Excerpts from "Six of the Best" Volume Two

 

Jemimah's Curse

 

Jemimah was bent face down over a folding trestle with a padded top. Her arms and legs were spread out wide along the sloping legs of the trestle and held in place by heavy buckled cuffs. This posture pushed her buttocks up high and exposed her groin, making her acutely - and shamefully - aware of her newly shaven pubic lips. She whimpered and dribbled about her gag, hardly daring to look up at Hazel. This reticence was not simply because of her own shameful exposure, but because Hazel was now totally naked.

She had stripped off as soon as she had made Jemimah secure, revealing a lean body that could have belonged to somebody ten years younger. Her breasts were small, and her neat hard nipples had silver rings through them, as did the lips of her shaven vulva. Into this she had plugged the device that so horrified Jemimah. It was a large, double-ended fake rubber penis, held in place by hooks that snapped into the rings in her labia. The exposed end of the thing jutted up grotesquely from between her legs, bobbing and swaying in a more sinuous fashion than the erect penises of the three young, hooded men had done.

Hazel was moving around Jemimah's bent body, making rapid sketches of her from every angle, as if trying to find the perfect composition, every so often swatting her with the rubber paddle to make her yelp and squirm. Already her buttocks were rosy-red while to her shame her pussy was dribbling. Hazel rubbed her hand into her cleft and admired the slick sheen it left on her fingers with satisfaction.

'You're a lovely juicy creature, aren't you?' she said. 'Now you've been liberated from your virginity it comes naturally. You are made for this. Of course, the advantage of bondage art is that I can be sure the model will keep totally still. You'll enjoy it so much more if you just surrender to your nature...'

Jemimah gurgled and shook her head frantically. The woman was totally delusional! And to think until now she had quite liked her...

When Hazel's face was flushed and her nipples looked ready to burst, she put down her sketchpad.

'Can't wait any longer... must have you...' she groaned.

She positioned herself behind Jemimah between her spread legs and guided the tip of the rubber penis into her cleft. Taking a firm hold on Jemimah's buttocks, Hazel jerked her hips and filled her with the rubber phallus. As Jemimah squealed, Hazel said, 'Just let yourself go and enjoy it...'

And the terrible thing was, as the rubber penis searched inside her, that Jemimah felt the same perverted sensations she had experienced when the boys had abused her out on the Heath. But now she was being despoiled by a lesbian! That was so wrong. But her nipples were still hard and her clitoris was swollen and she was dripping and hot and confused. Perhaps her body, having been introduced to sex by the most violent and perverse means, did not know what was normal!

Hazel bent over her back and embraced her and reached beneath the trestle and clasped and squeezed Jemimah's bobbing, bouncing breasts, sending a shudder through her. A woman's hands on her, a woman using her for her pleasure, a woman making love to her...

Silently Jemimah prayed for release. And, in a manner of speaking, it came.

A violent orgasm tore through her body and she fainted clean away.

 

The Framing of the Shrew

 

Kate spluttered as cold water splashed over her, bringing her out of her faint. Her bottom burned and throbbed. Keogh had brought a mug of water from the bathroom and thrown it into her face.

'I don't want you to miss one stroke of this,' he said. 'It's for your own good. I know it hurts but it also tells you that you're alive. You've got five more left.'

And so, when he was sure she was fully conscious, he laid the last five strokes across Kate's blazing buttocks, accompanied by her muffled sobs and groans of pain.

When he was done Kate hung limp within her strange cradle of ropes and plastic toilet seat, feebly shaking in fear, tears dripping from her eyes, terrified that her burning bottom had been cut to ribbons. Blinking away the tears she twisted her head around against the pressure of the ropes around her neck to the mirrors, dreading what she would see. There was red welted flesh and a few trickles of blood, but her behind was still intact. For a moment she felt an absurd rush of relief. It had felt so much worse...

Keogh came around to her head and lifted her chin, so that she had to look up into his eyes. 'Now I've got your attention, Shrew, these are the rules. Not another word out of you for the rest of the weekend, unless it's a polite one. Break this rule and you'll get the cane again and you know what that feels like now. You're going to have to think of what somebody else would like to hear coming out of your lips for a change, not what you want to say. It's called "consideration". Do you understand?'

Kate nodded miserably.

