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!’