Captives of Cheyner Close Read online

  He recalled the expressions on the other residents’ faces, the day after his house had been vandalised, when they explained the war of terror the girls of Fernleigh Rise had been waging on the Close for so long. It was only then that he had learned how miserable Tara’s gang had made their lives. And if nothing was done their suffering would continue. The law could not help so he had enabled them to gain the upper hand, never dreaming it would lead to a bound and naked girl kneeling on his carpet at his mercy. It was the stuff of fantasy and, he couldn’t deny it, very arousing. But was it right?

  Something Jim Curry had said last night, as they debated Tara’s startling offer in a huddled group, came back to him.

  ‘“There’s no rule that says we shouldn’t enjoy punishing them. Unless the rest of you think we should put ourselves through another week of misery finding ways to punish them that we don’t enjoy either? Now that would be crazy.”’

  The so-called ‘Elite’ had made the process of punishment uniquely personal by rejecting conventional justice. Now they should be left in no doubt that they were unwillingly giving pleasure to their former victims through their degradation and suffering. This was no time for misplaced guilt.

  ‘Stand up,’ he told Hazel.

  She struggled awkwardly to her feet, her eyes wide and pleading about her gag-stretched mouth.

  He held up a short-handled duster with a flexible section of shaft, topped by a spray of thick floppy yellow bristles. ‘This is an anti-static brush,’ he told her. ‘I use it to keep all my equipment clean.’ he indicated the worktops that ringed three sides of the room, on which were arrayed two computers, a scanner, three screens, a couple of printers, several keyboards and a few other devices with more obscure functions. ‘Today I want you to give them a really good dusting.’

  Immediately she twisted round, trying to take the brush with her cuffed hands.

  ‘No, I don’t want you to hold it like that,’ he told her. ‘Come closer. Spread your legs …’

  He saw her eyes widen as she understood. Trembling, she shuffled forward to where he sat in his swivel chair. He reached out and cupped the pouch at the apex of her thighs, running his fingers through her tight, dark curls. She shuddered at his touch and closed her eyes, but did not pull away. He toyed with her cleft, his fingertips brushing the crinkled tongue of her inner labia which protruded shyly from its depths. It was already coated with a moist sheen which emanated an intimate aroma. With growing confidence he probed deeper, finding the mouth of her vagina and twirling his fingers around it encouragingly. After a few seconds he felt a fresh warm slickness begin to ooze forth from the hidden passage. Was Hazel becoming aroused so easily? He saw a scarlet blush colouring her cheeks while her areolae were darkening and spreading into pink helmets that swelled before his eyes. Wonderingly he stroked the taut, blood-suffused domes, aware that he himself was now erect as the bulge in his trousers testified. Hazel shuddered, her eyes rolling, and she made an indistinct throaty sound.

  The intensity of her response to his touch so surprised Tom that he asked: ‘You’re not a virgin, are you?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘But you’re getting very wet. Does being tied up, being naked and helpless like this, excite you?’

  She looked at him in mute despair, her blush deepening. Then her head dropped and she gave a tiny shameful nod.

  He felt a pang of sympathy for Hazel. Added to her understandable fear and apprehension she was now in a state of sexual confusion as well. On the other hand, perhaps it would make what followed easier for her.

  ‘You know you’ve got to be punished for what you did?’ he said, stroking her cheek.

  Hazel nodded, a look of tragic resignation in her eyes.

  ‘But if you’re a very good girl and do everything I tell you, then I’ll only give you a light spanking, say three little slaps on your bottom just for show. But only if you’ve very good, mind. Will you do that?’

  Looking slightly more hopeful she nodded, trying to smile round her gag.

  ‘Then let’s get this inside you …’

  Holding the duster by its bristles he rubbed its chunky black foam handle up and down her furrow until it glistened with her secretions, and then slid it up inside her. Hazel gave a little squeak, lifting herself momentarily up onto tiptoe, then sank slowly back down as the handle impaled her to its fullest extent, leaving only a short length of shaft and the spray of bristles dangling between her thighs. Tom laughed at the sight and bent the flexible section of handle until its end thrust outwards.

