Lost Property, page 14
One night, soon after, she was woken by a rattling at the door of her cell, and peering sleepily towards it she saw Mike fumbling with the lock. Eventually he unfastened it and entered, closing the padlock behind him. He was a silhouette against the dim light that was on permanently in the corridor but as he came to stand over her she caught the rich smell of spirits on his breath. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off then sat heavily on the side of her bed, kicked off his shoes and then stood again to drop his pants and trousers.
Kath watched him with a strange mixture of emotions. Night after night she had lain here and felt herself pour out her juices at the thought of being taken by one of the men. But now that it was happening, she realised that it had been a long time since she had been taken by a man. And Mike was definitely all man. As he stood up she could see his physique in sharp relief and also the jutting pole of his erection. Despite the abruptness of how this was inevitably going to happen, Kath felt herself heat and melt at the sight. But at the same time she felt a pang of longing for her Mistress. The last man who had fucked her had been a slave to one of Angie’s domme friends, an overweight man with a thick thatch of body hair. It had only been the pleasure she saw in Angie’s face as she watched Kath open herself to someone she felt no attraction towards at all that had enabled her to moisten enough to accept his thick cock into her. And Angie had gone on laughing and joking with her friends while the man had rutted away at her. It had been that careless disposal of her body that had propelled her to orgasm under the man. And that of course had led to more amusement among the dominants.
But her thoughts were interrupted by Mike pulling aside the quilt roughly and climbing into bed with her. There was precious little room as Mike was a big man, and that meant that Kath came into contact with the whole of a man’s body virtually all at once. She felt its rough hairiness and the hard muscles of his arms and thighs, and there was the iron hardness of his cock digging into her side.
“Pretty little whore, you are!” he said, slurring a little. “Need to fuck you good!”
Kath’s breath came out as a tremulous sigh as she turned towards him, her back against the bricks of the cell wall and her hands began to trace the muscular contours of his body, inevitably finding their way to his groin. For his part he groped in the semi dark for her breasts, closing his massive hands in her flesh and mauling it harshly. It was just what she liked and she thrust them harder at him to encourage him. He chuckled and moved one hand down her body, cupping her vulva in it, his fingers spreading out across her bottom, his palm beginning to exert pressure on her clitoris. He began to rub at it at the same time as he slipped his other hand away from her breast and put it around her shoulders, drawing her to him. She went willingly, thrilled that at last her nudity had achieved some response. She wriggled to lie underneath him and caught her breath as he shifted his grip on her crotch and his thick fingers entered her while his thumb rubbed even more harshly at her clitoris. His erection dug into her stomach. His mouth descended over hers, redolent of whisky, demanding, hard, his tongue thrusting into her open mouth. Then with a suddenness that made her groan, he took his fingers out of her and shifted to lie between her wide-spread legs. She reached down and gripped his shaft, almost scaring herself as she tried to clasp her fingers round its thickness, but in a sudden hurry to feel it inside her, she lodged it at her entrance, he thrust, and in one smooth movement he was inside her and then further inside her and she groaned into his mouth as he thrust again and she felt him hit her cervix.
It was so good to have a man again.
She reached her arms around him to try and encompass his size. She wrapped her legs around him to open herself even more, his weight bore her down and squeezed the breath from her as he thrust for his release, then suddenly he was pounding into her, making the bed springs squeak as he drove her downwards, again and again. From deep inside her a tide of ecstasy flowered and flooded her whole body as her vagina was stimulated beyond anything it had experienced for so long. And still he thrust, now his face was beside hers and she bared her teeth into the dark as she fought for her own climax, slapping up against him as he ground down into her. Then she came, arching up off the bed, even lifting him with her as her pleasure exploded inside her. Beside her she heard Mike roar as he spent himself into her and then he slumped down on top of her, breathing heavily.
Slowly Kath recovered her own breathing and realised that she was pinned under a very heavily asleep man. She wriggled sideways as best she could and eventually managed to prop herself up against the curving wall. She looked down at him and smiled fondly at the memory of how it had felt to have him inside her, then realised that there was virtually no room for her to sleep. It was fairly warm so the thought of stripping the quilt off and wrapping it around her while she slept on the floor seemed the only alternative and she had just managed to crawl over him and was standing beside the bed when she noticed his clothes. His trousers were in a heap and on the belt, shining dully in the low light was a key ring.
Her heart stopped for a second and then pounded. But her first thought was to get to her phone, speak to Angie, resolve all the questions, put her mind at rest, the notion of escape never entered her head. She carefully manoeuvred the ring off the belt and dropping the quilt she went over to the door. At the second attempt she found the padlock key and tip-toed out, making sure that Mike was breathing deeply and steadily. The door out of the cell corridor was the next on the ring and she was in the passage that led to the bathrooms and where they ate, doors opening off it just led to the other girls’ cells. Desperately she tried to remember the route they had taken the first day they had been brought there. The locker room was through the medical room and that was beyond the kitchen. The only light now was what came through the windows but with her eyes acclimatising, she crept forwards. One door after another opened and she found herself in the kitchen. The door out was locked but she found the key eventually and was finally in the passage that led to the medical room. It was all she could do not to run. At last she could talk to Angie, find out the truth and then tell the world the truth about Proteus. The dampness trickling down her thighs embarrassed her as she remembered how eagerly she had received her jailer. But it was wrong, she told herself, she was being held against her will.
