Captives of Cheyner Close (17 page)

Her daydream was cut short by a sudden commotion from the bottom of the garden.

Somebody was shouting loudly even as the timbers of the back fence shook. There was the sound of a body crashing though the overgrown shrubs in the lower boarder and then heavy feet pounding across the lawn.

‘What have you done to them?’ a man cried in horror as he ran into view. ‘I’ll save you, Miss Tara!’

It was Simon Pye.

* * *

It was absolutely the worst moment of Tara’s life,

She thought she had plumbed the depths of shame and degradation over the last few days, but to have Simon Pye of all people see her like this was too much to bear. He was a simple-minded gardener who worked for her father, for God sake! Tara cringed, suddenly acutely aware of her nakedness, and futilely tried to cover her breasts and pubes by hugging the half-filled grass bag to her. On either side of her the other girls were doing the same. They had grown used to the residents seeing them naked, but Simon was an intruder from outside, a shocking reminder of their old life where what they were doing right now was unthinkable and degrading.

Simon Pye was arguing with Narinda and Major Warwick and pointing angrily at the girls, while trying not to actually look at their naked bodies. If they didn’t let them go right now he’d call the police and –

All the time Louisa Jessop had been working the controls of her camera. Now she held its screen up in front of Simon’s flushed face.

‘… is Simon, you know, all right?’

From where they crouched on the grass they could hear the audio playback. It was Cassie’s voice, and with sudden horrible clarity they all knew where and when the images to accompany it had been recorded. Tom Fanning had done his job all too well.

Tara winced and lowered her head out of a sense of shame even deeper than that she had felt only moments earlier. The absolute worse moment in her life had just been surpassed. One by one the others did the same, not wanting to meet Simon’s eyes. Relentlessly the recording played on, and as it did so Simon’s face turned from anger though confusion to misery.

‘… that’s what this week’s for: to remind them exactly where they belong.’

Louisa turned off her camera. Warwick put a hand on Simon’s shoulder and led the young man into the house, leaving the girls in the charge of the two women.

Narinda clapped her hand briskly. ‘Back to work. You’ve a job to finish.’

They bent to their task without a murmur, grateful to have something to occupy them, happy not to have to look into each other’s faces.

An hour later Warwick returned to the garden alone. The living mowing machine was halted and the girls permitted to sit back on their heels to listen to what he had to say.

‘Simon Pye now understands why we’ve been treating you like this,’ Warwick told them gravely. ‘He’s seen recordings of your confessions and knows everything you’ve done to us over the last eighteen months. Needless to say he will not be attempting to rescue you again. Being an honest young man he thought you should be turned over to the police –’ Tara’s heart skipped a beat and Gail drew in her breath in alarm ‘– but I have persuaded him that justice will be served if we continue our course of private punishment. On this understanding he has agreed to keep both your crimes and our retribution secret. He will also maintain the illusion that you are away on holiday and mind your camp and possessions.’ His gaze lingered on Tara, Cassie and Sian as he added: ‘Some of you must realise how badly you both insulted Simon and spurned his trust, apart from implicating him as a potential accessory to your activities, which could have got him into serious trouble had things worked out differently. At some
time
you’ll have to make your peace with him, one way or another. But for the moment we shall continue as before.’

They went back to work again.

As they clipped their way across the seemingly endless lawn, Tara fought a silent battle with her conscience. Of course Simon wasn’t important as such, but unlike the residents of the Close he had done nothing to harm her. He had been totally loyal and trusting, he’d known his place and had actually been worried enough to come looking for her when he thought she was in trouble. And in return she had used him rather callously. It had been a challenge to pursue her war against the Close, whereas wrapping Simon round her little finger had taken next to no effort or ingenuity at all. It was nothing of which to be proud.

It was mid-afternoon before they finished cutting the lawn, and a positive relief to be locked into their bed frames and rest their aching backs. But there was no swapping of stories between Gail, Daniela and Hazel, nor sniping from Sian and Cassie; just a long awkward silence, which Daniela eventually broke.

‘It was nice of Simon to try to rescue us,’ she said simply.

