Teena: A House of Ill Repute (4 page)

'No, don't try to get up,' the woman purred, 'and don't bother trying to speak, because you won't be able to. Just lie still for a while and I'll explain to you what is going to happen.' She gave a short sniff, and then coughed as if to clear her throat. 'You see, young Maudie, not everything about this life is pretty dresses and lolling about in comfort. Our lords and masters aren't like us, as you're about to find out. They like to play their little games and have their fun, just like naughty schoolboys, for I can tell you, that's near enough what they are and what they remain until the day they die. They never grow up, Maudie, not one of them, leastways, not one of them as I've ever known, and they let themselves be ruled too easily by what they have between their legs. Show a man something that stirs his loins and you can lead him easily by his cock for the rest of his life, and that, little Maudie, is exactly what we're going to do here.'

'This is a little game, you see my dear, and one that dear Gregory has come to enjoy. As you know, I brought you here to take the place of a certain little slut - his wife, as was supposed to be - and that's exactly what you're doing now, too. I made her into a docile little bitch for him and now I'm doing the same to you in her stead. It's a shame you can't see yourself just yet, but you make as fetching a dog as she did, and he'll never know the difference, excepting in one place, and we're about to take care of that before he comes calling. He's not that different from the rest of his sex, but even he might just notice that you're a bit tighter'n his original bitch, but I have a little something here that will attend to that.'

Her hand came into view and behind the mask, Maudie's eyes widened in horror, for although she had never yet been with a man, she'd had brothers and cousins and knew well enough what a man looked like underneath his breeches. Indeed, she had held a flesh-and-blood version of the object Miss Crowthorne was holding up for her, holding it and stroking it for her cousin Ned's best friend, Billy Smith, behind the barn at the smallholding where Cousin Ned lived with Uncle Walter, gripping and stroking it at Billy's behest.

She had known then what Billy Smith really wanted to do with that throbbing shaft, for her mother had explained to her clear enough only a few weeks before her illness finally took her, and her mother also warned her as to what could well happen as a consequence. Luckily, Maudie's ministrations had worked too well for Billy's intentions and he suddenly spurted his sticky mess all over her hand and arm, and then his proud shaft had quickly shrivelled and died again.

'I can see from your eyes that you know what this is, eh miss?'

Maudie swallowed with some difficulty and a small whimper escaped from between her dry lips.

'Well, this is a poor enough substitute for the real thing in some ways,' Miss Crowthorne continued, 'though there's many a man'd like to think he could match it for size!'

Indeed, Maudie thought, the leather pizzle she was now staring at certainly seemed a lot bigger than she remembered Billy's pink and purple weapon to be - bigger and far more sinister, glinting dully in the thin shaft of sunlight that suddenly pierced the half gloom of the chamber, its blackish surface seeming to come alight from within. She let out another squeal of alarm, this time a sort of mewling protest that came from the back of her throat, but this seemed only to amuse Miss Crowthorne.

'Get the bitch up into position,' the woman commanded, speaking to someone who was outside Maudie's current field of vision.

She heard a scrape of heavy boots, and then felt strong hands grasping her as dark shadows fell across her. All she could see momentarily was a buckle and part of a shirt, and then her world seemed to turn over as she was hauled up and twisted, other hands grasping her legs and arms. And then she was upright... but not exactly upright, for she was on all fours, crouched with her back parallel to the floor and staring down at arms that were hers and yet not hers, for they were far too long, dark brown in colour and ending in huge paws. She bowed her head further and peered back along the underside of her body. Sure enough, her stiffly braced back legs also had paws, and beneath her chest she could see two leather covered breasts that jutted down out of all proportion to the breasts she herself had.

'You'll soon get the idea,' she heard Miss Crowthorne telling her, and felt a tug at one side of her head. 'You see, for this game we've turned you into a little doggie girl. No, don't try to stand up!' This time there was a sharp slap of something that stung Maudie's behind, the pain dulled by the protective coating of the leather skin, but not so much that the sting did not make her jump and yelp.

'Dogs don't walk on two legs, missy,' a male voice growled close to her left ear. 'Mistress wants you down, so you stay down. Should I be putting a leash on the bitch now, Miss Crowthorne?'

'The nice red one, I think, Burrows, to match her pretty collar. Then you can attend to her and take her for a walk outside until the master is ready for her. Make sure she gets some water, too, and plenty of it. I found it amusing watching her when she peed. She's had her fun lolling and preening and trying to play the lady, now it's our turn. Here, you'll need this, and make sure you wash her thoroughly when you're through. The master isn't overly fussy whose hole he bores, but he does like 'em to be clean and sweet smelling, at least to begin with.'

I could at least pretend I didn't have any idea the sort of thing Anne-Marie had in mind, but of all the things I can be accused of, being a liar isn't one of them. No, I knew only too well that we were about to embark upon another round of her peculiarly devious and deviant little games, and if the truth be told even further and more bluntly, I welcomed the prospect. Not just as a diversion, for that craving little fire was beginning to grow ever more insistent within me. That little ember that may have first glimmered when I discovered the trunks of clothing in the loft space at the cottage was now something that burned whenever it was neglected for too long, and in attending to its needs, it seemed I was only adding to its appetite.

The one time well-balanced, healthy and energetic, dare I say normal teenager, seemed not only a thing of the past, but a thing from a past that was long gone, only distantly remembered and, if regretted at all in its passing, then regretted only in odd moments of self-recrimination that were becoming rarer by the day. In other words - and they were the only words I could think of back then - I was turning into a proper slut, transformed under the influences of both past and present, which banished innocence forever and left in its place an insatiable desire that needed appeasing.