'Now I'm going to take your gag plug out so you can talk, with a little effort. If you insult me you get the cane. If you beg to beg to be freed you're wasting your time. You don't get freed until Sunday night, not a minute earlier. Do you understand, Shrew?'

He pulled the plug out of her gag ring, freeing her tongue. She licked her stretched lips. 'I... understand.'

'Now I'm going to give you a choice. Either you can have a dozen more stokes... or you can beg me to screw you.'

Kate turned her instinctive response to this disgusting offer into a moan. She looked up into his uncompromising face and then at the cane in his hand. He really meant it. She had a choice between terrifying pain or disgusting, degrading sex.

No, it was no choice. She could not face another caning. And in her utterly helpless state he could simply take her as he wished anyway. Why bother asking then? Because he wanted her to humiliate herself by begging, to become complicit in her own subjugation.

'Please screw me,' she said wretchedly, her words slurred by the ring in her mouth.

He pushed the plug back in her mouth. That was all he wanted to hear.

Keogh undid his flies in front of her face so she could see the size of his swelling manhood before moving round behind her. He took hold of her hips around the side of the toilet seat and rammed his cock into her pussy cleft which pouted between her thighs. She rocked in her ropes as he pumped steadily away inside her, setting her breasts swaying in time.

A man she hardly knew had his penis up inside her. He was invading her intimate parts and making her dirty. It was the most hateful thing she had ever endured. She would never be clean again! At least get it over with quickly, she thought. Why can't you cum you cruel man? Just cum... cum! And then her sheath clamped about Keogh's stiff penis in a sudden spasm and a massive orgasm came up from deep within her and blasted all thoughts of hate or cleanliness from Kate's thoughts.

 

The Night the Toys Came Out to Play

 

Kate woke with the bedside light shining in her eyes.

She was sure she had turned that off. And why was her duvet drawn back? And why could she not move!

Her arms and legs were spread out, stretched to the four corners of the bed where they were tied by her wrists and ankles with luggage straps. And there were things moving around her on the bed. She tried to scream but found her lips were sealed with heavy tape. In terror she jerked her head upright and looked around her.

Mister Punch stood between her spread legs, a huge grin on his grotesque face. Beside him were the green robot and the mannequin.

All three were standing upright unaided and moving their limbs. They were fully animated in some way. They were alive!

About her the platoon of wooden soldiers was moving purposely, tightening the straps about her wrists and ankles. Next to her knees were the T-Rex and the wooden snake, also imbued with unnatural life. Beside them was a reel of repair tape, a wooden ruler and a couple of pairs of scissors.

'Tie her down good and proper!' Mister Punch said in a squeaky voice that was not in the least humorous. His painted lips moved about as they shaped the words, revealing a hole in his wooden head between them. 'We don't want her getting away from us tonight.'

Kate squirmed and bucked in instinctive horror, lifting her hips off the bed and straining at her bound limbs. The mattress heaved and bounced under her, causing the toys to stagger about. A couple of the soldiers fell over.

'There, now she's awake!' Mister Punch shouted angrily. 'Get a cord across her middle!'

The soldiers scrambled to obey, dragging bungee cords across her body from one side of the bed to the other, scrambling over her midriff. She felt their little wooden hands and feet digging into her flesh though the cotton of her nightdress and tried to throw them off. But it was no use. The cords were pulled tight, doubled under the bed frame and hooked back on themselves. Now the implacable tension of the cords held her hips down, damping their heaves and reducing her struggles to feeble wriggling.

When he was sure Kate was secured, Punch climbed up onto her thigh and then across her hips and stomach until he stood between her breasts looking down into her face. His eyes were still only unblinking painted dots and should have looked dead, but somehow they looked frighteningly full of malevolent life. He walked stiffly but then he was just a cloth and wood puppet: one that was moving without the aid of strings or rods.

I must be dreaming, Kate thought. Angela put ideas into my head. This is not fun. I want to wake up!

But if it was a dream then waking did not appear to be an option. Instead, moment by moment, it felt ever more horribly real.

'Hallo, My Pretty,' Punch said. 'We've waiting a long time to catch you. Tonight's the night, though. Now we're going to have some fun...'

Kate whimpered and shook her head.

