Excerpt
from: “Breaking in Gillian”
The Sunday morning when the Twistleton and Woodsmere Hunt
decided to defy the national ban on live foxhunting swiftly descended into chaos.
They had found what they believed was
a loophole in the law and, while their legal team made their applications to
the court, they were determined to exploit it before they could be
stopped. The media, of course, had
turned out to record the event. So had
rival, and very vocal, bands both of supporters and protestors. In between all of them were the police trying
to keep order. Soon the woods and fields
were alive with scattered bands of riders and hounds and camouflage-clad hunt
saboteurs blowing horns, letting off flares and laying false scent trails and
police cars with flashing lights and four-by-fours carrying camera teams racing
along muddy tracks.
And in the middle of all this was
Gillian burning with anger!
A group of four masked figures had
sprung out of the bushes in front of her and let off a flare and sounded an air
horn practically in Brandon’s face. The
poor beast had shied and nearly thrown her.
Then they had run off into the woods and so she had given chase,
shouting and waving her crop.
Blinded by her rage she did not see
the low branch until it was too late.
Gillian’s last split-second twist
aside and her riding hat saved her face from being hit, but sickening power of
the impact on her head and left shoulder swept her off her saddle. For a second she tumbled over backwards
through the air and then the ground came up and hit her.
And then there was blackness…
* * *
Gillian woke feeling sick confused. What had happened? Where was she? Lying on her side on some hard
surface, apparently. Her head and neck
and left shoulder ached. She opened her
eyes but everything still remained black.
Sudden panic filled her. Why
couldn’t she see? Had she gone blind?
Then she realized there was a strip of
cloth bound across her eyes and something similar wadded into her mouth held in
place by a strip of tape stuck over her lips, stifling her moan of fear. Her arms were twisted up behind her back and
tied with rope about her wrists. Another
length of rope ran up from her wrists to the back of her collar and was then
tied about her neck. Her ankles were
also bound together.
She was tied up, gagged and
blindfolded!
As she moaned and twisted and
squirmed, she heard a woman’s voice.
‘Looks like she’s waking up…’
A man replied. ‘Good.
Let’s find out who she is…’
Hands took hold of her and sat her up
with her back resting against some vertical surface. Then her blindfold was removed.
She blinked and looked fearfully about
her. She was in the back of what seemed
to be to be a transit van, with the lower half of its side
walls covered by panels of scarred plywood. A scattering of boxes and old blankets were
littered about it. Four figures loomed
over her in the confined space: three men and a woman. All were wearing camouflage trousers, hooded
jackets and plastic fancy dress half-masks in the shape of fox heads, which
left only their mouths exposed. They
were the people she been chasing before her fall!
The largest man spoke. ‘You are in the custody of the FDL,’ he
announced grandly. ‘I am Reynard.’ He gestured to the others. ‘This is Pablo,
Basil and Marian.’
The “FDL”,
Gillian wondered dizzily? Then she
recalled hearing the acronym. The Fox
Defence League was a small, vocal and extreme left-wing branch of hunt
protesters and that merged animal-rights with old fashioned and outdated class
resentment. They assumed fox-related
names to conceal their true identities when they had made announcements through
social media condemning the movement to lift the ban on true foxhunting. Previously she had thought of them as
something between a joke and a nuisance.
But they seemed a lot more sinister now…
‘We can’t stop here long,’ Basil
fretted. ‘They’ll be looking for…’
‘We’re safe enough for half an hour,’
Reynard insisted.
‘Why did you take her?’ Marian asked him.
‘She knocked herself out right in
front of us. We couldn’t let an opportunity like that go by, could we?’
‘We’re not going to hurt her, are
we?’ Pablo asked anxiously.
‘Why not?’ Reynard said bluntly,
making Gillian flinch. ‘She’s some posh
bitch who deserves to be punished for what she and her kind have done to innocent
animals. She’s the enemy and don’t
forget it!’
‘We don’t even know who she is yet,’
Basil pointed out.
‘Then let’s find out,’ Reynard said.
He hunched down and took hold of a
corner of the strip of tape holding the ball of cloth in Gillian’s mouth. In his other hand, he held her
riding crop. He stroked it across her
cheeks, making her shudder.
‘I’m going to take this gag out and
you’re going to tell me who you are. If
you give me any trouble or threaten me or anything, then you’ll get a taste of
this. And don’t waste your breath
screaming for help because were parked up well out of the way and nobody will
hear you. Got it?’
Gillian gulped and nodded. No, screaming wouldn’t achieve anything right
now. In any case, it would be
undignified.
He ripped the tape off her lips and
pulled the wadded gag out of her mouth.
‘Now, who are you?’
‘Gillian Forbes-Smeaton,’ Gillian
said.
‘Hah, there you see!’ Reynard said in elation. ‘A real posh bitch with a proper double
barrelled name! Your own or did you
marry into it?’
‘It’s my husband’s… Mark.’
‘I bet you and Mark live in a big
house, don’t you, Gillian? What is it?’
‘Bascombe Hall,’ Gillian admitted.