The door to the locker room opened, the bag with the keys was hanging on a hook – they must have been so confident! she thought as she hunted through it trying key after key until she found hers. Then there was a frantic fumble in the dark among her clothes – they felt strange to her, like someone else’s – and then there was the comforting plastic rectangle. She turned it on and was almost blinded by the screen light, hastily she used the locker door to shield it until it was ready and then with trembling fingers she found Angie’s number and called it, hoping that she would have the phone by her bed, but if not, she could leave a voice mail. Anything!
“Hello?” A sleepy voice answered after four rings.
“Oh thank God!” Kath found her voice breaking with emotion at the sound of Angie’s voice.
Angie waited until the storms of emotion had abated somewhat.
“No, you silly little goose, I didn’t sell you! Yes, I’m sure they told you that. Maybe some of them were, but not you! Now just calm down and tell me what’s going on. Do you know where you are?”
She started to record off her mobile as Kath began to whisper her story.
“Okay, babe,” she said at last when Kath’s report was fully up to date – although she was sure that one of the guards would have fucked her by now, funny that she didn’t mention that. “You’ve done brilliantly. This is dynamite! Leave it with me, we’ll try and find you, I promise. In the meantime, stay safe and contact me again when you can.”
She broke the connection after she had given the girl enough endearments to calm her down, then she stood up, stretched and yawned. There was still time to get some sleep. Mostyn had done well and Kath had come in pretty well dead on time. In the morning she would play it all back and begin to edit and re-write it, a lot more sex was required for public consumption. It wasn’t as if Kath was ever going to read it, after all. Back in the bedroom, she slipped under the quilt and gently slid her arm over the sleeping blonde next to her.
“Please can I have some food?”
The voice was soft and lacked the defiant edge it had had for the past few days. Peter Lang grinned in the gloom outside the cell. He dipped the spoon into the broth and held it out to the slot cut in the door. There was a long silence and he could envisage the conflict raging within the slut as she debated whether to cave in after three days. But suddenly her mouth was there, opening hopefully and he began to feed her.
From here on in, it would be easy.
Chapter Eleven
The nights were warm and Blondie enjoyed the soft breezes that blew through the gaps in her two-part stable door as dawn neared. When her breakfast was served in her trough by a young woman who always smiled and called her ‘Ma Blonde’, the top half of the door was left open and she could stand and look out at the yard, which stabled real horses as far as she could see, and for the few days she had been there, it seemed the weather was permanently sunny. She knew that everyone was speaking French but that knowledge had caused her some discomfort. It had been on the first morning when she had been properly awake. She had woken on her bed in her stall and there had been two people standing over her, one was a smartly dressed man in his mid forties and the other was a dark haired woman in riding clothes, complete with the sort of riding hat and gauze veil that women used to wear to ride side saddle. They had spoken to each other about her and she had recognised the words as French.
“She is a magnificent specimen when you see her close up,” the woman said.
“She is indeed. We’ll give her a couple of days to recover and then run her and start making arrangements,” the man replied.
She had been able to speak French fluently back in the days when she used to go skiing a lot. That was back in the days before she had been…Suddenly it was as if she had been paddling in the shallows of a friendly blue sea but had taken one step too far and had found herself in cold, dark, deep waters, sinking fast. She didn’t want to go back there! In an attempt to physically thrust the thought away she turned over and sat up.
“Et voila!” the man said. “Already she is well on the road to being fit and healthy once more!”
Then they had gone and she had not seen them since. Mostly she had slept and used the time to rest, the stiffness in her legs had gradually faded, the welts had been rubbed with some sort of ointment by her regular girl and were now almost gone, so far as she could see. As she padded about her stall, her chain clinking and slithering along the cobbles beneath the straw, she was aware that various strains and pulls were settling back down. At home, the vet would have checked her out and Patti and the rest of the grooms would have fussed over her but Carlo had seen fit to hire her out to these people who seemed content to let her recover at her own pace.
By the third day she was becoming restless. She was perfectly capable of earning her keep, so why was no one playing with her or using her? They must have paid plenty for her, after all. She was also feeling very horny. Having gone down so early in the finale, she had missed out on the action with the men, and it was that which made everything else worthwhile as far as she was concerned. She had always been the last, or one of the last, to go down and had always taken repeated shaggings and orgasmed time and time again for the cameras. But not on this last occasion and she was left with a nagging feeling of need in her belly.
