Captives of Cheyner Close (24 page)

The curtain closed to particularly loud applause.

Daniela appeared in the hat and jacket to announce the next act. ‘Is there no end to the disgraceful behaviour of young women today?’ she asked. ‘We hope not otherwise this show ends right here! We now bring you a government safety information film, featuring two disgraces for the price of one, really pissing each other off at high noon: Hazel and Gail!’

The curtain parted to reveal a wobbly painted cactus standing in front of the backdrop. A large plastic sheet had been laid across the stage. Background music from the climax of a spaghetti western came on. Hazel and Gail entered from opposite wings. They were naked except for large Mexican hats and toy gunbelts slung about their waists.

They circled each other warily, hands hovering over their gunbutts as they waited for the other to draw. As the music rose towards the inevitable climax they both suddenly squatted down, resting back on their hands. Lifting their hips and splaying their legs they squirted jets of pee onto each other’s bodies, splashing it freely over groins and breasts, all the time shouting: ‘Bang! Bang! Bang!’ like children.

As their streams of pee died the pair kicked and shuddered comically, then lay still. An anonymous hand from the wings held a large sign out for the audience to read:

WARNING
!

EVEN PEE-SHOOTERS

CAN BE DANGEROUS

IN THE WRONG QUIMS
!

The curtain drew closed to the sound of laughter and Tara appeared as the compère once more, while there was a lot of rustling as the plastic sheet was hastily cleared away behind her.

‘I’m sure we shall all take that important warning to heart the next time we shoot peas. And now, for your entertainment, we have a trial of strength between two of our tightest performers. Forget the football or the cricket, even beach volleyball doesn’t get as good as this. It’s the new sport that’s bound to make the Olympic Games next time: a Tug-of-Pussies between Sian and Cassie!’

The curtain parted to reveal Sian and Cassie limbering up theatrically and flexing their biceps. Daniela stood between them holding a rope with two sets of three close-spaced rubber balls strung on it at each end.

The girls shook hands, then turned away from each other and bent over, spreading their legs wide. Daniela fed the sets of balls one by one deep into each girl’s vagina, then stood back.

‘Pussies, take the strain,’ she said. Still bent forward with their bottoms raised, Sian and Cassie clenched their thighs, put their hands to the floor and edged apart until the rope was taut between them.

‘Pull!’ Daniela said.

The two girls began to tug, scrabbling at the floor for grip, leaning at impossible angles while trying to make small steps forward, only prevented from falling by the rope joining their vulvas, which were visibly bulging as they strove to contain the balls stuffed within them.

The audience began cheering the girls on, shouting out their names.

Back and forth they tugged, until suddenly a shiny ball popped out of Cassie’s cleft. The jerk as the rope momentarily slackened caught both of them by surprise and a ball also slipped from between Sian’s pouting labia. Cassie strained to capitalise on this loss and with a heave pulled another one out of Sian’s tight slit with an audible pop. But Sian tugged back and managed to extract a second ball from Cassie’s by now dripping pubes to even the score. Each girl had one ball left inside her, and they were gasping and groaning in an effort not to let it go.

Finally it was Sian who could not prevail against Cassie’s slightly greater weight. The last ball popped free from her and both girls went sprawling. Sian crawled off as Daniela helped Cassie up, the rope still dangling from her vagina, and raised her hand aloft, proclaiming her the winner to much applause.

Sian appeared though the curtain in the top hat and jacket to introduce the next act. Her cheeks were still flushed and she walked with her thighs clenched and hand clasped to her pussy. The audience chuckled.

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a special musical item for your pleasure. I’m sure you’ve all heard of the “Doh, Re, Me” song from “The Sound of Music”. Well, now the Elite Mammary Campanological Choir present a version like you’ve never heard, or seen, before. Move over, Julie, we’re busting to get started!’

The curtain parted to reveal Tara, Gail, Hazel and Daniela kneeling over the backs of a row of chairs facing the audience. Their arms were folded neatly behind them so that their breasts dangled freely. Bells of different sizes, scavenged from the sets Narinda had used, were clipped to their nipples.