  ‘That’s better. Now, use that chair to stand on when you need it, and I want to see everything spotless …’

  Tom watched Hazel as she worked her way diligently round the room, nudging the chair along with her feet and climbing up it so that her duster was level with screens and keyboards. Picking up his camera he took a few pictures. Some caught her head half-turned to the lens, blushing shyly. He grew transfixed by the motion of her bottom, with its slight excess of fleshy padding, as she oscillated her hips to work the duster into every nook and cranny. When she had to bend forward and spread her legs he could see her swollen pudendal pouch plugged by the duster shaft. There was a notable glisten on her inner thighs. He had never seen anything so vulnerable.

  When Hazel was done she stood trembling nervously as Tom inspected her work.

  ‘Very good’, he pronounced at last, sitting back on his chair. ‘Just three small spanks for you.’

  Hazel’s face lit up and she came almost eagerly over as he patted his knee and bent her plaint body across his lap. The brush was still inside her and it pressed against the side of his thigh. Tom felt a moment’s heady rush of blood as he realised she hadn’t tried to get him to take it out. More than that, she even appeared grateful to him for being told he would only spank her three times. He’d never had that sort of power over any woman.

  He rubbed her bottom encouragingly, delighting in fullness of her fleshy cheeks and their perfect smoothness, all the time aware of the humid warmth emanating from their deep inrolling cleft and the valley of her upper thighs. His cock was like a tentpole under his trousers.

  ‘I’ll just spank you hard enough to put a blush on your cheeks,’ her told her. ‘The others will probably be getting much worse. But you don’t have to tell them how many you got.’

  He drew back his hand and delivered the first slap. Her buttocks shivered and she gave a tiny muffled yip as the soft heavy clap of flesh rang out.

  ‘There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ he asked, rubbing her bottom to massage in the blushing heat the blow had raised. ‘Nothing you can’t take …’

  He delivered the second spank slightly harder than the first. She made no sound but squirmed in his lap. The brush head rubbed against his thigh. Was she deliberately working the shaft of the brush about inside her? He felt the warm slickness of her lubrication dripping from her vulva onto his trousers.

  Tom rubbed her bottom once more, noting the pink blush spreading across the pale hemispheres. ‘You’ve very wet. I can smell your juices. Do you want to come?’ He delivered the final smack as he spoke, making a firm, meaty sound as it landed.

  She jerked and whimpered, then nodded, twisting her head round as she did so. He saw a tear sparkling in the corner of her eyes that were full of need.

  ‘Let’s do it together,’ he said.

  He slid his fingers into her hot wet groin, gathering up her slippery exudation and rubbing it into the pucker of her anus. For a moment the ring of muscle clenched at his touch, then slowly relaxed; either in welcome or surrender to the inevitable he did not know and, at that moment, was beyond caring.

  Lifting Hazel to her feet he twisted her round so that her bottom faced him and tore open his flies, releasing his straining erection. Clasping her by the hips he pulled her backwards so that she straddled his lap and then sat down. His cockhead found her tight little hole and forced its way inside. She let out a muffled wail as she was impaled by the len
gth of his shaft, while he gloried in the hot, tight closeness of her rectum.

  ‘Now you can come,’ he said.

  She began to jiggle up and down in his lap, her head thrown back, drool running down her cheeks from about her gag as the anti-static brush slapped and bobbed up and down between her thighs, its deeply buried handle stirring away within her vagina.

  He clasped and squeezed her heavily bouncing breasts, controlling her increasingly wild gyrations as she desperately pumped up and down his shaft.

  She came with a medley of throaty incoherent grunts and whimpers just a few seconds before his seed spurted hotly into her entrails.

  As they sat together still coupled, letting the emotion slowly seep away, he whispered in her ear: ‘Good girl …’

  Stan and Louisa Jessop walked round Cassie, looking her up and down with calculated interest as she stood in the middle of their living room. Cassie glared back with nervous defiance. They both carried holly-tipped canes. She had assumed they would use her for sex as soon as they’d got her into the privacy of their own home, but they seemed in no hurry. Were they playing games with her?

  ‘Nice tits,’ Stan said. ‘Bit small, maybe, but they stand out well.’