Punch kicked the mound of her right breast beneath her nightdress, making it tremble. 'Good tits you've got there,' he said appreciatively. 'Now let's have a proper look at the rest of you.' He turned to the soldiers. 'Let's have her stripped. Cut it all off her!' he called out.

Two teams of soldiers picked up a pair of scissors each. One carried them across to the hem of her nightdress which was draped across her knees. Holding the fabric tight they began to clip away, working their way upwards towards her groin. The other team carried their pair to her chest and began to cut through the shoulder straps of her nightdress.

Kate whimpered and twisted her shoulders and chest as far as her bonds allowed, trying to throw the soldiers off her. They fell about and dropped the scissors while Punch was knocked off his feet and sprawled between her breasts. He shouted out angrily, 'Robot! Get up here and make her hold still!'

With a click and whirr of gears the green robot marched stolidly up the side of the bed until it was level with Kate's head. Clambering stiffly over her extended arm he reached for her face with his mechanical pincers. Fearfully she twisted away from him but he caught hold of her right earlobe with his left pincer and pinched and twisted it hard. Kate yelped, feeling hot tears pricking the back of her eyes and lay still in fear and dread.

'That's more like it,' Punch said, grinning down at her. 'There's no escape tonight. You might as well lie still and accept it. We don't want to hurt you... well, not much...'

The soldiers clambered to their feet, picked up the scissors and resumed their snipping.

In a minute they had cut through the straps of her night dress and all the way up its front to her neckline. Then the soldiers pulled the halves apart. The mannequin and the T-Rex both took hold of the trailing hem, the toy dinosaur clamping it between his huge jaws, and dragged the remains of her dress out from under her, leaving her totally naked. Punch walked up and down her bare stomach looking at her with approval and jumping up and down to test the resilience of her flesh.

Kate was thirty-two, with a good figure, blonde hair and clear skin. Regular exercise kept her thighs strong and her waist tight. She had pale-blue eyes and an open, intelligent face. Her breasts were full and capped by pale brown nipples. Reclining they formed almost perfect trembling domes. Her pubic hair was closely cropped and trimmed, exposing a pouting set of inner lips.

'Good quality human girl flesh,' Punch observed. 'We're going to have a lot of fun with you, My Pretty. Now let's have a look up inside you... '

A pair of soldiers marched up between her thighs, took hold of her inner labia and pulled her soft lips outwards, painfully pinching and stretching her tender flesh. This opened up the dark crinkle-lipped mouth of her vaginal passage to Punch's gaze. He peered up into its depths, prodded it and felt its wetness with approval.

'This looks good. Juicy and plenty of access in and out. Let's measure her for depth...'

The mannequin had picked up the ruler. With Punch guiding its end he thrust it deep into Kate's vagina until it ground against the end of her passage. Kate yelped through her gag. The robot pinched her earlobe tighter. Tears ran from her eyes.

Punch read the scale on the ruler where it protruded from her vagina. 'She can take a good eight inches up her. All right, Manny, you can quicken her. I'll wait until she's more my size...'

 

The Suspended Trespasser

 

She twisted round to see a man in a tweed jacket and flat cap as he emerged from between the trees. He was carrying a camera. As she tried to hold her skirt in place to protect her modesty he circled round her, looking her over with frank interest, recording as he went. He appeared to be in his forties with ruddy cheeks and a comfortable stocky build. Trying to read his expression upside-down she saw he was grinning in wry amusement as he filmed her.

'The first catch of the day: female... blonde... thirtyish... good legs,' he said, as though adding a commentary to his recording.

'Stop doing that!' Amanda said indignantly, pulling her skirt tighter about her.

'What, filming my catch?' the man said. 'I used to go hunting with a shotgun, but I found this was more fun. Or would you rather I got my gun and pointed it at you instead? Some women get a kick out of that.'

She shivered. 'Did you set this thing?'

'I did, Blondie,' he said. 'We haven't been introduced.' He tipped his cap. 'I'm Oliver Penwick. And you're trespassing on my land.'

'I was only trying to get back to the main road!' Amanda protested.

'Was it an emergency?'

'What? No.'

'Then you've no excuse, Blondie. You saw the sign. My land, my rules. Trespassers take their chances. Now you've got to suffer.'

'We can argue about that later. Just get me down!'

