Chapter 1
Punctually at nine-thirty, Chelsea knocked on the side door of the shop.
The door still bore the empty screw holes and shadow in the paintwork where a trade
sign had once been attached. Now it looked stained and neglected: another victim of the
recession.
The alley in which Chelsea stood was dark and narrow and half-filled with the
ungainly shapes of commercial wheelie bins, stacked cartons and bundles of old packaging,
seemingly remote from the bustle and growling traffic of the high street that lay only a
few paces away. Yet despite her surroundings Chelsea felt unusually alive and expectant
that bright spring morning. Perhaps it was simply relief at having any work at all in hard
times like these. She knew other twenty-year olds who had not worked a day since leaving
school, whereas the agency paid her enough to rent her own small flat and get by in modest
comfort. The downside was that she had to be prepared to take on any job in London or the
South of England, however unglamorous, boring or simply odd it was.
There came the sound of bolts being drawn back from within and the door swung open
to reveal a middle-aged and somewhat paunchy man, although his rolled-up shirtsleeves
revealed brawny forearms. He had thinning grey hair and a pair of bright blue eyes that
peered out through large thick glasses.
‘Good Morning, I’m Chelsea Hawkins,’ Chelsea said brightly. ‘You must be Mr
Petruchio.’
‘That’s right,’ said the man cautiously. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’m from the Bodzforhire Agency. Miss Timms said you wanted a girl for some
promotional work.’
Petruchio suddenly grinned and held out his hand. ‘That’s right. Promotional work.
Nice to meet you…’
As they shook hands, he looked Chelsea over with evident approval.
Her slim body was clad in jeans and white t-shirt. She had shoulder length brunette
hair and a cheerful, slightly mischievous face with a high, intelligent forehead and deep
hazel eyes. Her brows were bold and naturally arched in a way that suggested amusement or
challenge, while her nose was slightly but attractively snubbed. Her skin was clear and
very lightly tanned.
Petruchio gave her hand an extra squeeze before letting it go. ‘Well, you’d better
come inside and I’ll show you what I want you to do.’
Chelsea stepped past him into a small utility room empty except for a sink unit and
fitted cupboard. Petruchio closed and bolted the door behind her, shutting out the drone
of traffic. Then he led the way through to the main sales area of the shop.
The plate glass front windows had been whitewashed over on the insides, filling the
interior with an odd half-light. Occasionally the indistinct shadows of passers-by flitted
across the misty panes. A few racks of shelving still rested against the sidewalls but the
room was otherwise empty except for a table bearing a box of assorted fruits and
vegetables and a stack of fliers, an old bentwood chair and a curious object suspended by
several nylon cords from a long bracket of rings bolted to the ceiling. The upper cord
ends were gathered into a bundle and ran down from the ceiling bracket to hook about rings
set in the top of a concrete counterweight block resting on the floor.
‘Just going to start refitting this place,’ Petruchio explained. ‘I’m turning it
into a quality greengrocery. Thought I’d so some advance advertising. I wanted a young
bright face to hand out some leaflets and show kids that fruit and vegetables are healthy,
in a fun way.’ He indicated the strange object suspended from the ceiling. ‘So I had this
costume made up…’
A series of long foam rubber strips, painted dark green, had been shaped into a
slightly curving tube about two metres high with a rounded conical top and an open base.
There was an oval hole the size of a dinner plate cut in the cylinder two thirds up just
as it began to taper. Two green arms jutted out horizontally from its sides, supported by
cords tied to their wrists. Beside the costume stood a pair of boots swathed in matching
green foam.
Chelsea walked round the strange costume, examining it curiously, and then laughed.
‘So you want me to be a cucumber girl.’
Petruchio chuckled along with her. ‘Yeah, “Chelsea the Cucumber Girl.” That’s good.
Only you won’t be as cool as one inside it. Did they tell you?’
‘They said it might be hot work. I’ve got a leotard on, ready.’
‘That’s fine. Well, let’s see if you can get inside. Then I’ll tell you what I want
you to do.’
Putting down her bag, Chelsea slipped out of her shoes and stripped off her shirt
and jeans, leaving her in ankle socks and a sleeveless black leotard.
Petruchio had watched with interest as she undressed and now he licked his lips at
the sight of her scantily clad slender body. ‘I think you’ll do just fine,’ he said,
grinning broadly. ‘Maybe you’d better put the boots on first. I hope they’re your size.’
Chelsea sat on the edge of the table to pull on the boots. More painted foam rubber
had been built up around conventional calf-length boots. It made them stiff and awkward to
pull on, but they were comfortable enough when she finally got her feet inside them.
