Prologue
In Another Place.
“Gillian’s ready now, Mr Platt,” Alison said, putting her head round
the door of Platt’s office.
George Platt looked up from the account book he was working on and
smiled at the bright, helpful face of his kennel maid. “Thank you, Alison.”
Platt took a medium weight cane from the selection hanging from a row
of hooks on the wall and swished it experimentally through the air. Pocketing a
couple of other items he followed Alison out into the yard.
The yard was a brick-cobbled square some twenty yards across enclosed
by Platt’s office and lodging, the stores and workrooms and the kennel block
itself. Iron rings had been set at waist height in the sections of blank wall
between the overlooking doors and windows, while from under the eaves above
them projected heavy wrought iron angle brackets.
It was from one of these brackets that the only other occupant of the yard
was suspended.
She was a woman in her early twenties, very slim and pale-skinned and,
apart from a broad black studded collar fastened about her neck, completely
naked. Her taut body hung from her upstretched arms so that her toes dangled
two feet from the ground. Thick leather cuffs secured her wrists to a few links
of chain and the ring that hung over the hook on the end of the bracket. A
leather strap had been buckled about her knees, while another set of cuffs with
a trailing chain bound her ankles. These constraints shaped her body into a
slender arrowhead, twisting slightly from side to side as far as the chain that
held her allowed. The stretching of her pectoral muscles exposed the pale
hollows of her armpits and pulled her small high breasts into pointed
pink-topped lozenges. Nervous breathing caused a rapid swell and contraction of
the shallow double-dome of flesh under her navel that perfectly complimented
her lean waist. Her head, crowed by a mane of blonde hair tied in a simple
pony-tail, hung forward between her upstretched arms as though in shame. Her
eyes stared sightlessly down at the ground.
A flick of Platt’s cane across her midriff jerked her back to her
senses. Blue eyes wide with apprehension met his stern gaze.
“Now then, Gillian,” he said. “You know why you’re here.”
“Yes, Mr Platt,” she whimpered. “To be punished. I’m so sorry. I’ll
never do it again, I promise!”
“No you won’t girl,” Platt said assuredly. “This session will make
certain of that. Alison: lift her feet.”
Alison grasped the chain trailing from Gillian’s ankle cuffs and
climbed the small stepladder placed beside the unfortunate girl, drawing the
chain after her. Gillian bent in the middle like a jack-knife, the strap about
her knees forcing her legs to remain straight, until her feet were almost level
with her bound hands. Alison hooked the ankle chain over the bracket and then
reached between Gillian’s legs and chest. A snap ring dangled from her collar,
and this Alison fastened to the strap about her knees so that Gillian’s face
was pressed against her shins.
Alison stepped down.
Now Gillian hung like the gourd of some exotic fruit ripe for picking,
her hips almost at shoulder height, leaving her genitalia completely exposed.
Her tightly bound knees squeezed her thighs together and forced her mounded
cunt lips, from which the golden curls of her belly hair had been trimmed back,
into an unwilling pout.
But it was the orifice below this that held Platt’s attention. He poked
the dark pucker of Gillian’s anus with a stiff forefinger, making the girl jerk
helplessly within her bonds.
“Now, girl,” Platt said, “what’s this?”
“My… my bottom hole, sir,” Gillian said despairingly.
“And what’s it for?”
“To void my excrement, sir.”
“And what else?”
“To… to give pleasure to anybody I’m serving, sir.”
“Good,” Platt said. He took up a stance to one side of Gillian and
rested his cane across her tight buttocks. “Now we’re going to drive that
message home so you’ll never forget it.”
The cane swished through the air and smacked into her flesh.
Gillian yelped, twisting on her chain like a plum bob. A thin red weal
burned across her bottom cheeks and the split peach of her cunt that rose
between them. Platt let her come to rest, and then asked:
“What can be put up your bottom hole, girl?”
“Cocks, fingers, dildos… bum plugs… anything! Sir.” Gillian gasped.
Smack!
“And how often can these things be put up there?”
“As many times as my user wishes…”
Smack!
“And do you have any say in the matter?”
“No, sir… not my place, sir…”
Smack!
“What if it hurts you a little?”
“I’m… here to suffer, sir.”
Smack!
“So will you ever refuse your bottom hole to anyone again?”
“No, sir… they can cram it full with whatever they want, sir…”
Smack!
“What are you?”
“A bond slave… a pack bitch…”
Smack!
“And don’t you ever forget it,” Platt said, lowering the cane.
As the girl hung sobbing and trembling he examined the results of his
handiwork. Her bottom was crisscrossed with weals and scarlet with heat, but
the skin had not been broken. Long experience had taught him just how much
force to use on such occasions. Now there was one final detail and the
punishment would be complete.