  ‘I wonder how much punishment her bum can take?’ Louisa speculated. ‘Looks hard to me.’

  Louisa Jessop was a bosomy dyed-blonde. Cassie thought her jaw was too heavy and her brilliant curls looked cheap. She hated everything about her and her husband; more than anything the fact that at that moment she was their helpless plaything.

  ‘She’ll take what we give her and be grateful for it, won’t you, girl?’ Stan said with a mischievous grin.

  Cassie fought back a shiver, chewing at her gag and trying not to show her fear. She knew what they were trying to do by discussing her looks like she was a dumb animal, but she refused to be humbled. She was beautiful and she knew it.

  She had blue eyes topped by fine brows and straight blonde hair. Her lips, when not stretched wide by a gag, formed classic butterfly bows. She had good high cheekbones and a neat nose with pinched nostrils. Her body was slim with shapely legs, firm round buttocks and a pop-up navel. Her breasts were small and neatly rounded, with brown, strongly marked and distinctly uptilted nipples. Her pubic delta was dark blonde, thick and fluffy.

  ‘Well, let’s get her started on the housework,’ Stan said. ‘A bit of hoovering for you, girl. We want everywhere looking spotless.’

  Smiling brightly, Louisa brought in a cylinder vacuum cleaner trundling along on its casters. It was perfectly normal except for one addition that made Cassie’s eyes bulge. Just where the metal tube curved over, after the socket that connected it to the hose, a large, flesh-coloured vibrator stood stiffly upright. It was held in place by wire and tape and glistened with freshly applied oil.

  Cassie started to back away from it, shaking her head. Stan caught hold of her by a fistful of hair. ‘You agreed to anything we chose to do with you as long as it wasn’t harmful. And this isn’t going to hurt. You might even enjoy it. But whether you do or not, we certainly will. And for the next week that’s all that matters.’

  While Stan held her, Louisa buckled a belt with lengths of string trailing from it about Cassie’s waist. It took a couple of flicks of the holly cane across her thighs to make Cassie spread her legs and straddle the hose. Louisa guided the vibrator between the tight lips of Cassie’s sex and pushed it home. Cassie gave a muffled grunt as the sculptured length of pliant oiled plastic slid up her vaginal sheath, plugging her tightly. The cords trailing from her belt were tied about the vacuum hose in front and behind her, holding the vibrator firmly in place. Cassie could only stand with awkwardly splayed legs while the hose trailed tail-like behind her and the tube and cleaner head jutted out before her in the manner of some bizarre phallus.

  Stan Jessop turned on the machine and Cassie shivered as the whine of the motor was transmitted up the hose to her groin. Before she could come to terms with the disturbing sensation, Louisa switched on the vibrator. Cassie moaned as it came to buzzing life inside her. It was impossible to ignore and in seconds she felt her vagina growing slick with lubrication while her nipples began to swell and harden. Jessop noticed this and flicked the blossoming buds with his finger. ‘I told you you’d enjoy it,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Now start sweeping.’

  Cassie pushed forward half-heartedly, rubbing the brush head over the carpet. Louisa swiped her cane across Cassie’s backside, making her jerk her hips convulsively, sending the buzzing vibrator gouging even deeper into her.

  ‘Haven’t you ever used a Hoover before?’ Louisa said. ‘Do it properly!’

  Wretchedly, Cassie jerked her hips forward and back, working the brush into the carpet pile. Then she took a splay-legged step forward, dragging the cylinder after her, and cleaned the next section. And with every move she made, the vibrator churned about within her, letting no part of her insides escape its insidious stimulation.

  As she worked her way across the room Cassie began to feel a familiar sense of anticipation growing in her loins. She would have thought her circumstances would have made arousal impossible, but it seemed instead to have heightened her senses. The metal tube between her thighs was getting slick with her juices. Blushing furiously she lowered her head, trying to focus only on the carpet, but it was impossible to conceal what was happening.

  Cassie snatched a sidelong glance at the Jessops to see Stan with a camera in one hand while his other arm was about his wife. Even as she glanced at them she saw Stan slip his hand inside Louisa’s blouse and fondle her breast, while whispering something in her ear which made her smile. Tara had said these people were too stupid and repressed to be inventive about sex. How could she have been so wrong?