While Petruchio braced the suspended costume, Chelsea crouched down under it and
stood up, wriggling her way into the tube. It was a close fit and she had to push to slide
her head past a tight elasticised collar section. Finally it popped through and she found
herself staring out of the hole cut in the side of the costume that now framed her face.
There were elastic cuffs at the ends of the arm sleeves as well, but finally she forced
her hands through them. There seemed to be rods running the length of the sleeves, making
them almost rigid.
‘I don’t think the arms are right, Mr Petruchio,’ Chelsea said, wiggling them about
stiffly. ‘I can hardly bend them at all.’
Petruchio was beaming at her. ‘No, that’s how I designed them. There’ll be no need
for you to use your arms for the next few hours.’
Chelsea felt the first frisson of concern. ‘But, how can I hand out the leaflets?’
By now Petruchio’s eyes were twinkling with anticipation and his smile had become a
hungry grin. He licked his lips again. ‘Oh, you won’t be handing out anything to anybody,
Chelsea. Do you think I’d waste my time and money hiring the use of a lovely creature like
you just to send her out on the street leafleting? No, you’re staying right here and we’re
going to play some games together.’
With a groan of fear Chelsea tried to pull away from Petruchio. The costume swung
and twisted about the cords suspending it from the ceiling. Metal tether rings showed at
its shoulders as they were drawn partway out of slits in the rubber, but they all held.
The ends of the cords running down to the anchor block jerked and twanged under the strain
of Chelsea’s struggles, but it was far too heavy for her to move.
‘They’re good strong cords,’ Petruchio said. ‘You can thrash about as much as you
like but they won’t break.’
Even as she struggled to escape, Petruchio took hold of the cord ends attached to
the wrists of the costume arms and pulled. Chelsea felt her own arms which were trapped
inside them being drawn further upward until they were halfway to vertical. Petruchio
re-hitched the cords about the block, leaving her arms upraised. Frantically Chelsea tried
to draw her head and hands back through the elastic cuffs, but the harder she pulled the
more they seemed to tighten about her.
‘There are rings of metal segments stitched inside the cuffs,’ Petruchio explained
as she struggled. ‘They spread in one direction to let you push something through like
funnel mouths, but they close up against each other if you try to pull it back. You were
trapped from the moment you put it on.’
‘You… you let me out of this thing right now!’ Chelsea said, fighting to keep the
numbing fear that was creeping over her in check. ‘Miss Timms knows where I am and what
job I’m on. She’ll come looking for me!’
‘So she will, but I can have a lot of fun with you before then and be long gone.
Don’t worry your pretty head. I’m not going to hurt you… well, not much. Nothing she can’t
clean up. You see…’ he tapped the box of fruit and vegetables ‘…there are some things I
always wanted to do with a pretty young tart and a box of greens.’
Chelsea gulped, rolling her eyes about desperately as the cold hand of full-blown
terror closed about her heart. From beyond the whitewashed windows came the muted rumble
of traffic. Could anybody out on the street hear her above the noise and through that
thick glass?
As Chelsea opened her mouth to scream for help Petruchio rammed a small, hard green
apple from the assortment in the box between her lips, twisting it in until it was wedged
tight between her teeth.
‘Have an apple,’ said Petruchio. ‘Fruit’s good for you.’
Chelsea gurgled and chomped on the apple, but she could not spit it out nor bite
through it. She had been effectively gagged.
Petruchio smiled in approval at her desperate efforts. ‘I think there’s nothing
better than to see a pretty girl with her mouth stuffed full,’ he said, as though speaking
to himself as much as to Chelsea. ‘I don’t want to hear you talking much but you can
whimper and whine all you like. It excites me when girls make those sorts of noises, if
you know what I mean. Like they’re no better than animals, which is what you are. Now I’ve
just got to add a few extras.’
He took a long wooden rod out from under the table. It had snap hooks screwed to
each end. Bending down he took hold of Chelsea’s right leg, pulling out a metal ring
embedded in the inner side of the ankle and clipping one end of the rod to it. Chelsea
moaned and tried to kick at him with her left leg, but the bizarre costume made her too
clumsy to connect properly and the padding softened the glancing impact.
With his free hand Petruchio casually slapped the inside of her thigh, making her
yelp and flinch away. ‘Naughty girl! You just behave yourself,’ he said.
Chelsea swayed off balance causing the collar cuff to squeeze alarmingly against
her throat, making her choke and gasp for breath. With a sob she struggled to stand
straight again to ease the pressure. Petruchio caught hold of her left leg and clipped the
other end of the rod to her left ankle ring.
