Captives of Cheyner Close (8 page)

Daniela nodded miserably.

‘Think of it as exercise for your pussy,’ Roberta advised with a grin. ‘Now, on with the garters.’

Daniela lifted up her legs so Roberta could slide the garters high up her thighs. The long rubber bands Roberta then doubled over the inside of each garter, threading one end through the other and left the loops dangling. She applied more jelly to the dildo and then slowly slid it up into Daniela’s vagina, watching the girl screw up her eyes as she was penetrated and noting the tremble of her lovely breasts as her breathing quickened. Her nipples, which had shrunk back to crinkled cones, erected once again.

‘You’re nice and tight,’ Roberta said, as the dildo met some resistance. ‘Is that nerves or is it natural? I bet your boyfriend likes that …’ She saw the expression briefly change on Daniela’s mortified face. ‘What, don’t you have a boyfriend at the moment?’ She twirled the dildo round in its new sheath of flesh, making Daniela gasp and shake her head. ‘Do you like girls instead?’ Daniela looked horribly confused. ‘I see …’

Roberta stopped when the dildo was lodged almost to its fullest extent inside Daniela, with the polish can dangling from it between her thighs. Taking up the rubber bands Roberta twisted them tight and snapped them round the can, ensuring it would not slip out of place, then stood back to admire the result.

Daniela stood trembling before her, gartered and plugged, with her thighs clenched about the polish can and the duster sticking out of her rear.

‘Every home should have a maid like you,’ Roberta said wistfully. ‘Now, I want you to polish every bit of woodwork in the house. Start on the coffee table.’

Chewing anxiously at her gag, Daniela shuffled over to the corner of the table and squatted down
until
the base of the polish can rested on it. Screwing up her eyes she pushed downwards. A cloud of spray misted the table while Daniela gave a choked yelp as the pin-studded base of the dildo ground into her soft lovelips.

‘That’s a very good try,’ Roberta assured her. ‘Don’t worry. Next time you’ll squeeze harder. Or maybe you’ll get used to a little pain …’

Blinking tears from her eyes, Daniela turned round and bent her knees. Sticking out her bottom and wiggling her hips, she began to rub the duster over the tabletop.

Hilary and Rachel grinned at each other and then at Gail, who was kneeling on the floor of the small conservatory that had been built onto the back of their house. Gail looked from one to the other of them with apprehension contorting her pretty features.

She had thick dark shoulder-length wavy hair which framed a heart-shaped face that still retained a certain childish aspect. Her eyes were dark as were her strongly marked brows. Her upper lip was sensuously uplifted and slightly rolled back. Girlishly slender legs and a narrow waist contrasted with wide hips, framing a dark pubic triangle, and prominent breasts standing out with melon-like firmness. These were capped by large areolae, shaded around their circumference, with small nipple domes in their centres.

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Hilary said. ‘We’re not going to take you to bed for a lesbian threesome. We’ll save that for another day. This morning we’re going to break you in gently. Well, fairly gently.’ Her face grew darker as she gestured at their surroundings. ‘Remember the filthy words your gang painted all
over
this place a few months ago? Do you know how long it took us just to scrape down the glass? We’re still finding flakes of paint in the corners. Well, today you’re going to give the windows another cleaning.’

‘But we thought simply rubbing a cloth over a few panes of glass was too easy, so we’ve make it a bit more of a challenge,’ Rachel added.

They drew Gail to her feet and ushered her out through the double doors. A garden table and chairs were set out on the small patio that flanked the conservatory. On the table was a plastic pressure bottle of the sort used for spraying plants, fitted with a length of green tubing and a spring trigger-activated nozzle. Taped vertically to the crosspiece of the bottle’s pump handle was a small plastic roll-on deodorant container, with a conical cap which glistened with vaseline. Also laid out on the table was a camera, cleaning cloths, a reel of garden wire, a pack of thick rubber bands and, oddly, a pair of nutcrackers.

Before Gail could take it all in, Hilary clasped her breasts in both hands, kneading and squeezing the heavy globes. ‘Lovely boobs you’ve got,’ Hilary said, bending and kissing their bulging upper slopes. ‘We’re going to have fun with them when it’s our turn to have you for the night. But today we’re putting them to work.’

