Chapter One

 

Sandra’s normally reliable Mini Cooper broke down on a winding lane in the middle of Thyme Woods.   First the motor cut out and then the instrument panel and indicators went dead.  Sandra used its momentum to run it off the road onto the shallow verge where it came to a halt.  Then she tried to re-start it, but nothing happened.

‘What’s wrong?’ Megan asked from the back seat.

‘No idea,’ Sandra said, ‘I’ve got a full tank and it only had a service last month…’ She pulled the bonnet release and then got out of the car to check the engine.

‘Where are we?’ Gail wondered from the passenger seat, leaning across to look at the displays. ‘Oh, even the satnav’s dead.  I thought this type ran on batteries?’

‘It does,’ Sandra said from under the raised bonnet.

‘Well it’s not working now.’

‘I can’t see any loose connections,’ Sandra said.   ‘Maybe it’s a fuse…’  She ducked deeper into the engine.

Her passengers climbed out and looked about them.  The narrow, twisting lane was totally devoid of traffic and the thick woods pressed up close to it, leaving only a narrow strip of verge on either side.  A few birds twittered but otherwise it was deathly silent.   It was evening and still daylight, as it would be on the longest day of the year for another hour couple of hours, but the sun, hidden by the trees, was lazily sliding down the sky, which was showing the first flush of a sunset russet glow.

It was the twenty-first of June and the three women were on their way to a midsummer party being given by a friend from Hammond, Grace and Finch, the solicitor’s office at which they all worked.  The short cut the satnav had thrown up had seemed like a good idea ten minutes earlier.  Now they were beginning to wonder…

Sandra came out from under the hood and climbed back into the driver’s seat.  ‘The engine fuses are all fine…’ She unlatched the driver’s side kick panel and opened up the interior fuse box.   She pulled the coloured fuses out one by one and checked them against the light.  But they were all intact.

‘Now what?’ Gail asked.

‘Nothing more I can do,’ Sandra said, admitting defeat.  ‘I’ll have to call the breakdown service.’

‘We’re going to be late getting to Adrian’s,’ Megan said.

‘These things happen,’ Sandra said, picking up her phone.  ‘What road are we on?’

‘Search me,’ Megan said.  ‘You were driving.’

‘I was just following the turns.  Didn’t anyone see a sign?’

‘Uhh… no,’ Gail admitted.

‘Oh… crap, I can’t get a signal,’ Sandra said.   ‘What about you?’

Her friends tried their phones with no better success.  Modern technology had let them down for a second time inside ten minutes.  The woods seemed to press a little more closely about them, emphasising their isolation.

‘And even if we could get through, we couldn’t say explain we are anyway, apart from somewhere in Thyme Woods,’ Gail summed up.

‘So now what?’ Megan wondered.  ‘Wait for somebody to pass by so we can flag them down?’

They looked up and down the deserted road again.  If possible it appeared even emptier than before.

‘Any houses round here?’ Gail wondered.

‘No idea,’ Sandra said.  She frowned.   ‘Actually I don’t think I’ve ever been along this road before.’

Gail had been peering around them.  Now she pointed.   ‘Isn’t that a house over there, right back amongst the trees?’

They followed her gaze.  Some way from the road in the deeper green-tinted shadows they could just make out the rooftops of a large house.  It had not been obvious before because there seemed to be no turning or driveway connecting it to the road.

‘We’d better asked them if we can use their phone,’ Sandra said, locking the car.

They picked their way gingerly through the woods towards the house, gathering their skirts in to prevent them being snagged by brambles, while trying not to dirty their party shoes which were not designed for such conditions.

It took them some minutes to reach a pair of open wrought iron gates set in a wall of cracked and faded orange brick swathed in ivy.  A carved wooden board mounted on a gate pier said: Moonshine House.   Stepping through onto the meandering gravel drive beyond it was hard to be sure where woods ended and wild garden began.  The house itself was of three stories all overgrown with ivy, which turned its leaded windows into shaggy dark eyes peering out at them. From its steep roofs rose twisted, tree trunk-like chimney pots.   Yet it did not exactly seem dilapidated.  It was simply at one with its natural surroundings.

‘Does anybody else think this is a little bit spooky?’ Megan said.

‘You can go back to the car and wait if you want,’ Sandra replied.