'Why should I?' Penwick's eyes passed over the length of her inverted body appreciatively. 'This is part of your punishment. You look very fetching hung like that. In fact I've a mind to leave you here for a few hours until you learn your lesson. Like the best meat you need to be hung until you've become a little tenderer.'

And he turned about and unconcernedly began to walk away.

'No! Come back! You can't leave me like this!' Amanda shouted, feeling a sudden surge of fear.

Penwick glanced back at her. 'Yes I can. You won't come to any harm. When you set off this trap it activated triggers connected to spring arms that pulled barbed wire up over the tops of the styles at each end of the path. It's closed off now so you won't be disturbed.

'No! Please don't leave me!' She was going to have to demonstrate a little contrition. 'I'm... I'm sorry I trespassed!'

'That's something. Are you ready to accept your punishment right now?'

'What? You mean pay a fine? Is this just a way of getting money off people? All right what is it? Ten pounds... twenty?'

'No, I don't want money. I mean punishment. As I said I like well-hung meat. Girl flesh especially. But I want to see what I've got in the larder. You can start by stripping off.'

Amanda thought the blood filling her head had muffled what she heard. 'What?'

'Strip off. Divest yourself of your clothes. Peel down to the buff. I want to see you naked. Is that clear enough for you?'

'You... you can't be serious!'

'But I am, Blondie. My land, my rules, remember? The question is how long do you want to spend hanging upside-down?'

 

Their Sex Toy Teacher

 

Dianna was bent over the tubular iron frame at the end of her bed.

Her legs were spread wide and bungee cords were wrapped about her ankles that pulled them out to the feet of the bed posts. Leather straps bound her knees and thighs to the frame. The top rail of the frame pressed into the front of her thighs midway up. Braced in this way, she could only bend forward at the hips. Several bungee cords hooked together stretched from her collar to the bed head and kept her upper body horizontal and trembling under strain. This left her breasts dangling under her like fleshy bells. But they did not hang totally free. From his holdall Smith had produced a simple but effective device which he placed beneath her chest. It was a thin wooden board, supported by short unfolding strut legs to lift it to the right height, through which a few dozen fine nails had been hammered. Their protruding tips now jabbed up into her breasts as they rested upon them, their soft under-curves flattening slightly. The nails dug into her flesh and scratched and pricked it so that little blobs and trickles of scarlet were now flowing down them. Confused by this painful torment her nipples were swollen hard again, inflicting even more damage on their tender skin.

The pain was minimised if she kept totally still so her breasts did not move and dig the nails any deeper into her. But of course, Smith did not allow her that luxury.

He was standing behind her with a table tennis bat in his hand. He was smacking this into her bottom and admiring the ripples it drove through her flesh and the pink blush it brought to her cheeks as its rubber-coated face beat its dimpled pattern into her bottom flesh. Every few minutes he stopped to feel the heat in her buttocks and then he resumed beating her again.

The impact of the blows made her upper body shake, jiggling and rolling her breasts over the nail board under them. Each shiver meant a fresh set of nail jabs.

The gag strap was once more plugging Diana's mouth which gave her something to bite on when she was not screaming and sobbing and howling about it. Tears and spittle dripped onto the bed beneath her.

Smith stopped beating once again and she felt his hands running across her burning bottom cheeks. They then slid into the furrow of her pussy mound which had caught a few blows itself. Only yesterday she would have been outraged at a stranger touching her so intimately. Now she felt only relief that he was not hitting her and hoped that he would keep on fondling her for as long as he wanted. Again, she felt the pitiful and irrational surge of gratitude towards a tormentor, as she had with the boys last night. Was that normal in situations like this? She was not sure what was normal anymore.

Smith was investigating the hot wet furrow of her sex and then bringing some of its discharge up and using it as lubrication to slide his fingers up into her tight tunnel of her rectum. As he twirled them round inside her he said. 'I want to screw these pretty holes of yours. I want to hear what you think about that idea...' And he unbuckled her gag strap.

'Yes, M... Master, please screw me up there,' she gasped, pouring out the abject and pitiful words. 'I'd l... love to have your cock up my pussy and b... backside. They were p... properly stretched by the dildo saddle. You can get in them really easily and they're nice and juicy...'

But even before she had finished, she felt his cock head pressing into the wet cleft of her sex mouth.

