they would not bother them.
At the bottom of the garden hidden behind a tall hedge were the compost heap, the cold frames and the gardener’s shed. Belinda knew Mr Hodge their gardener was not working today. The shed was normally kept locked but Hodge only kept the key under a stone beside the door. She unlocked the shed, dragged Jemima inside and closed and bolted the door behind them.
The slightly gloomy interior of the shed was heavy with the musty smell of earth and old compost. Hodge was a neat worker and everything was carefully stacked or hung up on the walls on pegs and nails. Apart from the usual array of flower pots, seed trays and gardening tools there were hanks of garden twine, strap ties for supporting saplings, and a bundle of bamboo canes. There was also a sturdy, board-topped workbench by the window where Hodge did his potting out. It was all she needed.
Belinda looked Jemima in the eye. ‘So, you say you’ve played pain and bondage games?’
‘It’s true, I have.’
‘And you get a thrill out of them?’
Jemima smiled shyly. ‘Yes I do. That’s not wrong, is it?’
‘Not at all,’ Belinda assured her. ‘As I said I’ve done it myself. It’s just surprising.’ She leaned closer. ‘We’re quite safe in here. Nobody’s going to disturb us. So would you like to play a slave game with me now, just to prove it?’
Jemima’s eyes sparkled. ‘Really? You and me?’
‘Yes. I’d be a mistress punishing her slave. You’ve been a naughty girl and I’m going to have to tie you up and cane you.’ She could see the excitement the other girl’s face. She really was a submissive little slut. This was going to be fun. ‘Take off your clothes, right now!’ she snapped.
With barely concealed delight Jemima obeyed. As Belinda looked over Jemima’s trembling, naked body she realised she had been missing a treat. All that fuss keeping Sue when this one had been at hand all the time. The girl was practically begging for a spanking.
‘On the table on your back, legs bent and spread, arms above your head, wrists crossed!’ Belinda commanded and Jemima scrambled to obey.
Belinda used rubber strap ties to bind Jemima’s wrists, then she looped a length of garden twine about the straps and pulled it under the bench and tied it about a cross strut that braced the bench legs. The tension twisted Jemima’s shoulders and made her arch her back, lifting her breasts, the nipples of which Belinda noted were hard with excitement. Two more ties went about Jemima’s ankles and she threaded more twine through them. Pulling her feet to the bottom corners of the bench and turning them outward she bound the twine about the bench legs. Jemima was now secured but her pretty body demanded more. Belinda bound longer lengths of twine across the insides of Jemima’s smooth thighs and calves, forcing her crooked legs down against the rough bench top. Another twisted skein of twine went across her stomach, pressing deep into the soft, tremulous flesh.
There was one last detail to be taken care of. Belinda carefully looped a length of twine several times about the roots of Jemima’s small pointed breasts and drew them tight so that they bunched up. Jemima whimpered and bit her lip as the twine pinched her neat cones into bulging pink and purple-tinged mushroom heads, but she did not utter a word of protest. Belinda could smell Jemima’s excitement and see the glisten on her pussy lips. She felt a thrill of power course through her as she felt her own loins responding in kind. She could do anything she liked to the little slut and she’d thank her for it afterwards. Concentrate. She must not forget what she was after…
Belinda took one of the shorter bamboo canes from the bundle leaning against the wall and swished it experimentally through the air. Then she looked down at Jemima’s shiny, fearful, excited face. ‘You know you deserve to be punished?’
‘Yes… Mistress,’ Jemima replied with servile delight.
Belinda flicked the cane across the tips of Jemima’s bound breasts, making them shiver and rebound elastically. Jemima gave a squeak of pain but kept her eyes on Belinda, ready for more.
Belinda swiped the cane with increasing force left and right across Jemima’s tightly bulging apple-breasts, painting bands of pink across them. They bounced tautly back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm. Soon Jemima’s eyes were brimming with tears and she was gasping in pain but she did not protest or beg for release. She was tougher than Belinda had imagined. She paused to feel the heat in the small gourds, pinching their hard nipple crowns.
‘Does having your titties caned excite you? I’m afraid you’re going to have to be punished for that as well. And the wetter you are the worse it will be. Let’s see what this slot is doing…’
Holding the cane pressed across Jemima’s blushing breasts as a warning Belinda slid her free hand between her spread thighs with their painfully stretched tendons to caress her thick, fluffy pubic bush and the plump deep-cleft pubic mound beneath. She watched Jemima’s eyes roll up in ecstasy, surprised how hot and slick and full it already was. The scent of her juices was filling the close atmosphere of the shed. That hungry mouth was begging to be played with. Belinda dipped deeper, fingering the aperture of her captive’s vagina and probing it with her finger tips. It was tight but instead of the barrier of a maidenhead she expected to find her fingers slid all the way in to her hot wet clenching passage. Jemima was no virgin! She had been playing this game for real.
‘I see you have been a very naughty girl,’ she observed. ‘Of course I’ll have to punish you for that as well. You do understand?’
‘Yes, Mistress,’ Jemima said in a little-girl voice. ‘Please punish me. I deserve it!’
Belinda kept one hand inside Jemima’s vagina, stirring and rubbing the hard bud of her clitoris with her thumb, while with the other she slashed the cane across her shivering, reverberating and by now rosy red breasts. Fondle, swipe, fondle, swipe! Jemima arched her back, straining against her bonds, the twine cutting into her flesh, moaning and gurgling with masochistic pleasure
Belinda felt the tension rising inside Jemima and knew she was approaching her climax. She lightened the cane strokes and withdrew her fingers to stroke instead of plunder her dripping cunt, balancing the pain and pleasure. ‘Tell me how you became such a filthy, slutty girl?’
‘Ohhhh… I… uhh… there are these… people I met… in the woods…Mistress,’ Jemima gasped. ‘They taught me… how to play wonderful naughty games…’
Chapter Ten
Resignation
Melanie Kingston, in her full police uniform with cap tucked under her arm, sat uncomfortably on a chair in the outer office of the Chief Constable waiting
to be called in.
You did not get summoned to headquarters unless you had done something very bad or very good. As the only notable thing she had done recently was the discovery of Amber’s stash of stolen goods, she suspected it was about that. However she had already been commended for her initiative by her local Superintendent and since she did not think her efforts warranted any greater recognition, she was not sure why she was here. Of course she had not told the complete truth about her discovery but the only people who knew better would have no reason to contradict her story. She was quite sure at the moment that two of them were not even on this world.
The secretary’s intercom beeped. She listened and then said: ‘The Chief Constable will see you now, PC Kingston…’
Chief Constable Osborne was a large solid man in his forties with greying hair.
Melanie had a lot of sympathy for him personally. He was by all accounts a good, decent policeman with a fine record, who, it was widely known in the force, was doing his job while bringing up a teenage daughter alone after the death of his wife. That made this interview doubly hard for Melanie as she was very much afraid she was shortly going to have to lie to him.
She sat stiffly in the seat he offered to her. Osborne glanced at something on his desk screen and then smiled. ‘First, I must congratulate you on your initiative, PC Kingston. Tracking down the Hokham Woods haul in your spare time was excellent work. Some of the regional crime officers who’d been working on the case were a little unhappy at being upstaged but I suggested they should simply try to think more laterally like you did.’
‘Thank you, Sir.’
‘Pity the thief was not caught.’
‘I would have preferred that as well, Sir. But we can’t always have what we want, can we?’
He smiled. ‘Very true. Well, the recovered items have been matched with goods listed as stolen over the past six months around your area. A lot of people are going to be very glad to get their valuables back. And it’s all down to your efforts.’