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Authors: Adriana Arden

Captives of Cheyner Close

BOOK: Captives of Cheyner Close
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Contents

Cover

About the Book

Also by Adriana Arden

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

About the Book

Are you ready to be initiated into our society?’ Tara asked. The steel pressed deeper into Daniela’s flesh.

‘Yes I am,’ the girl said quickly.

‘Tell us what you hate?’

Daniela recited the litany: ‘Slappers, style-freaks, crumbles, nerds and losers…’

The privelaged girls of the exclusive Fernleigh Risa Estate, in England, look down with contempt on the residents of shappy Cheyner Close, and wage a secret war of vandalism and harassment against them. But they underestimate the ingenuity and determination of those they so despise. When the residents strike back, the girls find revenge is both sweet and very painful.

Also by Adriana Arden:

THE OBEDIENT ALICE
ALICE IN CHAINS
ABANDONED ALICE

CAPTIVES OF
CHEYNER CLOSE

Adriana Arden

‘The truth is all this excites you, isn’t that it?’ he said.

She was breathing faster now. ‘Y – yes, Master.’

‘Are you a masochist?’

Gail took a deep breath, chewing her lip again in an innocently childish display of uncertainty. ‘I … I don’t know, Master. I never thought so before now. I was terribly afraid at first. But I can’t help getting excited and – coming, even when I’m being hurt. As long as it’s sexy as well.’

‘Is that what this is for you? A sex game?’

‘No – a bit, maybe … but I am really sorry for what I did, Master. I deserve to be punished.’

He slipped a finger into the mouth of her sex. ‘You mean you want to be punished?’

‘Yes, Master!’ she gasped.

‘Then say it.’

‘Please punish me, Master! Do anything you like to me!’

You’ll notice that we have introduced a set of symbols onto our book jackets, so that you can tell at a glance what fetishes each of our brand new novels contains. Here’s the key – enjoy!

One

TARA WAS THE
first to be caned.

They bent her over the sign, mounted on two short concrete posts, which rose from the grassy traffic island at the top of Cheyner Close. The edge of the plank which backed the metal strip bearing the raised lettering dug into Tara’s belly, but Roberta Pemberton, who had a hank of Tara’s hair coiled round her fist, would not let her shift to ease the pain. Tara could only stare at the grass in front of her face while her full bare breasts, their nipples painfully stiff, hung pendant and trembling in the cool night air.

Tara pinched her lips tight. She was determined not to make a sound whatever they did to her. Even naked with her wrists bound behind her back, she would not give way to fear and shame before the people she loathed.

Kneeling on either side of the sign, Jim Curry and Stan Jessop caught hold of her ankles and pulled her legs wide apart. The orange streetlight illuminated the twin moons of her buttocks and the softly furred mound that nestled at the base of their cleft. The full extent of her exposure made Tara’s stomach churn. Though there was little traffic on the Styenfold road at half past one in the morning, anybody who did pass could look up the Close and witness her humiliation.

There were a few appreciative murmurs from her hateful audience at the helpless display of her private parts. They had probably never seen anyone so beautiful naked and live before them, Tara thought, her emotions swinging dizzily to perverse narcissism. They should feel privileged to have her like this.

As Major Warwick took up position behind her and raised the length of garden bamboo, the cameras held by the other residents started flashing again.

Swish … crack!

Tara bit her lip to prevent herself yelling out loud. It was as though a red-hot wire had been laid across her buttocks. She had never been physically punished in any way, let alone caned. Blinking back tears she clamped her jaws together, making only a throaty squeak as the second blow fell a little lower than the first, lifting her buttocks even as the shockwave rippled through her flesh. It hurt even more than the first but she would not show it. As the remaining four blows fell she cherished their stinging pain and exulted in her self-control.

They dragged her to her feet. Despite her burning bottom she held her head up proudly. These people would not break her.

The rest of the girls, bound and naked as she was, watched her return to their line with mingled looks of horror and disbelief.

‘You said they wouldn’t really hurt us!’ Hazel wailed. ‘They can’t do this …’

‘You all agreed, remember?’ Jessop said, taking hold of Cassie and marching her over to the sign.

Cassie looked daggers at both their captors and Tara before she was bent over, but at least she maintained her self-control, tossing back her blonde straight hair indolently and letting out only a few yips of pain as she was caned. Tara found herself unable
to
look away as the bamboo lashed across Cassie’s tight, firmly moulded buttocks, leaving stark red weals where it had landed. In the still night air the crack of bamboo on flesh reverberated round the Close. Despite everything she was fascinated. It seemed so intense and real. Exciting, even? Yes, in a twisted sense. Because this was their welcome to the unknown; their deliverance into the hands of others to do with as they wished.