They reached an outthrust tiled porch roof supported by heavy carved brackets that sheltered a low, iron-studded door of bleached and faded wood.   In the centre of the door a big black iron knocker in the shape of a lion’s head held a large ring between its teeth.   Sandra gave it a sharp rap.

In a moment the door was opened by small, slender man with a thick bush of wild curling black hair, the top of which only came up to their shoulders.  He had a triangular face; not young but not exactly old either, with sharp features and eyes so dark that you could not tell where iris became pupil.  He was dressed in a loose green shirt and red cravat, with what seemed to be green carpet slippers on his feet, poking out of the bottoms of baggy trousers that concealed short and oddly bent legs.

However he beamed up at them amiably, revealing even, white but rather pointed teeth. ‘How do you do, can I help you?’ he said in a clear voice.

‘Our car’s broken down and we can’t get a signal on our phones,’ Sandra explained, trying hard not to look at his odd legs.  ‘We were wondering if we could use your land line.’

He looked apologetic.  ‘Ah, I’m afraid I’ve no phone on any line, be it land or air.  You see I’ve no affinity for modern technology.’

‘Could we get a lift to town?’ Gail asked tentatively.

‘Regretfully I cannot lift you anywhere as I have no car either.’

‘Where are you nearest neighbours?’ Megan asked.  ‘Maybe they can help us?’

‘Even the nearest is some way off, I’m afraid,’ he said apologetically.  ‘I’m quite isolated out here, you see.  Oh dear, you make me ashamed of my inadequacy. The best I can do is offer you shelter for the night.  That aid at least I can provide.  Please don’t wait on the step and do come inside…’

‘Er… if it’s no trouble,’ Sandra said.

‘None at all,’ the little man assured them, stepping aside and waving them in.

They stepped in to a lofty, dimly lit hall, lined by dark oak panelling with carved flower and leaf motifs.  There were large potted plants in corners and heavy floral pattern rugs over wooden boards.  It smelt of wax polish and wild flowers.  The little man showed them into a front room, with more carved panelling, a large sofa and a couple of deep armchairs arrayed about a large low round heavy oak table.  Double sliding doors, closed at present, connected to another room.  More of the luxuriant potted plants stood in the corners, their leaves reaching up to the ceiling.  Between them were paintings of woods and fields.

‘Do make yourselves at home,’ he said.  ‘I’m Robin Goodfellow, by the way.   But further introductions must wait.  I must be a good host and not a bore.  I’ll fetch you food and drink and then we can talk more…’

Goodfellow disappeared back out into the hall, moving with an odd bouncing gait that was deceptively fast.  Gingerly the women sat in a huddle on the sofa.

‘We had to break down outside a weirdo’s house,’ Megan said despairingly.   ‘Do you notice he keeps on rhyming words?’

‘Shhh! he might hear you,’ Gail admonished.  ‘There are worse things than speaking in rhyme or having odd legs.’

‘And he couldn’t be more hospitable,’ Sandra said.  ‘Just because the place is a bit old fashioned.  At least it’s a roof over our heads.  Unless you want to sleep in the car all night.’

‘Just about a roof, you mean,’ Megan said.  ‘I think this place is held together with ivy.  I’m not even sure it’s got electricity.  Are those candle holders?’

There were brackets on the walls where lamp holders might have hung that did look as though they were made for candles.

‘How many visitors do you think he gets a year?’ Megan speculated.  ‘Want to bet he brings back a tray of chipped mugs and a chunk of month-old fruit cake?’

Just then they heard a shuffle of feet and a murmur of voices from the other side of big sliding doors.

‘I think he’s got company already,’ Sandra said.

At that moment Goodfellow returned and set a large tray down on the table that confounded Megan’s fears.  There was a pristine and matching fine white china coffee service, napkins, silver spoons and cake knives and a huge platter of assorted cake slices.  There was battenburg, cupcakes, lemon torte, chocolate gateau, buttercream and almond.  The heady aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with cream and fondant filling made their mouths water, even as they contemplated the multi-kilocalorie pile of sweet temptation with alarm.

I guessed, from the way you were dressed, that you were on your way to a party,’ he explained, as he sat down in one of the big armchairs opposite them.  ‘So I thought, as your misfortune must have dampened your mood, I might revive it with some festive food.’

‘You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,’ Megan said, guiltily.

‘I already have some other houseguests so I’d lain in extra provisions.  Now do help yourselves to whatever suits your taste.  If you don’t eat it up it’ll only go to waste…’

As they drank and ate, Sandra asked:  ‘Who are your other guests, Mr Goodfellow? We’re not keeping you from them, are we?’