“You’ll stay up here until lunch, girl,” he told Gillian, “then back to
work. I’ll see you later to make sure you’ve learnt your lesson. Understand?”
Gillian nodded as far as her bonds allowed and said faintly: “Yes, Mr
Platt… thank you.”
Platt took out of his pocket one of the items he had brought from his
office. It was a hook set in the end of a length of inch- thick wooden dowel
with a shallow screw thread carved into its surface. “Now, I need a place to
hang a hook. Do you know of one, girl?”
Tremulously Gillian replied: “If it’s convenient, sir… please use my
bottom hole.”
With the tapering wooden thread forcing her anal ring open, Platt
screwed the dowel into the yielding tunnel of her rectum until only the hook
end was visible. Then from another pocket he took an old tinplate alarm clock,
checked it was wound, set the alarm and hung it on the hook protruding from its
fleshy mount.
“That’ll remind us when you’re ready to come down, girl.”
He turned to Alison, who had been watching the whole procedure in
attentive and fascinated silence.
“Gag her. I don’t want to hear a peep until the alarm goes.”
“Yes Mr Platt,” Alison said dutifully.
Platt returned to his office. Through the window he could see Gillian’s
pale, slender form dangling in the sun. He noticed she shivered occasionally,
probably having a cry to herself now the worst was over, he thought.
Still he knew it had been necessary, and in the long run it would make
her term of service easier. George wanted the girls under his care to be the
very best, so sometimes he had to be cruel to be kind.
1:
The Puzzle Box
Amber Jones flitted through Hoakam Woods like a wraith, her black tee
shirt and jeans merging with the shadows under the trees as her trim form moved
with cat-footed sureness.
Reaching a large oak tree, its base half concealed by bushes, Amber
halted and looked around her intently. Once assured she was not observed, she
burrowed into the shrubbery and pulled back a fold of turf. From under this she
withdrew a heavy sack wrapped in thick black plastic sheet, which she opened
lovingly. Within it was piled select small antiques, solid silverware, strings
of pearls and assorted jewellery.
Amber smiled in satisfaction at the precious items, her attractive face
lighting up as her lips parted to reveal white, even teeth. The set of her jaw
was determined, her nose delicately square-tipped and slightly uptilted, while
her cool clear hazel-blue eyes held a mischievous sparkle. Her eyebrows were
boldly marked and her forehead smooth, high and intelligent, rising under a
crown of short cropped brown hair.
Amber unzipped her black nylon hold all and the proceeds of her latest
robbery joined the stash. She was about to add her pouch of trusty lock picks
when the puzzle box caught her eye.
It was a black lacquered box about six by ten by three inches deep,
inlaid with mother of pearl and ivory in the design of an oriental dragon with
a tail that ran all the way round the box, so that the beast appeared to be
eating the tip. She’d acquired it two jobs back, but so far she had been unable
to discover its concealed catch and didn’t want to damage such beautiful
workmanship by forcing it open.
But this time, as she handled the box, she felt one of the dragon’s
baleful pearl eyes shift downward slightly under her finger. Ahh, was that the
trick? She felt across the lid. One of the claws also seemed to give slightly.
She felt around further, finding a scale on the dragon’s encircling tail was
slightly proud of the rest. She pressed firmly down on all three elements at
once. There was a tiny click from within and the box sprang open.
Amber gaped in amazement at the interior.
The inside of the lid was laid out with many small raised ivory
buttons, resembling a calculator keypad, each marked with the characters of
some oriental script. Other buttons were set apart, rather like function
controls, on either side of a central block laid out in a five by five grid. This
was strange enough by itself, but in conjunction with the items in the lower
half of the box it was positively bizarre. Nestling in beds of white silk, were
three ivory phallus heads, coloured red, green and blue, with three
screw-topped handles resting beside them.
The heads were about six inches long and slightly curved. Each had the
tiny carved figure of a nude woman at its base, her legs and arms embracing the
shaft and chained together at the wrists and ankles. The figure’s back and neck
were arched, lifting the uptilted head away from the shaft as though in
ecstasy.
Amber shook her head in wonderment. Though the ‘keypad’ had to be
modern, both it and the phalluses had the indefinable aura of genuine antiques.
Curiously she pressed a couple of buttons. Nothing happened. Perhaps the
battery’s dead, she thought wryly.
“You’re under arrest,” a woman’s voice said behind her.
Amber froze in astonishment and dismay.
“Bring out your bag and whatever you’ve got in your hand,” the voice
continued. “We can collect the rest later.”
Very slowly Amber backed out from under the bush, stood up and turned
around.
A young black woman of about her own age faced her, dressed in a
runner’s shorts and singlet, with a small pack slung over her shoulder. She was
holding out a warrant card for Amber to see.