Clasped between her teeth Tara had a pair of strikers made from hard rubber balls mounted on sticks. Sian took these from her and waved them about like a conductor’s baton before starting to pummel the row of eight breasts before her, making the dangling bells ring. As she struck each breast the girls sang out the note and part of the song associated with it. When she reached the end Sian went back down the line hitting the bobbing mammaries harder, this time just getting a tuneful oww! and a jingle each time.

The recital was received with great appreciation. The girls gave a mass jingle of their nipple-bells as the curtain closed.

After a moment Gail came out dressed as the compère, having quickly removed her nipple-bells.

‘Pets can be so embarrassing at times, and girl pets are the worst,’ she said. ‘They’ll put their noses just about anywhere, even where they don’t belong. But it’s no good telling them off. It’s their nature to sniff out exciting scents and of course they’re completely uninhibited. Which can be quite a problem for owners, especially when they’re trying to maintain their dignity at all costs. We present Hazel, Daniela, Sian and Cassie in: Walking in the Park.’

The parting curtains revealed cut-out trees and a lamppost had been added to the stage. Sian and Cassie entered from opposite wings. Their breasts were still bare, but they wore old-fashioned feathered hats and scarves with long loose skirts, and swanked along to suggest they were clothed in the height of fashion. They were holding Hazel and Daniela on leashes, who padded along on all fours like dogs, sniffing at the cut-out trees and pretending to cock their legs on the lamppost.

Sian and Cassie greeted each other, speaking in exaggerated cut-glass accents.

‘Why, hallo!’

‘Oh, hallo! Such a long time since I saw you last …’

As the women chatted, Hazel and Daniela sniffed cautiously at each other’s faces, then bottoms. Obviously liking what they smelt they cocked their legs for the other to lick their pouting pubes.

Sian and Cassie suddenly realised what their pets were doing and pulled them apart, smacking their bottoms and telling them not to be naughty girls. Hazel and Daniela squatted down mournfully, looking at each other with lolling tongues as their owners continued to talk. Then an idea appeared to strike them.

They put their heads up their owners’ skirts and began to lick them out, to the delight of the audience. The women were clearly too embarrassed to admit to what was going on, apart from surreptitiously slapping at the bulges moving under their skirts, or what it was arousing them. So they continued to talk in ever more strained and high-pitched voices about how hot the weather was getting, giving them an excuse to fan themselves with their hats in an attempt to control their emotions.

The pair eventually orgasmed with such force that they fainted theatrically, leaving Hazel and Daniela free to mount each other face to fanny and consummate their affection, noses and tongues buried in their eager clefts.

The applause was still ringing round the room when Tara, dressed as compère once more, pushed her way through the curtain. She was holding one hand modestly over her pubes.

‘And so, ladies and gentlemen, Masters and Mistresses, we come to the finale of our little show. We hope you have enjoyed it as much as we have. And
we
hope you’ve given us lots of points for effort, because we all know what that means: not prizes but fewer pricks in our tits! And now we take you back for a second visit to the Follies … but this time for some hot anal action!’

She took her hand away from her pubes to reveal a very large upstanding carrot. The base of it was lodged in her vagina and it was held erect by a sling and supporting belt of garden wire. The tapering end had been trimmed slightly with a potato peeler to resemble the head of a penis.

The sight set the audience chuckling as Tara took off her hat and jacket and tossed them aside, then went back through the curtains. The cancan music started up and the curtains parted.

All six girls came on and formed a high-kicking line, all showing off phallic carrots mounted like Tara’s. As they danced, the vegetables bobbed about in their slots, alternately stretching their labia as though in a yawn, then rubbing up against their clitorises.

A renewed flush was colouring their cheeks as they sang:

‘
Now we are about to go
,

we hope you enjoyed our sexy show!

You’ve seen our bums
,

seen us kiss and seen us come!

Then there was the spanking
,

and the peeing and the wanking!

Now as a send-off
,

we’re going to screw our ends off
,

Just to please you!