Handling Gail gently but firmly between them, they wrapped the cloths over her breasts and secured them in place with several rubber bands each, making her mammaries bulge into even more melon-like forms as their roots were squeezed ever tighter. Gail whimpered at this painful manipulation of her flesh but Hilary and Rachel just stroked and petted her and continued with their task.

The jaws of the nutcrackers were closed about the nozzle trigger of the spray head and held in place with
another
rubber band. More bands were looped about the handles, pulling them together until only a small amount of extra pressure was needed to activate the spray.

‘Spread your legs,’ Hilary commanded. Closing her eyes, Gail obeyed.

Hilary rubbed her hand up and down Gail’s furrow, then slipped first one, then two and three fingers into her vagina, gently teasing the elastic tunnel wider. When she withdrew her hand it was coated with a glistening exudation. Hilary sniffed her fingers then held them out for Rachel, who inhaled the intimate scent they bore with a smile.

‘Nobody who smells this nice could be really bad,’ Hilary told Gail. ‘Why on earth did you get mixed up with Tara’s gang?’

Gail could only shake her head helplessly.

Hilary slid the ends of the nutcrackers up into Gail, whose eyes went wide as she felt the strange object penetrate her, until only the spray nozzle was visible, jutting upwards from Gail’s cleft like a small metal penis. With garden wire they bound it in place, looping it tight about Gail’s waist and following the creases of her buttocks at her rear until it and the tube connecting it to the pressure bottle could not come loose however Gail moved about.

‘The bottle’s full of water and glass cleaner,’ Hilary told Gail. ‘All you have to do is to pump it up. You’ll probably need to do that a few times as there’s plenty to do. You can see how you’ve got to pump it, can’t you?’

Gail nodded, looking as though she could not quite believe what she was doing. She straddled the pump with its novel adornment and gingerly squatted down over it, opening her buttocks. The bullet-shaped deodorant cap nuzzled into the ring of her anus.
Screwing
up her eyes she sat down harder. Suddenly the cap popped inside her and she was impaled on the pump handle. She straightened her legs, drawing the handle up with her, then squatted once more, driving the air into the pressure bottle. After a dozen thrusts she rose, straining until she expelled her anal plug.

Walking awkwardly up to the nearest window pane, trailing the plastic tube after her, she pointed the nozzle and clenched her thighs together. A jet of water sprayed over the glass, bringing forth a muffled gasp of surprise from Gail. She wiggled her hips, thoroughly drenching the glass, then relaxed, causing the spray to reduce to a dribble, looking round at Hilary and Rachel with an expression of surprise and wonder on her face.

‘Good girl,’ Hilary said, holding her camera at the ready. ‘Now wipe it clean.’

Pressing her face almost to the glass, Gail began to rub her cloth-bound breasts over the pane, her supple back flexing, her perfectly rounded buttocks tensing, her slender legs braced as she moved from side to side.

Rachel and Hilary exchanged smiles of delight as they arranged the garden chairs to watch their lovely naked slave at work. This was going to be fun.

‘Who would have thought one day we would have Tara Ashwell cleaning our kitchen floor?’ Narinda Khan said in mock wonder.

‘And stripped down to her bare skin to do the job,’ Raj added in kind.

‘You must remember the expensive clothes she wears,’ Narinda pointed out. ‘She would not want to get them dirty.’

‘Of course!’ Raj clutched his brow. ‘How stupid of me not to realise.’ He prodded Tara with his toe, the bantering tone in his voice melting into bitterness as
he
added: ‘But then that is all I am to you. A stupid brown-skinned man you enjoy persecuting and insulting. But who is kneeling on whose floor now, eh?’

Tara glowered defiantly up at him, willing herself not to show any fear. It was necessary to endure the Khans’ mockery, knowing they were secretly in awe of her naked beauty, which was saving her from an even worse fate. She knew what they were seeing. It was what her mirror had shown her often enough.

Clear golden skin, long dark wavy honey-blonde hair and a perfectly proportioned oval face with high cheekbones. Her brows were dark and expressive and set over sparkling warm brown eyes. Her nose was very slightly uptilted, her lips full and generously wide. There was a proud outward thrust to her full breasts, which were crowned with large rosy pink nipple cones. This pneumasticity contrasted with her hourglass waist and wide hips. Her bottom was perfectly pale and rounded, her dark pubic hair neatly trimmed. Regular riding sessions had given her strong shapely legs.