So when at last she heard footsteps and voices approaching her stall, she was standing hopefully just inside when the woman and the man reappeared. The woman was dressed as before, in a perfectly tailored dark green jacket that hugged every contour of her spectacular figure. She wore it over a crisp white shirt and Blondie could see a fabulously expensive gold chain and locket hanging against the tanned skin of her neck. As she unbolted the door and entered, Blonde saw that this time she was wearing a calf length skirt, that matched the jacket and was cut generously, over soft, brown leather boots. The man was in immaculately pressed tan slacks and a blue sweater. Simple and elegant.
The woman came straight over to her. “Here, girl,” she said in slightly accented English, and held out her hand. In it was one of her favourite shortbread biscuits. Eagerly she bent her head and came forward as the woman held her hand up so she could take it with her teeth and crunch it up.
“That’s a good pony,” she cooed and reached out to stroke her hair. She was several inches shorter than Blondie was so she bent her head to be petted and the woman laughed in delight and patted her flank before returning to stroking her.
“She’s clear of any marks now,” the man said, walking behind her. “We’ll run her and see how she goes.”
“Okay, but I want her shod,” the woman agreed and summoned Claire, the groom. The shoes were not the clumsy hoof-like ones she was sometimes run in, but were quite feminine with three inch wedge heels, steel soled. As she stood, obediently lifting each foot behind her while Claire straddled her calf to shoe her, the woman and man fetched her tack. And it was immediately clear that they wanted a show pony. The bridle was topped with pale green and blue feathers. The girth had a beautifully worked silver coat of arms on a plate that covered her stomach, and the tail that came off the crupper, mounted on and lifted by, an upward curving silver prong, was real palomino. For her breasts there were silver cones to go over her nipples and a clever, silver filigree device that came down from the front of her high, silver collar, parted between the breasts and supported them with wire cups worked into swirling and circling patterns, so that nothing was concealed – just perfectly displayed.
Blondie relaxed, her master had sent her somewhere where they really knew about ponies.
The tack wasn’t studded so it was comfortable. The crupper strap had a clitoral rasp and there was a butt plug to ensure that the prong which mounted the tail was held steady, but that was all. She was well used to the pins that pierced her nipples to hold the cones in place and merely stamped her feet irritably when they were applied. When the bridle went on, the woman spent some time admiring the heavy tongue ring she wore, before she passed the bit through it and clipped it to the rings and reins at either end. It was good to feel the straps being tightened under her chin and at her cheeks and nape again. She was back under control and her thoughts couldn’t wander into dangerous territory again.
As she was led out, her sandals clip-clopping and scraping on the stone, she saw a trap very similar to the ones she was used to pulling at The Lodge. It was large wheeled and with a quilted leather seat, it was a two-seater with the shafts curved in so that her wrists could be shackled to them comfortably. The long carriage whip stood in its holder, the lash stirring lazily in the faint breeze. She was led to the front and backed between the shafts which were then lifted so she could grasp them while the karabiners were fastened to the rings in her cuffs. Then while the woman seated herself and Blondie adjusted her grip as the weight shifted behind her, the man clipped blinkers onto her bridle.
With the taste of the steel bit in her mouth, the tight strapping about her head and body, her vision restricted and her hair, gathered into a pony tail, bouncing on her shoulders, her tail swishing against her thighs, she felt alive again. The whip lightly touched the centre of her back and she immediately leaned into her work. Within a few paces she was able to break into a trot and the reins were dragged hard to her right as she was made to turn the rig and head out of the yard. Once the rattling of the wheels over the cobbles had stopped and the trap was running on the hard- packed, red earth track that stretched in front of it, Blondie felt the whip flicked backwards and forwards across her back and shoulders a few times. She picked up the pace.
“Good girl!” the man’s voice called. “Trot on now!”
The whip rested lightly on her back again to tell her to keep it up and feeling content and happy, Blondie headed out into the parkland which was all she could see dead ahead of her. Gradually the track bent to her left and eventually, still trotting easily, she saw the house from between her blinkers.
It was the most beautiful château that she had ever seen. The panes in the tall windows sparkled in the morning sun and the blue tiled turrets and steep roofs reached high into the sky above the dormer windows of the third storey. It was surrounded by a mill pond smooth moat and the track was leading towards a bridge that spanned it. She was whipped up as they approached it to help her trot up the upward slope and then they were coasting down and around to the front door.
“Whoa!” the man called, hauling back on the reins and making the bit slide back into her mouth, dragging her tongue ring with it. She reared her head and leaned back, bringing the trap to a smooth halt at the foot of the stairs that led to the front door which opened and a woman dressed in an old fashioned serving maid’s dress came down the steps carrying a hamper. There was a slight alteration in the weight distribution behind her and she knew the hamper was being stowed behind the seat. Then she was whipped up again and they headed out into acres of secluded pasture and woodland.