‘Just some amateur players rehearsing and practicing their cues,’ Goodfellow explained airily.  ‘Unfortunately the leading roles still have empty shoes.  They have the costumes and the dresses, but they’re short of three actresses.   Actually, I’m sure the roles would suit you down to the ground, although they’re only a bit of frivolity and nothing profound.  Have you ever thought of treading the stage? Sorry, I should have asked: how do you earn a wage?’

‘Well, we’re not actresses.  We just work in a solicitor’s office,’ Sandra explained.

‘And I bet you write the verses in greetings cards!’ Gail suddenly burst out laughing at Goodfellow.

Even as they helplessly joined in her laughter they realized it might seem unkind to make a joke of his apparent affliction.  Fortunately Goodfellow did not seem to take offence.

‘I’d never thought of employing my predilection that way,’ he said, ‘but perhaps I’ll save it for a rainy day.’

They all laughed again.  Despite his odd way of speaking they were by now feeling unusually relaxed and content in his company.  Goodfellow had been so hospitable.   How lucky they had been to break down outside his house… which they now realized was warmer than they had first thought.  They were running their fingers under the straps of their light party dresses and surreptitiously flapping their skirts to try to cool down.

‘Do you mind if I take off my shoes, Mr Goodfellow?’ Gail asked.  ‘They’re… uh, pinching a bit.’

He held his arms out wide. ‘Remove anything you please, whatever makes you feel more at ease.’

Gratefully they all slipped off their shoes and ran their toes through the thick rugs, which were as lush as cool grass.  It was a relief but they were still hot and their heads were beginning to spin.  Feeling dizzy they dabbed their brows and cleavages with their napkins.  Their clothes were becoming unbearably sweaty and itchy.

Goodfellow frowned in apparent concern.  ‘I don’t like to see you under stress, so if you’d rather, why not all undress?  There’s no need for any false modesty, and I promise you won’t be offending me.’

‘Thank you,’ Sandra said. ‘That’s very kind…’

And so they stood up and stripped their clothes off.  It did not seem at all strange, in fact it was the most sensible suggestion they had heard all day and so obvious they could not understand why they had not thought of it earlier.  It was such a relief to be rid of their annoying clothes.  They felt gratitude to Goodfellow swelling within them for being so gracious and understanding.   He really was a perfect host…

He watched them cast off their dresses and underwear appreciatively, his large dark eyes shining and his mouth split in a huge grin.   When they were all totally naked he said:  ‘I won’t judge like Paris and award only one golden apple, you are all equally fair without apparel.  I’ve never had three guests so beautiful, but now prove you can also be dutiful.  I want you to form a line so I can appraise you more fully, and enjoy the sight of those pretty pubic pelts woolly.  Let’s have your eyes front and hands behind, so your nipples are all properly aligned…’

Thrilled by his interest in them and trembling with excitement the women obeyed, lining up in front of him like a naked parade, with their arms folded behind their backs and their breasts thrust out proudly.  They realized their nipples were all swollen and pulsing in excitement and their pubic clefts were getting hot and sticky.   And yet that was also quite all right and perfectly normal.

Goodfellow smiled: ‘You really are very naive and so easily led.  It seems that repast has quite gone to your head.  Still, as I promised, it’s lifted your mood… thanks to the potion I put in your food.’

Vaguely they felt they should be worried by that statement, but somehow they could not find the will to be concerned.  All they wanted to do at that moment was please Goodfellow.

He walked up and down the line of their bare bodies inspecting them closely.  He trailed his strong slender fingers over them, testing the pliancy of their flesh, stroking bottoms and tweaking nipples, teasing pubic clefts and patting breasts, muttering to himself:’…pert flesh, plump and fresh…’ while they trembled at his touch but did not attempt to pull away.

He stopped in front of Megan.  ‘Who are you, my pretty maid? Tell me all and don’t be afraid.  But when you do answer, think of me as your better; your prefect, and therefore do so with the proper respect.’  As he spoke he slid his forefinger up into the mouth of her vagina, making her shudder.   Yet automatically she felt her sheath squeezing on his digit.

