Captives of Cheyner Close (10 page)

Tara heard both Hazel and Daniela chuckle. Enslavement seemed to have given the normally meeker Elite girls a perverse sense of freedom. Now they could speak their minds without any chance of reprisal, except verbally. They were also natural followers. Perhaps, as they got over their initial shock, that made the situation easier for them to accept.

‘I had to clean Roberta Pemberton’s house with a duster stick up my bottom and a can of spray polish between my legs,’ Daniela said suddenly.

They listened with interest as she related her experience in detail. ‘After a while I did get a bit excited. I mean, every time I took a step the garters pulled the dildo about inside me. Even getting pricked by the drawing pins didn’t feel so bad. Eventually I started dripping, from my pussy, you know, onto the furniture, but Roberta just told me to polish it up.’

‘So you’re on first name terms with her now,’ Cassie said scathingly.

‘Well, it’s her name. And she was quite nice, really.’

‘You call her nice after doing that to you?’

‘Like Gail said, she could have been much worse. I think it’s best if we do what they want and let them know we’re sorry.’

‘You’re crazy!’ Cassie exclaimed. ‘What about you, Hazel? Are you going soft as well? What did Fanning get you to do?’

‘I had to dust off his computers with a special anti-static brush,’ Hazel said in a small voice. ‘He’s got stacks of electronic stuff in his office.’

‘That sounds easy enough,’ Cassie said.

‘Well, I had to hold the brush in my pussy,’ Hazel explained. ‘Then, when I’d finished he spanked me, just three times because I’d been good.’

‘Did it hurt?’ Gail asked.

‘Not much. I was getting pretty excited by then. And so was he …’

‘Yes?’

Hazel took a deep breath and said in a rush: ‘So he sat me on his lap and put his cock up my bottom and he came inside me and I came as well!’

There was a stunned, perversely impressed silence. Hazel had been the first to have actual sex with their captors. Then curiosity took hold.

‘What did it feel like, having a cock up your bottom?’ Daniela asked in awed tones.

‘Sort of odd but quite nice,’ Hazel said, then added with a giggle: ‘I actually felt his come spurt right up inside me. It trickled out of my bottom after he’d pulled his thing out. He wiped me clean with a tissue.’

‘Was he any good?’ Gail asked.

‘I suppose so. I mean I came as well so he must have been OK.’

‘Did he have a big cock?’ Sian asked, sounding helplessly fascinated despite herself, perhaps wondering when it would be her turn to serve Tom Fanning.

‘I never saw it … but it felt big enough!’

Tara thought she almost sounded proud of the fact. There was no resentment about what she had endured, but instead a strange sense of wonder.

It was then that Tara knew change was overtaking them all. They would be different people when this was over, for better or worse. It was also the end of the Elite Society. Maintaining its existence through this ordeal had been a futile fantasy, she realised. It had really been a juvenile creation and they were now being forced to grow beyond it. Her influence over the girls was also dwindling, which she resented more. The trouble was that no diversion she could contrive would rival what they had undergone in this last last
day,
nor what was yet to come. Well, she consoled herself, she’d been getting bored with it anyway. Besides, she now had more pressing things to think about.

The residents came for them with their bins and barrows at eight. By then Tara had become aware of a distinct scent pervading Number 2’s living room. It was the female odour of arousal and readiness emanating from half a dozen captive, exposed and expectant vaginas. They all knew that by morning Hazel would no longer be unique amongst them.

Apparently somebody had been busy with a sewing machine, because the residents brought with them strips of cloth to serve as blindfolds. Before the girls were released from the frames their ball-gags were replaced and the blindfolds tied over their eyes. The stocks securing their neck and wrists were opened and they were sat up so that their hands could be cuffed behind them. Only then were their ankles freed and they were allowed to stand.

Tara understood the function of the blindfolds. They made them more easy to control, having to accept the guidance of unseen hands clasping their arms or pulling on leashes, reducing them to helpless stumbling inferior beings. Her ego raged at the new indignity even as her loins stirred perversely at the knowledge of what was to come. Yes, it’s a sick thrill, she told herself desperately, so go with it. They want to see you suffer so defy them by enjoying it, like you did this morning. But that had been with a mop handle and a carrot, not a middle-aged man she despised.