Now she swayed in her bonds with her booted feet held forcibly spread wide and
sheathed arms upraised.
Petruchio stood up again, peering intently at Chelsea’s flushed face and wide
fearful eyes as they were framed within the oval aperture of the costume that now
imprisoned her. Her white teeth flashed as they were gritted about the apple gag that
stretched her lips wide. A trickle of apple pulp and saliva was running out of the corners
of her mouth.
‘Now you’re Chelsea my Captive Cucumber Girl,’ he said wiping the juice off her
cheek. ‘All fresh and juicy and ready to be squeezed.’
He undid his belt and stripped off his trousers and boxer shorts, leaving him naked
between waist and boot tops. A thick, stubby erection jutted out from under the overhang
of his belly. Beneath it hung a heavy wrinkled ball sack fuzzed with greying pubic hair.
Chelsea’s eyes bulged at the sight and she choked in sick horror.
Petruchio appeared to relish her distress. ‘That’s right, Little Cucumber. You have
a good look at what uncle is going to stuff up you. But first I’m going to peel you bare…’
From the fruit box he took out a pair of scissors and snipped them in the air in
front of Chelsea’s face. She moaned and whimpered, shaking her head and squirming
desperately in her bonds.
‘Keep still!’ Petruchio warned. ‘You don’t want me to cut your pretty skin, do
you?’
Chelsea snivelled, shivering in terror as her eyes followed the shining blades of
the scissors.
Petruchio snipped round the foam rubber head of the costume and tossed it aside.
Then he cut down each side and pulled the body section away. Chelsea was left standing
with her head and torso exposed but her arms and legs still encased in the tethered green
rubber sleeves and boots. Thick nylon cords with the metal support rings tied onto them
linked the sprung collar section, still closed tight about her neck, to the shoulders of
the arm pieces, holding them all together.
Freed of the restrictive foam sheathing Chelsea twisted and squirmed once again,
jerking against the cords, but she was still held fast. She gazed pleadingly at Petruchio
but she saw no sympathy in his eyes, only delight at her fear. She was his to do with as
he pleased.
‘That’s the rind off you, but there is still another layer to go before we get down
to the flesh.’
He stroked her leotard-sheathed body, cupping and squeezing her breasts and then
sliding an exploratory hand between her parted thighs, pressing up against the tight swell
of her pubic mound. All the time his bright eyes, owl-like behind their thick frames,
seemed to burn into hers as he savoured her horror and helplessness. From under his belly
his cock strained at attention.
Shame piled itself upon her fear as Chelsea realised that although her stomach was
churning in sick terror her nipples were poking up hard under the thin material while
there was a hot wetness growing in the fabric of her crotch. How could she react like that
at a time like this? With a pitiful moan she turned her head aside and screwed up her
eyes. No, this could not be happening to her! She was just an innocent girl doing an
honest job.
Petruchio slapped her cheeks sharply, making Chelsea whimper and blink her misty
eyes wide once more. ‘No, don’t you look away from me, Cucumber! I want to see the look on
your face while I do this.’
Trembling with fear, Chelsea looked him in the eye. Petruchio nodded. ‘That’s
better…’
He hooked his fingers under the shoulder straps of her leotard and lifted them so
he could slide the blade of the scissors under. Two quick snips cut them through.
Petruchio licked his lips, his face shiny with anticipation, and slowly drew the front of
her leotard down over her breasts. As they were exposed she could feel his hot, eager
breath washing over her bare skin.
‘Now they are a fine pair!’ Petruchio exclaimed with a tremble in his voice.
Her breasts were rounded cones set neat and high with distinctly marked and
up-tilted nipples that had shamefully swollen into fulsome cones.
Petruchio pinched and lifted Chelsea’s nipples, feeling them pulse stiffly between
thumb and forefinger. Chelsea whimpered as he then cupped her hot breasts.
‘I think tits are like the fruits of a woman’s body,’ Petruchio said, still
kneading her mounds. ‘And yours are just ripe, Cucumber. And fine budding nips too. But
they could do with a bit more colour.’
From the box he took out a thick felt-tip marker. Holding her trembling breasts
firmly he carefully coloured her hard nipples a dark green. Chelsea groaned. Oh God, what
kind of sick fetishist was he? Even worse, her nipples only strained harder as they were
decorated. What was wrong with her?
When he was done Petruchio stepped back to admire his handiwork. ‘Oh, yes, that’s
nice. Green’s my favourite colour, you know. Maybe some on your cheeks as well.’
Holding her chin he drew two bold green circles on her cheeks and filled them in.
Then with a grin he added a green blob to the tip of her nose.