Yes, she must be proud of what she was, Tara told herself once again. Nothing they could do to her could take that away from – Her thoughts were cut short by the sight of the objects Narinda had just brought out of a cupboard.

There was more of the hateful binding tape they had used last night, plus floor cloths, a new wooden scrubbing brush with a rubber ball screwed to its back, and a mophead fitted to a short length of old broom handle with a small empty plastic bottle taped close to its end. Into the bottle’s open mouth had been stuffed the tail-end of a large carrot. But most alarming of all was a plastic bucket of soapy water with what looked like a wreath of holly sprigs taped to the outside of its rim.

‘We thought it would be properly demeaning if you held the brush in your mouth to scrub our floor,’ Narinda said, beaming down at Tara. ‘You’ll have to put your face into the bucket to wet the brush. It’s only plain soap in there, but as the water gets dirtier you will find it less pleasant. Also, each time those big titties of yours will rub against the holly, which should hurt quite a lot …’ her face hardened, ‘though not so much as the pain you have caused us over all these months.’

Tara cringed from the sudden force of her anger. Then the moment had passed and Narinda smiled again.

One at a time, they lifted her legs and taped the folded cloths over her knees and shins. Then Narinda pushed the ball screwed to the back of the scrubbing brush into her mouth. It pressed her tongue flat and jammed behind her teeth so she could not spit it out. The brush stuck out in front of her lips, just touching the tip of her nose.

‘Now, how did we decide to make sure she stayed properly bent over with her nose to the floor?’ Raj asked his wife with a grin.

‘By sticking this little mop and carrot up her private passages.’

‘But will that not be most uncomfortable for her?’ Narinda grinned wickedly. ‘Very uncomfortable, yet also I think a little teasing. I wonder which she will feel most?’

‘There’s only one way to find out.’

Tara’s eyes had widened in horror. The carrot was huge, its thick end facing forward. By being mounted in the bottle it was held clear of the mop handle. In effect it was double-pronged.

As Raj Khan held her hips steady, Narinda pushed the end of the wooden mop handle into her anus, at the same time feeding the carrot-head into her vagina.

‘She’s already very slippery,’ Narinda observed.

‘The Major had some fun with them before you came,’ Raj explained. ‘I think they got excited.’

Tara groaned as the handle seemed to butt up against her spine, forcing her rectum to conform to its unyielding presence, while the carrot filled her vagina. As her sheath automatically clenched about the carrot it seemed to squeeze its tapering shape even further up inside her. When both her passages were plugged to the hilt, her leash, which they had not unclipped, was passed down between her legs and the end tied to the shaft of the mop handle just above its head, ensuring it would not slip out of her.

‘Now start scrubbing,’ Raj commanded.

Miserably, Tara shuffled over to the bucket, feeling both the handle and carrot working about inside her as she trailed the mop head grotesquely after her. She tried to stretch her neck and dip the brush into the water without touching the ring of holly round the bucket rim, but her full globes hung too heavily and she winced as needle-pointed spines jabbed into them. Desperately she made a lunge with the brush, dunking it into the water, getting bubbles up her nose and in her eyes in the process. Jerking away she also ground the brush handle into her. The swaying hemispheres of her breasts were now peppered with dozens of stinging red pinpricks.

Snuffling and blinking her streaming eyes, acutely aware of the spectacle she presented to her captors, Tara spread her knees wider and bowed her head. Her nipples scraped across the floor and then her breasts made fat pancakes about them before the brush touched the tiles. How utterly humiliating! She would have to drag them all over the floor as she cleaned. Resolutely she began to scrub, closing her eyes as she swung her head from side to side, trying
to
make one brushload of water go as far as possible. It was not in fact a big kitchen, but from her current viewpoint it looked huge.

The flash of a camera told her the Khans were recording her shame for posterity.

Gradually the swaying of her upper body rolled her breasts over the tiles. That, together with the small but insistent sliding twisting motion of the mop handle and carrot, made her nipples began to harden. For a moment she felt appalled at her arousal under the Khans’ watching eyes. Then she quashed her instinctive disgust. Had she forgotten the lesson she had learned in the garden? Even this could be turned on its head. She’d show them.