  Despite her shame, reflex was taking over now. Cassie was grinding the brush head ever harder into the floor to work the vibrator about within her, surrendering to her natural urges. She just made it into the hall when she convulsed in the throws of an orgasm, grunting and gasping, sinking to her knees and bucking her hips frantically before collapsing onto her side with the vibrator still buzzing inside her.

  As though from a great distance she heard Stan Jessop saying: ‘We’ll give you five minutes to get over that. Then you’ve got the stairs to do …’

  Sian squatted on the scarred wooden top of the heavy workbench in Jim Curry’s shed. A chain fastened to a beam overhead was hooked to the back of her collar, ensuring she held her position. Her left hand was still cuffed behind her back, its partner locked to a belt Jim had fastened about her waist. Her right arm was free, but her hand had been taped about the handle of a dustpan brush so that she could not release it. Her knees were spread wide, concealing nothing. Jim had earlier taken some satisfaction in arranging Sian’s posture so that this should be so, then examining and photographing her at his leisure.

  She had a black, shoulder-length mop of hair, matching dark intense eyes and straight brows. Her neat slightly uptilted nose was set in a heart-shaped face. She had a slim body, a tiny waist and a small pale rounded bottom. Her breasts were apple-like in their firm rotundity, with nipples that Jim had been interested to discover resembled little more than crinkled buds at rest but under handling swelled to plump rounded cones. The pubic hair between her thighs was as dark and thick as that on her head.

  Physically she was undeniably a pretty girl, Jim conceded, though when he had seen her in the past he thought there was something a shade calculating and aloof about her eyes. At this moment, however, her eyes communicated only discomfort, uncertainty and a wordless plea for mercy.

  Jim enjoyed the feeling that look gave him. For the first time in her life, however reluctantly, what he thought and felt mattered to Sian Llwellyn-Finch.

  As he fitted his devices to her he chatted cheerfully. The ball-gag stretching her lips into a helpless gape necessarily limited her responses.

  ‘I’ve always been good with my hands,’ he confided. ‘When I more or less retired I set myself u
p here the way I’d always wanted. I can make pretty well anything in wood or metal. I was really happy, you know …’ His mood darkened. ‘Then you and your friends started your nasty games. Remember the night you broke that window over there and sprayed everything you could reach with red paint? That ruined a really fine walnut-veneered table I’d been restoring. That wasn’t very nice, was it?’

  Sian shook her head while making small whines in the back of her throat.

  ‘Was that an apology?’

  Sian nodded vigorously.

  ‘You mean you did the spraying?’

  Desperate head shaking and what might have been a gurgled: ‘No, no …’

  ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter now. You’re all going to get the same treatment, after all. I’ve got plenty of ideas I want to try out on you lot.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s going to be an interesting week.’

  Sian whimpered, dropping her chin to her chest. Jim caught her by the scruff of the neck and pulled her head back up so she looked him in the eye.

  ‘Feeling sorry for yourself, are you? Well, can you really blame me for wanting a bit of revenge? And what better way than starting with you tidying up my workshop.’

  He unclipped her collar chain and bodily lifted her down onto the floor. She could not have climbed down herself. Jim walked round her, admiring his handiwork.

  Straps circled Sian’s upper thighs and ankles, making it impossible for her to straighten her legs and forcing her to remain in a squatting position. She did not fall over because she was sitting on the head of an old stiff-bristled yard broom with casters screwed to each end. All but a short section of its handle had been cut off and the remainder had then been encased in a sleeve of waterpipe insulating foam and bound with tape. This stump had then been forced into Sian’s tight little bottom hole and now, somewhat uncomfortably, plugged her rectum. Between her slim splayed thighs a large metal dustpan faced forward. Its handle, which Jim had bent upwards and also bound with foam and tape for grip, was buried in the depths of the pink cleft that peeped from Sian’s pubic bush. Wires secured through holes drilled in the rim of the pan ran up to Sian’s nipples, where the ends were twisted about the fleshy nubs, which seemed to remain swollen under their stimulus, much to their owner’s evident dismay.