‘Yeah, he’s a real fuckin’ white knight,’ Cassie said scornfully. ‘Now we’ve got to live with him knowing what we’ve been through.’

‘He’s not working in Fernleigh Rise ever again,’ Sian said. ‘How could we have him in our gardens after he’s seen us like this? You can get rid of him, Tara. You must!’

‘He was just doing what he thought was right,’ Tara said impatiently. ‘Warwick said he’d keep quiet and I believe him.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ Cassie exclaimed. ‘What if he changes his mind and tells on us?’

‘Buy him off,’ Sian said desperately. ‘Set him up somewhere else. You want to tear down his house anyway –’

‘Shut up!’ Tara snapped. ‘I’ll do whatever I choose about Simon when it comes to it, but for now I’m just thinking about getting through the next few days.’

There was another silence, then Gail said: ‘Whatever anybody else does, I’m going to apologise to him. It wasn’t right getting him involved in our business like this. He could have got into real trouble if the police had found out.’

Hazel and Daniela murmured their agreement, and Hazel asked: ‘Tara, how much did you tell him about what we were doing?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Tara said.

‘But how much?’ Hazel persisted.

Tara sighed. ‘Just that we wanted to stay in the woods quietly for a week as a joke. He didn’t ask anything else. He was good like that. He did what he was told.’

‘He won’t be so good in future,’ Daniela observed.

‘Do you think he’ll, well, try to get his own back at us in some way?’ Hazel wondered.

‘Oh, God!’ Cassie moaned. ‘Don’t say we’ve got to worry about him stalking us? Why couldn’t you have found somebody normal, Tara?’

‘It didn’t help you and Sian calling him “simple” and “stupid”,’ Gail pointed out. ‘Anybody might get angry after hearing that.’

‘It’s not our fault!’ Sian snapped. ‘All this is down to Tara and her stupid bloody war on Cheyner Close. That’s what got us into this.’

‘I didn’t hear you complaining while we were having fun,’ Tara said. ‘You’ve had eighteen months
to
say something. Having regrets just because things have gone wrong and now you’re feeling sorry for yourself?’

Sian didn’t answer. After a moment Daniela asked quietly: ‘Are you sorry about the things we’ve done to the people in the Close, Tara?’

There was a long silence before Tara said thoughtfully: ‘I think I misjudged them …’

The soft tomato burst with a stinging smack against Tara’s right breast, momentarily driving her hard nipple back into its fleshy resilience, and spraying pulp and seeds all over her. Its remains slithered down her body, mingling with the slimy streaks of egg and rotten apple that already plastered her. Tara swayed about on her treacherous mount, her thighs trying to clench. She was filthy and bedraggled and humiliated … and she was going to come at any moment.

The evening’s entertainment was taking place in Gerald Spooner’s garden once again. It was a variation on the old-fashioned pillory.

A heavy rope had been slung high up between two trees and drawn tight. Thinner ropes were slung over this and tied to the girls’ wrists, which had been strapped in front of them, and then pulled tight, drawing them up until their toes dangled clear of the grass. Then the pogo sticks had been fitted.

They were not actual pogo sticks, of course, but wooden rods about the length of walking sticks with crosspieces screwed into place close to their lower ends. The upper ends of the rods were capped with fluorescent-coloured play balls, bristling with soft rubber prongs.

These had of course been forced up into their vaginas, making them gasp and shiver as the prongs worked their way into their tunnels of ribbed flesh.
Their
ankles had then been spread and strapped to the crossbars. The lower ends of the rods dug into the ground, leaving the tops to sway about as they shifted their weight, half-supported by the sticks and half by their bound wrists. This motion stirred the pronged balls lodged in their warm wet elastic sheaths. The only way to minimise the torment was to hold as still as possible. But being suspended from the same rope meant they kept shaking each other off balance as they wobbled about comically, like counterweighted toys that never quite fell over however much they rocked and swayed.

If that was not enough, the residents had lined up before them with boxes of old tomatoes, eggs and apples, and started hurling them at them. Even old Spooner himself joined in. The impact of these missiles made them flinch and gyrate even more, as did their almost entirely futile but instinctive attempts to dodge, only adding to their perverse misery.