Anne-Marie had already decided I was to once again become 'Teenie-slave', which meant the same outfit I had worn at the club, but first I had to bathe and shave away my stubble and present myself for her inspection. She duly looked me over with a close scrutiny, and nodded her approval.

'My soft little Teenie,' she murmured, using the diminutive still even though I would have been at least two inches taller than her had she not been wearing platform heeled shoes, whilst I was as yet still barefoot. 'Maybe one of these days we should try shaving your head, too,' she suggested. 'You don't like long hair anyway, so why not give it a try? I could get you a really authentic looking wig for normal wear and—'

'No!' I recoiled in horror, shaking my head wildly. 'No, not my head, not my hair. They did that to me then, don't forget, and it was awful.' Or was it? I tried not to remember the peculiar thrill I'd experienced when the cool air had played over my bald pate, and how the leather hood seemed to fit so much more snugly afterwards. Yes, it
had
been awful, but had it been awful truly, or had I merely been full of awe? I didn't really want to ask the question, let alone find the answer, and if I allowed Anne-Marie to do to me exactly as Megan Crowthorne had done, then there would be no hiding from the truth, no matter how unpalatable it might be.

'Okay, okay.' Anne-Marie held up her hands, sensing there was more than the obvious distaste in my reaction. 'It was only a suggestion. You know I'd never do anything to you I didn't think you'd like and want.'

But if I didn't know what I liked and wanted, how could
she
hope to? I didn't voice this doubt, but it was there all the same, and I wondered how far I would have resisted had she pursued the subject. Maybe not far enough, I suspected, and although I shivered slightly at the recollection and the possibility, I decided now was most definitely neither time nor place. I would be Teenie-slave willingly enough, but for the present, I would be Teenie-slave with hair.

As for the future, time alone would tell. As for the past...

2.

Maudie was still in a state of shock, but not shocked enough that she did not now know what was happening to her, and as the full realisation of the madness increased, she grew more and more terrified.

She had known from the very beginning this was an odd household. The master-servant relationship between Gregory Hacklebury and Megan Crowthorne was far from what Maudie would normally have expected, so much so that, on the few occasions when Maudie had seen the pair of them together, although Megan had been painfully polite and formal with her employer, Maudie had been left with the impression that it was really the woman who was pulling all the strings here and that Hacklebury only thought he was in charge.

There was also the mystery concerning the real Angelina. The reluctant bride was still very much alive, that much Maudie knew from snippets of conversation between the other servants she had overheard, but where she was Maudie had no idea. She presumed the girl was ill, for she had heard references to her being 'confined', but it had also occurred to her that maybe Angelina was actually already pregnant and was being kept out of sight until after her bastard was born. Maudie knew people from the better off classes could be so funny about things like that.

Now, however, she was far from sure either of her suppositions was anywhere near accurate, for Megan had made references to Angelina and this awful leather carcass into which Maudie had now been laced. She shook her head and tried to blink away the tears of terror and humiliation. Could they really have done something like this to one of their own kind? It was truly awful to think people could be so depraved, and the way in which Megan and Burrows had so calmly robbed her of her virginity earlier still seemed too horrible to be real.

She tried to turn herself around in order to see the doorway, backing in a circle to her left, shuffling awkwardly around the leash that was tethered to the floor ring and which kept her on all fours in the dog-like pose. The cool draft from the opening reminded her the dog suit did not cover her crotch area, which also felt even more vulnerable since Megan delighted in informing her that her pubic hair had been removed while she lay unconscious earlier.

Slowly, Maudie began to comprehend... Angelina had, indeed, been kept a prisoner in this hideous disguise, but something had happened to her and now Maudie was being used to take her place once again, only this time not as the lady of the house in luxurious surroundings and in fine gowns, but as a bitch dog with a hideously pug-snouted face and huge lopping ears attached to a hood that would ensure her real identity remained hidden.

Why it was so important that she appear like this, Maudie had no idea, but she was now convinced these people were both evil and sick, and that there was no love lost between Megan Crowthorne and the real Angelina. She had heard Megan muttering to herself from the doorway, and the threats the supposed maidservant had been mouthing had sent a chill of dread throughout Maudie's imprisoned body, so that even inside the leather skin she shivered uncontrollably.

The sound of approaching footsteps and muffled conversation made her freeze once more. The voices continued outside for several seconds, but with her ears covered by the thick leather, she could not identify them. She guessed, however, the female had to be Megan, and it was no surprise when the woman finally stepped into the room. Neither was it a surprise when Maudie saw that her companion was Hacklebury.

'You've said nothing, I trust?' he asked.

Megan Crowthorne shook her head. 'I don't have conversations with dogs,' she grunted. 'Dogs simply follow instructions, that's all. I've had her cleaned up and well watered. She'll be no more compliant than before, but I can give her a sound switching to remind her, if you like.'

'Thank you, but no,' Hacklebury demurred. 'I can take care of such things for myself. Pass me one of the crops from the rack, if you please. Yes, the shorter one, I think. There's not a lot of room in here.'

Maudie let out a low moan and tried to turn her head to see what was happening as Hacklebury moved behind her, but the stiff collar hampered her movements, and then Megan grasped her snout and pulled it around straight, stooping to stare into her eyes.

'Be still, bitch!' the woman hissed. 'Be still or anything the master does now I'll double up on afterwards. Unruly hounds need to be taught obedience and you are most certainly unruly.'

There was a brief swishing sound from behind Maudie, and suddenly a line of fire erupted across her buttocks. She let out a long, high-pitched howl and jumped forward, almost overbalancing on her stiffened legs and arms, but Megan had hold of her collar and held her fast and upright.

Again the swishing sound cut through the air and a second fireball exploded. Even with the protection afforded by the leather, which covered most of her buttocks, Maudie shrieked through her masked mouth and tried to rear up. Megan, however, was far too strong for her.