Walking awkwardly, lips firm but tears glistening in her eyes, Cassie was led back to the group and Sian put in her place. Her slight body trembled and her slender bottom looked too small to take such a beating, but she got one all the same. They could expect no mercy from their captors. Sian gave a little yelp as each stroke of the cane scored her flesh, the impact making her whole body jerk. She came back sniffling quietly with her head hung low.

Gail went to the sign mumbling: ‘Sorry …’ over and over again, her melon-like breasts visibly wobbling as the tremors shook her. She cried quietly from first to last, punctuated by incredulous gasps as the cane marked her.

Hazel disgraced herself by peeing in fear even before the first landed. Even though she was the youngest of the Elite, Tara had hoped she would have more control. As the stream of urine splashed over the sign and dripped to the grass, the onlookers laughed at her shameful display. Warwick held back until the last drops had fallen then brought down the bamboo across her pale bottom, still lightly padded by puppy fat.

Daniela, sniffing and woebegone, went unresisting to her appointment with the cane and suffered her six strokes with feeble grunts and moans, as though already accepting this was her lot and the punishment justified.

And then they were done and they all stood once more in a line; sore and chastened, uncertain of what would come next. Unexpectedly the residents led them down the Close to Number 2, with its tiny unkempt front garden and boarded ground floor windows. Roberta Pemberton produced the key and opened the door. They were herded into the living room, which was bare except for a worn fitted carpet. Evidently it had once been separate dining and sitting rooms, but these had been knocked together and the room now extended from front to back of the house.

The girls were sat down in a row with their backs to the wall and their ankles were bound with more repair tape. The carpet felt like sandpaper to their sore bottoms and they squirmed unhappily. Warwick smiled down at them.

‘You shouldn’t be disturbed,’ he said. ‘Roberta promised the agent she’d keep an eye on it as there was so little interest in the property – thanks mainly to your activities. I hope you have a nice uncomfortable night. It might give you some idea what we’ve had to suffer in the past. But you’d better make the most of it, because this’ll be the only one you’ll spend alone for the next week.’

Hazel whimpered and Gail bit her lip.

Warwick and the other residents went out, switching off the light and closing the sitting room door. They heard the key turn in the lock. Then the front door shut and they were alone in the empty house. A faint orange glow from the streetlight filtered round the window boards, but otherwise the room was completely dark.

‘Oh … shit, shit, shit … that hurt!’ Cassie spat. ‘How the fuck did you get us into this, Tara?’

‘It was better than the alternative,’ Tara said, trying to keep her voice level. ‘You all agreed.’

‘You said they wouldn’t have the nerve to do anything very bad to us,’ Sian moaned. ‘My bum feels like it’s on fire.’

‘Just keep calm,’ Tara said. ‘We’ll get through this.’

‘I … don’t think I can take a week of this sort of thing,’ Hazel said in a small voice. ‘You said they … they’d rather use us for sex. That we could wear them out like that …’ Sian groaned at the idea. Hazel continued: ‘But they’re going to do just what they want with us. They’re so angry about the things we did to them –’

‘Shut up, Hazel!’ Tara snapped. ‘Get some sleep.’

They lay quiet, trying to get as comfortable as possible. Thoughts tumbled though Tara’s mind.

How could this have happened to her? It wasn’t fair. Yesterday she had been beautiful, rich and confidently in charge of her life. Today, and for the next week, only her beauty would count for anything. Was that a blessing or a curse?

Fear and anger fought against mental and physical exhaustion and lost. Tara slipped into a restless half-sleep, troubled by transient dreams and fragments of memory …

Cassie brushed the blade of her knife lightly across Daniela’s bare nipples, making the girl squirm helplessly at the touch of cold steel. Grinning, she let the knife rest against the smooth swell of Daniela’s left breast and glanced expectantly at Tara.

‘Are you ready to be initiated into our society?’ Tara asked.

The tip of the knife pressed deeper into the side of Daniela’s naked breast, threatening to break the skin. The girl stifled a yelp of pain and said quickly: ‘Yes I am …’

‘Tell us what you hate.’

Daniela recited the litany: ‘Slappers, style freaks, crumblies, nerds and losers …’

Tara smiled in approval. At least Daniela had memorised the responses properly.

‘… the grey, the dull, the ordinary, the common,’ Daniela concluded.

‘And who are the Elite?’ Tara demanded.

Daniela took a deep breath. ‘The young, the stylish, the elect, the quintessence, the crème de la crème, the nonpareil, the ne plus ultra, the winners.’

Tara had plundered a thesaurus to compile the list, but she felt the effort had been worthwhile to hear them trip off the lips of a pretty young supplicant.

‘And how do the Elite treat common people?’

‘We keep them in their place by look, by word and by deed.’

‘Are you ready to prove your fitness?’

‘I am …’

Tara jerked awake. The others lay still about her. The glow from the streetlight had gone, leaving only an outline of pale grey light in its place. Tara eased herself into a slightly less uncomfortable position.

BOOK: Captives of Cheyner Close
4.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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