“Constable Kingston, Hoakam police,” she said, pocketing the card
again. She stepped forward and took Amber by the shoulder. “Amber Jones, I’m
arresting you on suspicion of burglary…’
Amber felt numb as her rights were read, only managing to protest
feebly at the end: “Look, I just found this box under the bush. I don’t know
anything about it.”
“So your fingerprints won’t be on any of the other stolen items I bet
are hidden under there?”
They were, of course. She’d handled them without gloves after she’d
stolen them. Careless!
Amber looked hopefully into Kingston’s face. It was rather attractive
actually; smooth coffee-dark skin, clear deep brown eyes, wide full lips,
crinkled hair tied back in a thick ponytail. Unfortunately there was no sign of
a gullible nature, just determination. In all not a combination of
characteristics she normally associated with police personnel. Well, it would
have had to have taken someone a little out of the ordinary to catch her.
Amber shrugged resignedly. “How did you find me?”
“By thinking for myself. There was a different style about these jobs,
a touch of bravado. The boys from area crime -”
“I’m flattered to hear they were called in.”
“Because you burgled so many influential people around here. Anyway,
they thought whoever did it was heading back up the motorway to the city after
each job. But there was no word on the street about it and none of the items
were being fenced. So I thought maybe it was bolder and simpler than that. It
was a long shot but I made enquiries and sure enough you’d rented a small
cottage on the edge of Hoakam woods, almost central to the robberies. But you
haven’t got a record, so to prove my hunch I had to get you with the goods, and
I knew you wouldn’t keep them in the cottage. I’ve spent all my off-duty time
since training here, and today I finally tracked you down.”
“Now I remember seeing you about. Good disguise.”
“I’m a serious runner.”
“And now you’ve proved a local plod can solve the crime wave when the
big city boys couldn’t.”
“A local black woman plod, yes.”
“Ahh. I can see that would make you go that extra mile.” She looked
down at the puzzle box she was still holding. “Well, I suppose you’d better
have this. Odd thing, isn’t it -”
And she threw it into Kingston’s face.
Kingston twisted aside to avoid the box and leaped on Amber before she
had managed a couple of steps, catching her round the legs and sending them
both crashing to the ground. Struggling and kicking they rolled over through
the mud and leaf litter, Kingston trying to twist Amber’s arm behind her back
while Amber tried to land an incapacitating blow. But her opponent was faster
and stronger than she was. This time there would be no escape -
Then they rolled over the puzzle box which lay open where it had
fallen. Amber’s flailing elbow rammed down on the keypad.
The air seemed to warm and thicken about them while the rustle of the
breeze in the leaves grew muted. Their tussle took on a dream-like slow motion
quality. Amber felt her nipples harden and her vaginal muscles contract as
lustful desire replaced fear and anger. The fight also seemed to be draining
from her opponent. As her grip slackened Amber pushed her to arm’s length and
saw the confused expression on Kingston’s face, saw her nipples peaking through
her singlet and knew she was feeling the same sensations as she was. Burning
desire and desperate need that overwhelmed all else - but not for each other.
As one they turned their heads to the puzzle box. The simple
functionality of the phalluses nestling so invitingly within it suddenly seemed
irresistibly appealing. Amber didn’t stop to wonder why, or how unlikely the
sudden onset of desire was, she only knew she had to use one.
They both reached for the box together.
Amber kneed Kingston in the stomach. “It’s mine!” she shouted.
As Kingston doubled over whooping for breath, Amber scrambled to her
feet, snatched up the box and her holdall and sprinted away through the trees.
But she had hardly gone fifty yards when she realised her pants were wet
with the thought of a hard, smooth rod of ivory thrusting up inside her. Her
body was one big hole that needed filling. Though it was crazy in the
circumstances, she had to satisfy herself immediately!
A little way above the meandering path was a slight hollow in the
wooded slope where the roots of a fallen beech had pulled a great bite out of
the earth. Amber scrambled up to it and threw herself down in the soft moss and
old leaf litter, resting her head on her holdall. Feverishly she pulled down
her jeans and pants, dragging them off over her trainers and kicking them
aside.
She spread her lean and shapely legs; her glistening pubic lips gaping
wide to the open air while leaves stuck to her bare bottom. Breathing faster,
her hands trembling, she took a phallus head from the box, screwed a handle
into it and without any preliminaries plunged it into herself, grasping it in
both hands as though she was wielding some sacrificial dagger.
She gasped and arched her back, feeling her sheath contract around the
phallus, trying to draw it deeper inside. How could mere carved ivory feel this
good? It seemed to swell, fitting her perfectly, the upturned head of the
chained figure at its base burrowing into her upper cleft and grinding against
her already erect clitoris. She worked it vigorously up and down, feeling an
inexorable wave of ecstasy rising within her… surging higher… cresting…
bursting.