What a farce
,

to have a carrot up the arse!

Up our bums!

Up our bums!

Here we come
,

here we come!
’

As they sang they formed a circle, clasping the hips of the girl in front as they went round high-kicking with their outside legs to show off their stuffed pussies and puckered bumholes. The line got tighter and closer as each girl found the anus of the one in front with the tip of her vegetable dildo and then shoved her carrot-cock into it. They gasped and shuddered as their rectums were plugged, then their hips began to pump urgently.

It was not faked. They were all caught up in the wild rhythm of the music, the perverse exhilaration of doing something so abandoned before so many eyes, but above all the need for release from the state of arousal that had grown within them through the show. They sank to their knees, clasping and kneading the breasts of the girl in front of them, pinching erect nipples, while all the time driving into her rear even harder. They were shredding the carrots smooth with their frantic sodomy, staining their bottoms orange, sweating and straining until they shrieked and came, collapsing into a sweating, panting, exhausted heap of naked girlflesh.

Dimly they were aware of the music trailing off, but it was drowned out by the wave of wild applause.

Still woozy from their exertions and cushioned by the post-orgasmic glow suffusing their bodies, the girls slowly gathered themselves together. They pulled the battered remains of the dildo carrots from their sopping and now orange-lipped vulvas, then formed a line across the stage, kneeling submissively with their legs wide and hands clasped behind their necks, ready to accept the judgement of their captors. At least we’ve done our best, Tara thought, feeling oddly proud of the fact.

After the exchange of nods and muttering between the residents, Major Warwick stood up and addressed the girls.

‘That was a highly entertaining show. Well done to you all!’

Tara felt a ridiculous glow of pleasure at his sincere praise. Out of the corner of her eye she saw smiles on the faces of the others.

‘And since you’ve performed so well and shown proper contrition,’ Warwick continued, ‘we have decided you will suffer the minimum punishment we can let you get away with. Just five strokes each!’

Tara shivered, but five was a lot better than twenty-five.

‘As it’s fine I think we can leave the frames out in the garden,’ Warwick said. ‘Now, for the last time, on your feet and march out there smartly.’

They did so, followed by the residents.

The evening air was cool. The last flush of sunset was still tinting the sky. Somebody switched on an outside light while others produced torches and, of course, cameras. This would really be their last performance, Tara thought.

Their hands were cuffed behind them. Thoughtfully the residents had towels ready to rub dry their sweat-streaked bodies and water bottles to replenish the fluids they had lost during the performance. Ball-gags were then pushed between their teeth and blindfolds bound across their eyes.

Dumb, blind and helpless, they were guided to the place on the frames that matched their cup-size.

Tara trembled as she was bent over, unseen hands guiding her breasts into the waiting bowls. She gave a muffled squeak as a pinpoint grazed her left breast. Then the rims of the bowls enclosed her dangling mammaries and the top of the supporting rod pressed
against
her sternum. The strap was buckled across her back, holding her tight. Her ankles were tied together about the base of the sprung upright rod so she could not brace herself. She wobbled and another tack point grazed her.

The bowls enclosed her breasts completely, making a seal where their rims dug into the surrounding flesh, so that she felt a warm humid closeness building about them. Her rising nipples brushed the bowl bottoms.

She heard the residents moving about, felt the frame tremble as the other two girls who shared it with her were strapped into place. Who was beside her and who was mounted on the companion frame opposite? Whoever you are just try to keep still, she pleaded silently.

The first stroke of the cane seared into her buttocks without warning. She yelped in pain and jerked by reflex. Her big breasts bounced within their tack-lined prisons. Tara screeched again through her gag as her soft flesh was impaled upon what felt like a hundred pinpoints. Panting, she tried to steady herself for the next stroke.

There was a swish of displaced air, the cut of flesh, a yelp of pain, the frame rocked, setting her breasts bobbing again and inflicting a few more lesser pricks. Whoever it was bound beside her had received the stroke. A few seconds later the frame vibrated again, but not quite so severely.