Major Warwick loaded Tara into a wheelbarrow, threw a piece of sack over her and wheeled it across the road to his house. At the back door he helped her
out
and guided her inside, through the kitchen and into the sitting room, where he made her kneel.

‘Display!’ he said. Tara shuffled her knees wider and sat up straight. He undid the blindfold, then, to her obvious surprise, removed her gag. Then he sat on his comfortably worn green leather armchair before her, so that her open thighs faced him and he could see her labia peeping through her pubic bush.

Tara kept her gaze low, perhaps not wanting to make direct eye contact, her eyes flicking about the neat room with its many pictures hanging from the walls, bookcase and glass-fronted display cabinet.

‘Look at me, Tara Ashwell,’ he said.

She lifted her eyes to his. He read the fear behind them, and, perhaps, the wish to get whatever he had planned for her over with. If so she would just have to be patient. He was in charge now.

‘I removed your gag because I’ve wanted us to have a private conversation for some time. Perhaps I also want to hear you cry out in pain later …’ Tara trembled visibly ‘… but for the moment we shall just talk. I will not punish you for telling the truth, only if I think you are lying or you refuse to answer. You may speak perfectly freely, but you will always, I repeat, always do so respectfully, or else …’ He picked up his holly cane, which had been resting on the small side table beside his chair and laid it across his knees at the ready. Tara gulped at the sight. ‘Tonight I am your master. That’s how you will address me. Do you understand?

‘Yes … Master,’ Tara replied, emphasising the last word, trying to make it clear it was something she said because she had to, nothing more.

‘Do you remember how this all started?’ he asked. ‘A year and a half ago? You and your boyfriend, Peter Tucker, with his new sports car, which he took
to
driving you round the local roads in late at night and ridiculously fast. I suppose you thought you were having fun.’

‘We were, Master,’ Tara replied simply.

‘But then you started doing handbrake turns in the Close. Did you think it was amusing being woken night after night by screeching tyres, blaring horns and blazing headlights, especially if you had a job to go to the next morning?’

‘We didn’t think about you at all, Master,’ she said bluntly. ‘We were just enjoying ourselves.’

‘But you thought about us soon enough when we finally got your number and called the police. To his credit, Tucker took their warning to heart and never bothered us again. Why weren’t you as reasonable?’

‘Because you’d stopped me having fun, Master. The police came to my house because of you, and that was very embarrassing. The police are there to protect Fernleigh Rise, not to question us like common criminals.’

‘You think it’s your inalienable right to have fun?’

‘Why not, Master?’

‘And in your eyes I suppose we were being petty bourgeoisie spoilsports by not letting you.’

‘Yes, Master. After that Pete started being careful and – and boring.’

‘So you blamed us.’

‘Yes, Master. You’d taken away something I enjoyed … so I made all of you in the Close my new entertainment.’

‘Are you really so short of stimulation?’

‘This was something different, Master. I like excitement and danger and doing things that are new.’

‘And you roped in your gang of girlfriends to help.’

‘They did what I told them, Master, not like Pete. Anyway, they thought it was fun as well.’

‘And what do they think now?’

Tara hesitated. He raised his cane and she said quickly: ‘Cassie and Sian hate me, Master. The others act almost like they believe they deserve to be punished. Gail goes on about understanding why you want to see us suffer.’

‘And do you understand why, Tara?’

Tara shrugged, as though the answer was obvious. ‘You want revenge, Master. And to make sure we don’t bother you again.’

‘Anything else, do you think?’

Tara frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Master.’

‘To hear you say you’re sorry, of course. Are you sorry, Tara?’

For a moment Tara seemed at a loss. Then she licked her lips. ‘No, Master. I did what I wanted to do. I feel sorry you caught us … a bit sorry for myself now, maybe, but not for doing what we did.’ She flinched back, as though fearing a swipe from his cane.

‘Sit straight, you stupid girl,’ he said sharply. ‘I told you I wouldn’t punish honest answers and I don’t go back on my word.’ He sighed. ‘So, if you won’t repent, it looks like I’ll have to be content with simply redressing the balance and getting some satisfaction out of seeing you suffer.’