They were being used for malicious target practice, no better than some fairground coconut shy, Tara thought. It was mean and so utterly humiliating … and still her juices were running down her thighs along with the other muck coating her.

Gail’s buttocks twitched and clenched. She gave a long sigh and then sagged forward, her back bowed and her lovely big filth-streaked breasts hanging pendant like ripe fruits. The rain of eggs, tomatoes and rotten fruits turned to the remaining five girls.

So that was how it worked …

Tara clenched her inner muscles tight about the pronged ball on which she was impaled and squirmed about desperately, willing herself to come. Panting and gasping she rode the rod until the blissful knot in her loins burst and flooded her with raw pleasure. Letting go she hung limp, not trying to dodge any
more,
surrendering herself in the hope the residents would obey the rules of the game. And they did.

The girls were in such a sticky smelly mess by the time the game finished that Stan Jessop unrolled a garden hose and sprayed them over to wash off the worst of the muck. Each resident was nevertheless advised to give their slave for the night a proper shower when they get them home. Still, everybody agreed it had been a good game.

It was only as she hung from her wrists dripping wet and shivering that Tara thought to wonder why she had not tried to fake an orgasm to remove herself from the firing line. After all the deceptions she had perpetrated, why not this most minor and excusable one to save herself unnecessary discomfort? Why had she become so determined to play the residents’ games by their rules? Was she trying to prove something to herself?

Tom Fanning worked the shampoo well into Sian’s thick black hair. She twisted her head about, screwing up her eyes as the lather rolled down her face.

‘Don’t squirm so much, girl,’ he said, directing the jet from the shower to rinse the suds away. ‘You want to get properly clean, don’t you?’

Sian spluttered and blinked and gave a resentful nod.

Tom couldn’t let her get away with that. He reached for his holly cane, which had never been far from hand in recent days even in the shower, and swished it across her lean stomach. She yelped and twisted away as far as her upstretched arms, which were cuffed to a large hook set high up the shower cubical, allowed. He caught her by the chin and turned her head back round to face him once more.

‘I don’t expect you to pretend to like this, but you will speak when you’re spoken to and you will do it properly. Those are the rules, remember?’

‘Yes, Master,’ Sian said contritely. ‘I’m sorry, Master.’

‘That’s better. I may be new to handling slavegirls but I’m learning fast. And one thing I expect is a proper show of subservience.’

Sian hung her head humbly. ‘Yes, Master.’

Tom lifted her chin up again. ‘That’s the idea, but you can look me in the eye. You’ve got a nice face when you let yourself smile.’ He looked her slim wet body up and down and grinned. ‘A nice everything, in fact …’

This was the fourth naked and handcuffed girl he’d been in the shower with since Saturday. Even in his adolescent dreams he’d never imagined anything like this. He was pale and not in great shape, while she was tanned and supple, no doubt courtesy of an expensive health club. But for tonight she belonged to him. The shower water ran off the end of his joyfully tumescent penis.

He began playing with Sian’s soapy body. Her little rounded breasts were wonderfully firm, tipped with hard nipples. Sian rested her head back against the tiles and bit her lip, but she kept her eyes on him as he had instructed.

‘I had Hazel last night, and she was great fun to play with,’ Tom said chattily. ‘But so far you’ve been behaving like your friend Cassie. I had her on Saturday and she was a streak of misery, far worse than Tara, at least until I encouraged her to brighten up. Do you want to be bright or miserable?’

She licked her lips. ‘I’ll try to be bright, Master.’

‘That’s better. Of course we both know you’d rather not be here at all, but since you are you might
as
well make the best of it, even if it’s only out of pure selfishness. As I said, Cassie took a lot of persuading to cheer up. If you’re sensible you’ll save yourself some unnecessary pain and at least act responsively …’

By now his hands had travelled down the curve of her stomach and slipped between her slender thighs into the still-soapy tangle of her pubic bush.

Sian gulped and spread her legs wider. ‘I’ll be sensible, Master.’ She forced a smile. ‘Will you – will you wash my pussy, please?’

Tom was glad to see that rather haughty and superior expression finally wiped from her face. She might learn in time. But whether she did or not, he’d have his fun with her. That was the bargain.