‘That’s better. Now let’s peel the rest of you…’
He snipped down the sides of her leotard from armpits to hips and then pulled the
remains out from between her thighs.
Petruchio walked round Chelsea’s outstretched body, admiring it from all angles
while she shivered under his gaze.
Chelsea’s navel was a neat round dimple. Her buttocks were smooth, tightly curved
and deeply cleft. A trimmed-back but still thick delta of dark curls framed a deep pubic
mouth with a tongue of inner labia pouting impudently from its depths.
‘Oh yes, very nice,’ he exclaimed at length. ‘You look as though you eat your five
portions a day. And you must exercise properly. Do you go for runs, Cucumber?’
Dazed and fearful, Chelsea nodded automatically.
‘Good. Not like some of the lumpy girls you see on the street. Too many burgers and
fries, that’s the problem. Makes their skins go spotty. But yours is really nice.’
He stroked the smooth twin mounds of her buttocks, making her shiver. ‘Plenty of
fruit and veg in a diet keeps you healthy and regular.’ He slid a finger up between her
buttocks to tickle the mouth of her anus. ‘Are you regular?’
With a choking gasp Chelsea flinched away from his touch, swaying and twisting from
the ropes, her anus clenching out of reflex.
‘Naughty!’ Petruchio admonished with a grin of delight. ‘Looks like I’m going to
have to teach you how to behave like a good cucumber girl.’
From the fruit and veg box he took out a huge leek with its growth of long, stiff,
fibrous green leaves still attached. Holding it by its thick white stem he swished it
through the air.
‘You see, there are lots of things you can do with vegetables,’ he said with a
grin.
Chelsea goggled at him in horror. He was going to punish her with a leek leaf lash?
This was all so sick and crazy and… ahhh!
Petruchio swiped the leek lash across her rump: swish, smack! The coarse thick
leaves rasped across her skin, curling about the under curves of her buttock cheeks and
into the cleft between them. Chelsea gave a muffled yelp of pain, spraying apple juice out
from the sides of her plugged mouth as her eyes bulged wide, filling with hot tears. How
could leaves hurt so much?
Swish, swat! Chuckling with delight Petruchio beat Chelsea vigorously, his stiff
shaft swaying as he did so. Chelsea gurgled and sobbed and squirmed, twisting like a
puppet in its strings. But there was no escape from the burning pain. With every swipe the
edges of the stiff leaves cut into her soft rump flesh, raising fine red welts. Fire
seared through her shivering buttocks as they turned from pink to scarlet. And yet even as
she shrieked and slobbered about her apple gag, tears running down her painted cheeks, she
realised that her nipples were throbbing cones and her sex was tingling and swollen. How
could she respond like that to this old, fat pervert’s beating? Shame and confusion heaped
themselves upon her misery.
Finally Petruchio rested his arm. Chelsea hung limp and trembling from her cords.
Tears dripped onto her raggedly heaving, green-tipped breasts. Petruchio grasped her by
the hair and pulled her lolling head up until she looked him in the eye.
‘Now you hold still next time, right, Cucumber?’
Blinking back her tears, Chelsea nodded desperately. He had beaten the pride from
her. At that moment she would have done anything to avoid another thrashing. Not that she
had any choice.
Petruchio grinned, savouring her abject capitulation. He flicked her rubbery
nipples and then ran his hand down between her legs. She whimpered as his hard stiff
fingers probed her cleft and came back thickly coated with her discharge.
‘Juicing yourself up, are you? Your kind are all alike. You act like butter
wouldn’t melt between your legs and then turn into a slut after a little spanking and it
pours out of you. Well, let’s see if I can find something to dip in that hot little pot…’
He selected a large thick carrot from the box, with its bushy green fronds still
attached, and held it up for Chelsea to see. It was a good twenty centimetres long with a
stubby tip.
‘Now, you take a good look at this fine big carrot. In a moment I’m going to stuff
it up your arse to open you up for later.’ Chelsea’s eyes bulged and she gave a yip of
dismay. ‘If you don’t want it to hurt any more than it has to, you’re going to lubricate
it with some of your pussy butter first, understand?’
Chelsea snivelled and nodded wretchedly. With a broad grin, Petruchio slid the
vegetable up into her treacherously wet vagina to its full length. Chelsea rolled up her
eyes in shame as she found her passage automatically sucking at the knobbly shaft. Then he
began to stir it inside her, making sticky sounds and bringing forth a muffled groan of
misery from her plugged lips.
‘That’s right, you butter this properly, Cucumber,’ Petruchio said. ‘The more
slippery it is the less it’s going to hurt going up your bumhole.’