‘Uh…. I’m Megan Hughes, Sir, and I’m twenty three years old…’

Megan had collar-length tousled streaky blonde hair, clear blue eyes, bold straight brows, a neat nose, a wide mouth, good cheekbones and creamy skin.  She had a compact build with heavy rounded breasts capped by large pale nipples.  Her stomach was flat with a slot of a navel, her hips were slim, she had rounded, fleshy buttocks, and a trimmed tuft of golden hair over a bare pink clamshell pussy mound.

Goodfellow transferred his finger, now shiny with female exudation, to Gail’s slot and asked her the same question.

‘My name is Gail Kerwin, Sir… ahhh…. and I’m also twenty-three…’

She had shoulder length brunette hair, lightly tanned skin, a neat mouth, a slightly uptilted nose, clear hazel eyes and a determined jawline.  Her big breasts, which emphasized her tight waist and wide hips, were tipped by conical brown nipples.  She had strong thighs and a thick triangle of dark hair over her pubes, cut back about her sex lips which were deeply cleft.

With Goodfellow’s finger inside her, Sandra answered: ‘I… I’m Sandra James and I’m aged twenty four, Sir…’

She had deep clear blue almond eyes set in a bright lively face with arched sardonic eyebrows, a strong straight nose and a quirky mouth.  Her wavy black hair was shoulder-length.  She had clear creamy skin, high nicely rounded breasts in proportion to her build, with distinct light brown round nipples with prominent domed teat tips.  Her waist was supple and her thighs, buttocks and calves were strong.  She had a neatly trimmed triangle of pubic hair like a plume over her bare cleft, from between which pouted, impudent inner lips.

 Goodfellow stepped back.  ‘If you want to please now go down on your knees!’ he commanded.

They obeyed without hesitation, going down on their hands and knees like dogs, because it seemed absurd to do anything else.  It was a pleasure to obey without question.  Whatever Goodfellow said was what they wanted to do.  It was so simple and obvious.  Thoughts of office work, breakdowns and parties were melting away.  There was only the moment and whatever suggestion Goodfellow put into their heads next.

‘For tonight you will become something new; you’ll forget who you were and be who we tell you.   You are but blank clay until the new day.  Now tell me your names and those of your friends…’

They looked at each other helplessly.  The faces were familiar but they could not put names to them.

‘Sorry, sir we don’t know,’ they admitted.

He patted their heads.  ‘That’s entirely correct so don’t let it fret.   Now it’s time, without delay, to make you the stars of our midsummer play…’

As they shuffled along at his heels he led them to the sliding doors and threw them open, revealing an even larger room beyond, which seemed to be even more thickly filled with potted plants thick with ferns and ivy so that the walls were hardly visible.  Amongst these growths stood perhaps a score of little people, none of them taller than Goodfellow.  The women had an impression of fair faces and strange faces; loose flowing clothes of pale mist, green and russet, decorated by garlands and circlets of flowers.   If that was normal they no longer knew.   All they were sure of was that there were many pairs of sharp bright eyes that scrutinised their bare exposed bodies with such intensity that it sent a thrill through them.   Their nipples pulsed so hard they hurt while their pussies began to drip on the floor.

‘My friends, here are your leading ladies, all ready for a voyage to Hades,’ Goodfellow announced with a chuckle. ‘Three pretty fleshlings as you can see, pert and juicy and conscience free, ready to be dallied with and taught respect for our society.’

A man spoke up.  ‘But are they strong enough for what we have in mind?  Can they take a good tanning on their behind?’

‘I have a demonstration all ready to prove they will not falter, while testing the resilience of their nether quarters,’ Goodfellow promised.  ‘In them is combined a desire for both lust and pain, which is now beyond their power to contain.’  To the women he said:  ‘Now, so that we may have some sport, here is a device on which you may cavort.  It’ll bring suffering and pleasure in equal measure…’

  There was a device in middle of room that looked like a strange kind of exercise machine built of finely carved and shaped wood, leather and iron.   On a platform side by side were three hinged and sprung upright posts capped by narrow saddles with slots cut into them.  Below the saddles were pairs of shorter rods angled inwards with greased leather plugs on their ends, the tips of which protruded though the holes in the saddles.  One either side of the upright posts were cuffs on short chains bolted to the base board.   On the front ends of the saddles were small narrow upright wooden wheels with serrated edges linked by gears to the main uprights.   Above the platform was a wooden arch from which hung three lengths of chain, one over each saddle, with cuffs on their ends and leather collars fastened to them halfway up.   From it also hung a leather lash and three leather thongs with large knots tied in their middles.