To his surprise Tara smiled. ‘Why not, Master? That’s what I was doing to you.’

Warwick found himself smiling back. ‘So, we understand each other at last. I don’t think I’m a naturally cruel man, but I believe I’m going to enjoy myself tonight.’

Tara gulped, but maintained her poise. ‘You’d be stupid not to, Master. You won’t have anybody as beautiful as me like this ever again.’

‘Think a lot of yourself, don’t you?’

‘I know what I am, Master.’

‘Your friends are also quite attractive. I’ll be having them as well.’

‘But I’m the best, because I’m the strongest, Master,’ Tara said proudly. As though emboldened, or perhaps believing she had nothing to lose, she added, ‘Can I ask a question, Master?’

‘Go on.’

‘How did you know how to handle us so well in the garden this morning? That wasn’t army drill. You knew all the right buttons to press to make us do just what you wanted.’

He chose his words with care. ‘In the past I have done work with certain units of the armed forces, where knowledge of interrogation techniques and how to resist them was required. As some brave young women are now part of these units, it was necessary to understand female psychology as it related to such situations. I simply applied what I knew to the current circumstances.’

Tara looked impressed despite herself. Glibly she said: ‘I suppose you know ten different ways to kill people with your bare hands, Master.’

‘Oh, I know many more than ten,’ Warwick said simply. ‘I also know how to set the most unpleasant traps for uninvited guests you can imagine …’ Tara had gone pale but could not look away from his now stony face. ‘But we’re not meant to use such things in Home Counties back gardens, so I was trying to fight you by regular means first. By civilian rules. Still, it’s probably a good thing Tom Fanning came along when he did, or I might have lost patience. Privately called in some favours from old comrades, perhaps. Then you’d have got a visit from people far less welcome than the police. Be grateful you’re getting off this lightly, Tara Ashwell.’

‘I am, Master,’ Tara said faintly. She took a deep breath, seeming to gather her courage. ‘You can probably make me say or do anything you want tonight, Master, but that won’t mean I’m really sorry for what I did … just sorry that I underestimated you, and the other residents.’

The statement seemed to be perfectly honest and without any artifice. He smiled. ‘An admission that Tara Ashwell is not perfect. I suppose that’s all I can expect for now. But it’s a beginning.’

With that he took up her leash and led her upstairs. She followed obediently.

In the bathroom he sat her on the toilet. A length of hose with a spray nozzle was already plugged into the bath taps. Without being told, Tara parted her legs and peed, staring down at the floor but obviously aware that Warwick was watching the stream of urine issue from her cleft. Then she strained to empty her bowels. When she had done what she could he turned the hose on her open groin, sluicing her off. Then, kneeling between her spread legs, he slid the long tapering spray nozzle into her anus and flushed her insides out, watching her face contort as the warm stream swirled through her entrails.

Only when he was quite satisfied she was clean did he dry her off with toilet paper and towel. Then he led her through to the spare bedroom where he had made his preparations.

On a rug in the middle of the room was a small sturdy four-legged footstool with a cushion taped to its seat. Jutting up at an angle of about 45 degrees from under the stool, and fastened to its frame by ‘G’ clamps, was a stringless badminton racket. Sitting on the rug at the same end of the stool was a large round shaving mirror on a tilting base. Beside this was a collection of leather straps, a reel of tape and a jar of vaseline.

Warwick pushed Tara down so that she knelt over the stool with her middle resting on the cushion and her head lying against the empty racket face. Pulling her legs wide and bending her knees further, he made her clasp the stool between her thighs, exposing her rear even further. He passed a strap under the stool and round her thighs just above her knees and buckled it tight. A second strap went over the small of her back and under the stool, pulling her face down until it was pressed into the rim of the racket with her breasts dangling on either side of the handle which touched her sternum. Unlocking the handcuffs he then taped her wrists to the sides of the stool legs. A final strip of tape went across the back of her head, binding it tightly to the racket rim so that she could not lift or turn it and was forced to stare straight ahead.

Warwick stepped back to admire his handiwork for a moment, then said: ‘I must change. I’ll be back shortly …’