Smith rammed into her and her body shivered and rocked and swayed back and forth, dragging her breasts across the nail board once again. And she sobbed and wailed and then clenched up tight as she was overcome by a fresh orgasm, spraying her juices out over him even as he was coming inside her. She had never before thought of orgasms primarily as a means of blotting out the pain, but she was beginning to love them for that property.

Smith rested across her haunches and back with his cock still lodged inside her, his weight pressing her breasts a little harder down onto the nail board. She bit her lip to stifle her whimpers of pain.

When Smith recovered, he pulled his slippery wet cock out of her vagina and transferred it to her rectum and sodomised her thoroughly, once again setting her breasts roll across the terrible nail board, which was now stained red.

Dianna did not think that what with the pain she was enduring and just having a cock up her backside, she could possibly become aroused enough to come again. And yet in some twisted perverted way this excited her even more. It was so unnatural and insulting and crude that it was amazing. She felt the desire building up inside her, blotting out the discomfort and riding roughshod over her sense of right and wrong. Her bottom was blazing, she had a cock up her rear and her tits were being stabbed by nails. Cuming was her only escape, so she came...

 

The Correction of Cynthia

 

Panting and sweating, Cynthia pounded along the endless track of the filly cab training treadmill. With every stride, her glossy breasts bounced and her nipple bells jingled merrily.

This had been one of the devices in a corner of the yard that she had not been able to identify the day before. Now, while the other cabs came and went from the yard next to her, she was getting to know it only too well.

'You need to be toughened up before you can pull one of our cabs,' Flint had told her when she had been released from her tiny stable that morning. 'First, I need to find out what your speed and endurance is like...'

She was mounted on a groin shaft as if she was pulling a cab. It was a metal tube that curved up through her groin, pressing into the clefts of her buttocks and vulva. Hollow rubber-sheathed rods extended inwards from it and plugged her vagina and rectum. From a ring on the rounded tapering tip of the tube, a pair of sprung chains ran up to the rings on her waist belt. A second sprung chain extended up from the rear of the shaft up through the cleft of her buttocks to the back of the belt, holding her snugly impaled while also spreading the strain about her body.

This short section of cab shaft terminated in a flexible right-angled joint connected to a metal rod that extended through the big horizontal hollow axle of the treadmill, holding her in place while allowing her enough freedom to run.

A water filled pouch hung between her shoulders from the back ring of her collar and fed through a tube to plug into her bridle bit. The hollow tubes plugged into her vagina and anus were designed not only to give her something to take hold of to pull the cab with, but to suck away her wastes. It meant that she could drink and relieve herself even while she was pulling a filly cab along a city street!

She was being observed by Flint, who stood by the control panel of the treadmill, and Mick and Rob, the young men who served the company as stable lads. Evidently they were taking a keen interest in their new pony as she was being put through her paces, as Cynthia could tell by the noticeable bulges in the fronts of their coveralls.

Flint's whip flicked out across Cynthia's sweaty, rolling buttocks. 'I want you to keep this pace up for another eight minutes, 537,' Flint commanded.

Cynthia groaned and nodded and pounded on.

The trouble was that the harder she ran the more she churned the shaft plugs within her, with inevitable effects. She pumped as hard as she could with her arms, confined as they were within their rubber sheathes, but she could not quite counteract the motion of her new stride, lengthened as it was by her hoof-shod feet as they pounded along the track. This meant that her hips rolled even more than normal when she was running. Doubly impaled as she was on the shaft, this not only churned the plug tubes deep inside her but ground the shaft against her sensitive labia. Already it was running freely with her juices, lubricating the curving shaft. Her relentlessly jingling nipple bells did not help. They stimulated her already sensitised teats, making them stand out like thimbles.

The cumulative effect was inevitable.

Cynthia's already flushed cheeks burned with fresh shame as she stumbled to a halt and gasped as the orgasm tore through her. Then she screamed as Flint's whip cracked across her breasts, making them jump.

'I didn't give you permission to stop, 537,' he told her sternly. 'You've still got seven minutes left...'

Dizzy with illicit delight, Cynthia began to run again with her spent juices now dripping down her thighs.

Through stinging, misty eyes, she saw Mick and Rob grinning at her. They knew that they would be handling her soon, and then their turn would come...