At Goodfellow’s direction the women straddled the saddles, lifted their heads and folded their arms behind their backs.  He cuffed their wrists together, buckled the collars about their necks and cuffed their ankles to the floor.  They shuddered as they felt the dildos sliding into the mouths of their pussies and anus’s and the serrated wheels pressing into the slots of their clefts.   This was so naughty and yet so exciting!  Then for a moment they felt a shiver of doubt.  Was this quite right and normal?  But then the thrill of it overwhelmed them again.

Goodfellow took down the knotted thongs and pushed them into their mouths, tying the ends about their necks to form gags.

‘From now on you’ll only speak when you’re given permission, but sobs and wails always make a pleasing intermission.’

They bit on the knots of the gag straps, feeling a delicious sense of their freedoms being stripped away.   They were being put in their place and they knew now it was where they belonged.

Goodfellow took down the lash and gave it a crack in the air.

‘Now you’ll ride your mounts like bucking broncos, driving each dildo in as far as it goes.   With each swing your clits will be spurred on; there’ll be no stopping until you’re all done.   I’ll take care of your bums and titties and should you slack you’ll get a fresh thwack.  We want to see you dripping with juice and your cheeks, top and tail, all shiny and puce.’

They began to rock back and forth, leaning forward and then back to overcome the resistance of the pairs of big springs that between them held the posts upright.  As they did so the dildos on their fixed rods began to pump through the slots in the saddles.  They gasped and groaned as the plugs of greased leather pushed their way up into their vaginas and rectums, making their bottoms bulge and lower stomachs swell.  And with each lunge the pussy wheels turned in their sticky slots, cruelly teasing their swelling clitorises.   It hurt and yet it was a strange kind of pain that was also darkly exciting.

Above them the chains clinked as their collars and cuffs jerked upward, pulling their heads back and limiting the length of their oscillations, while their splayed legs were held apart by the cuffs on their ankles.  Together chain and leather held them in place, limiting their bodies to a simple bobbing, mechanical pivoting motion.

Crack!   Goodfellow swung his lash across Megan’s big breasts, making them jump and imprinting them with pattern of the lash thongs.  He moved along the front of them, lashing their breasts with a quick forehand and backhand double swipe, and then back behind them, flailing at their straining buttocks as they clenched and sucked on their impaling dildos.

And so they rocked back and forwards, their hot sweaty, red-striped breasts heaving and swaying, impaling themselves and tormenting their clits while they were lashed front and back by Goodfellow.  The leather saddles became dark and stained with their pussy juices which frothed about their crotches as they were stirred by the pumping of the rough, strip-ridged dildos.

Dribble from their gagged mouths fell on their stinging breasts, adding a gloss to them.   By now their straining nipples were almost as puce as Goodfellow had wished for.  And each time they were beaten down by the lash thongs they simply popped up for more.

They were sure they had never felt anything like it in their lives.   It was both disgusting and wonderful at the same time.   They were bound and yet they were free.  They were in agony and ecstasy.   The pumping dildos were stoking a fire in their loins which were making their juices bubble and overflow.  A head of sexual steam was building up and valves were going burst unless it was released.

Massive orgasms ripped through them as they shuddered and juddered on their saddles, spraying their juices out with such force that they coated their thighs.

As the ripples of joy and raw delight reverberated though them they were dimly aware of the sound of loud cheers and applause from their audience.

And then they slumped limply against their chains and fell in blackness.

*      *      *

And so it was that they never heard Robin Goodfellow’s next words to the strange company.

 

‘The net’s drawn in and the catch is landed,

Now to share them out even handed.

Pass them between you according to the lots,

And you’ll each have a chance to plunder their slots.

Though titties, nipples and bum-cheeks times three,

Are also available for this night’s revelry.

The potion fills their loins with lust,

Whilst turning their own thoughts to dust.

So make them stars of your production,

And waste no time upon seduction.

Whisper softly in their sleeping ears,

Toying artfully with their hopes and fears.

Convert their minds to your subtle desires,

So on waking they will not call you liars.

But remember they are only creatures of prose,

Therefore use it alone in your scenarios.

When you are done tend their hurts with healing balm,

And make it as though they have suffered no harm.

Then hand them on fresh to the next in the queue,

So he may have clean flesh to whip and subdue.

Avaunt! Good players, take them away,

They are yours till break of day…’