After a minute he pulled the carrot out of her, now thickly coated with her
lubrication. Moving round behind her he pried her buttock cheeks apart and pushed the tip
of the carrot against the tight pucker of her anal mouth. Chelsea gasped about her apple
gag as she felt her sphincter being forced unwillingly wide open. There came a shocking
sense of intrusion as the carrot shaft, greased with her own juices, slithered up into her
rectum. It seemed to go on for ever until, with a perverse sense of relief, she felt her
anal ring closed about the end of the carrot, clenching the base of its spray of leaves
that she felt hanging down between her thighs.
‘Now you’ve got a nice green tail,’ Petruchio observed, fluffing the fronds.
He returned to the fruit box and brought out a bunch of plump purple grapes.
Pulling over the chair he seated himself in front of Chelsea, with his knees between her
spread thighs. This brought his head down level with her palpitating navel. He kissed her
stomach and then the mouth of her pussy. Chelsea shuddered.
Plucking a grape from the bunch Petruchio rolled it about the hot wet lips of her
cleft and then into the valley between. She felt the soft thing run seductively over the
nub of her clitoris and helplessly felt it pulse and harden in response.
Then, prying her by now engorged labia wide, he pushed the grape up her vaginal
passage with stiff fingers as far as it would go. Chelsea whimpered even as her rock-hard
nipples throbbed afresh. Her anus clenched in reflex, making her carrot tail twitch.
Petruchio plucked a second grape and repeated the process. With each insertion his stiff
cock bobbed and strained.
In ten minutes most of the bunch had been forced up inside Chelsea, filling her
with an obscenely squishy mass. By now she was almost delirious with shame and primal
need. Her pussy mouth bulged like a cornucopia and grape juice mingled with her own
discharge as it trickled down the inside of her thighs. If she had been able to speak
instead of moaning incoherently, she did not know if she would have begged for freedom or
for him to finish her off.
Putting the remaining grapes aside, Petruchio took out a large cucumber.
‘Something special for my cucumber girl,’ he said with a grin.
Chelsea sobbed in renewed fear, shaking her head. No, that was too much. He’d burst
her!
Petruchio inserted the end of the cucumber into her packed vaginal mouth and began
to pump and twist it up into her. With every thrust he went a little deeper, making her
belly bulge and crushing the warm grapes so that they spurted out around the shaft and her
clinging labia and splattered to the concrete floor in a mess of pulp, skin and pips.
Chelsea sobbed and groaned. Her anus was clenching about the carrot up her rear even as
her vaginal sheath squeezed on the cucumber. She had never been filled so completely both
fore and aft. Yet despite the shameful horror of it the sensation was obscenely arousing.
Her blubbering moans were getting ever more shrill and desperate. This was it! She was
going to cum…
Abruptly Petruchio ceased reaming her out. Chelsea sobbed in frustration, pleading
with her eyes. Leaving the cucumber jutting grotesquely out from the grape-smeared
glistening mouth of her pussy, Petruchio got up and reversed the chair, positioning it so
that end of the twitching vegetable was resting across its bowed back. Taking out a reel
of repair tape from the box he tore of a length and bound it about the cucumber and chair
back so that it jutted upward at about sixty degrees. Now she could not force it out of
her passage, nor would it slide out. It felt frighteningly as though she was impaled on
the vegetable. She tried to pull her hips backward as far as her bonds allowed but found
she was squeezing onto the thing even as she did so. Did she actually want to feel the
thing pull right out of her or go even deeper in?
Even as she ground and twisted about on the shaft of the cucumber, Petruchio moved
behind her. Bracing one hand against her hot bottom he grasped the base of the carrot
fronds and pulled and twisted. With a sucking pop the carrot came out of her bulging anal
mouth. Petruchio tossed it aside. Grasping Chelsea’s hips he positioned the tip of his
cock against the still gaping ring of her anus and plunged into her.
The force of his thrust drove the cucumber back up inside Chelsea’s front passage.
She shrieked about her apple gag as a rod of flesh and a stick of vegetable seemed almost
to meet inside her. Petruchio was gasping and grunting with mounting lust as he brutally
sodomized her, his belly grinding against her bottom. The cucumber was pumping inside the
living piston housing of her vagina, still spraying out gobbets of grape pulp. The nylon
cords holding her twisted as she fluttered between Petruchio and the chair: between
thrusting cock and impaling vegetable. Her green-tipped breasts jumped and jiggled under
the pounding. It felt as though her insides were being reamed out. She could not take
anymore. It was too much. It was…
And then the riptide of a shattering orgasm ripped through her and she blacked
out.
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