‘That’s an estate about ten miles from
here,’ Basil said. ‘Her family are
loaded…’
‘Told you, this is the one!’ Reynard
said triumphantly. ‘We’ve struck
gold! She’s going to make all the
difference to the cause. We can take her
to the Old Manor. They won’t find us
there, not for a week at least. That
should be long enough.’
‘Long enough for what?’ Pablo asked.
‘To use her to get us some real
publicity, of course. Something to show
we mean business…’
He pushed the wad of rag back into
Gillian’s mouth and taped it in place once more. He took up a short length of coiled rope hung
on a hook by her head and then hauled Gillian onto her feet. He tied the end of the rope to the back of
the loop about her neck and then stretched it up and tied it about an eye bolt fitted to a bracing rib in the roof of the
van. She swayed awkwardly from her new
tether, feeling it pulling on her wrists and the loop about her neck.
Reynard undid the rope binding her
ankles together.
‘What are you doing?’ Marian asked doubtfully.
‘This…’ he said,
taking hold of Gillian’s left boot and starting to pull it off. ‘Help me get her stripped!’
Gillian’s eyes grew wide in horror and
she shook her head. Reynard flicked her
cheek with her crop. ‘Behave, you
bitch!’ he warned her.
‘You can’t,’ Basil said.
‘She and her kind want the right to
see foxes torn to pieces by dogs for sport!’
Reynard snarled. ‘She deserves
everything coming to her. Now, are you
going to help me or not?’
‘He’s right,’ Pablo said
decisively. ‘This is for the cause… and
she’s the enemy!’
Marian took a deep breath. ‘All right, let’s do it.’
‘I suppose… she does deserve to be
punished,’ Basil agreed.
With varying degrees of enthusiasm,
they helped strip her. Gillian struggled
feebly from instinct, even though it was completely futile, feeling the twisted
sick thrill of anticipation growing inside her.
Reynard used a knife to cut and rip her jacket, shirt and underwear
off. When she was totally naked, they
stepped back and stared.
Gillian was a twenty-six year old,
cool aristocratic beauty with a 38-24-36 figure, kept in trim by regular
exercise. She had dark hair pinned up in
practical bun for riding, a high forehead, bold dark brows set over deep,
intelligent eyes. Her nose was straight
and no-nonsense, with slightly flared nostrils.
She had a narrow mouth but pouting lips set over a small but firm chin. He shoulders were wide, which complimented
her full breasts set high on her chest, tapering to plump pink nipples with
stand-up crowns. Her waist was tight
which emphasised her wide hips. She had
smooth pale buttocks and strong but shapely legs. Her mound of Venus was decorated with tight
ridge of darks curls that left her labia exposed, which pouted like her
lips.
As they stared at her, Gillian saw
Marian licking her lips, while there were bulges forming in the crotches of the
men’s trousers.
‘Now, that’s an amazing body,’ Pablo
said appreciatively.
‘It’s a body we can use,’ Reynard
said. ‘They say sex sells. People will
look at that when it’s on show.’
Gillian whimpered and squirmed,
pulling on the rope that fastened her to the ceiling.
Reynard flicked the crop across her
breasts. They shivered and bounced under
the impact, leaving a pink stripe across them.
Gillian yelped and bit on her
gag. Reynard laughed and hit her breasts
again, making them jump harder. The
impact of the leather crop thong on her flesh echoed about the van. The third blow beat her nipples down and
brought tears to her eyes.
‘Oh, can’t take a little pain, can
you?’ Reynard mocked her. ‘Well you should have thought of that before you took
up bloodsports, shouldn’t you?’ he said with relish.
He rubbed the tip of the crop through
the furrow of her sex, making her clench her thighs together as she tried to
twist aside. He swiped the crop hard
across her bottom, leaving a blazing stripe behind.
‘Don’t you try to hide that pretty
cunt from me, Bitch!’ he said. ‘Look at
me and open your legs wide!’
Trembling with fear, Gillian obeyed.
He pushed his hand up between her
thighs and rammed stiff fingers up into her cleft, exploring her furrow and the
mouth of her vagina. She sobbed and
whimpered and squirmed helplessly.
She found herself staring into his
eyes as they glittered in the depths of his mask with the sharp, merciless
light of fanaticism. His bulging crotch
rubbed between her legs while his jacket rasped across her tingling, swelling
nipples and flattened her sore breasts.
He unzipped his flies and reached around her and took hold of her
buttocks and rammed his cock up into her.
The other members of the FDL gasped, but they did not look away.
Gillian sobbed as Reynard filled her,
squeezing hard on her buttocks and lifting her feet off the floor. With cruel delight, he ground his body
against hers. Until this moment she had
only ever had Mark’s penis inside her.
What would he think of this? She
felt herself sick with fear and revulsion as Reynard’s penis sucked and pumped
inside her. How dare he treat her like
this, the filthy, stinking man! And then
she felt herself helplessly beginning to respond to the perversity of it. Hot juices surged through her pussy and
Reynard’s thrusting penis slipped and squelched within her.
‘Hah!’ Reynard grunted in
delight. ‘The bitch is so sex starved
she’s enjoying it. When people see her striped and begging her filthy friends
to stop foxhunting, then they’ll know we mean business!’ he grunted. ‘Then they’ll listen to us!’