The Girlspell - Book 1 by William Avon

EXTRACT FOR
The Girlspell - Book 1 
(William Avon)


The Girlspell 1 - extract

After her tussle with Amber in Hoakam Woods and the accidental activation of the Puzzle Box, Melanie succumbed to an overwhelming urge to use one of the strange phalluses on herself… 

 

 Melanie recovered slowly from her orgasm. It had never felt so intense before, and she wondered if she hadn’t momentarily passed out from pleasure shock.

When she did open her eyes, she found herself staring up not into the sheltering rhododendron bush, but an interlaced canopy of high branches. She was lying in the open! She sat up with a jerk only to find the phallus was still lodged inside her. Gingerly she withdrew it, making an embarrassing sucking noise in the process, acutely aware of her still swollen nether lips. She really had used it hard, but how could she have got so excited about the thing? It seemed perfectly ordinary now.

She turned to put it back in its container. It had gone.

Her pack was beside her, a strap still looped around her arm, but not the black lacquer box. Dazed she looked around. Somehow the wood seemed thicker and greener than it had, and a clump of bluebells flowered just a few feet away. Surely that hadn’t been there before. She twisted about to look further only to freeze in amazement.

A wall ran along a broad swathe cut through the wood behind her and disappeared from sight in either direction. It was about twelve feet high and made of brick, mottled with moss and lichen, and topped with a row of black iron spikes. It had obviously been standing for years, yet she knew for a fact there was no such structure anywhere in Hoakam Woods.

Trying to stay calm, she wriggled back into her pants and shorts, hoping the guilty stains on the crotch would dry quickly. She put the phallus in her pack, stood up and brushed herself off. The search for Amber Jones had to be postponed until she found out where she was herself.

As she headed away from the wall the trees thinned to reveal a stretch of open fields. Beyond them was a lake and a patchwork of ornamental gardens, presided over by a grand country house. It had symmetrical wings and a portico supported by a row of tall columns projecting from one facade. Melanie knew all the large houses in the area and was certain there was nothing like it for twenty miles.

Feeling slightly dizzy she leaned against the tree beside her. Slowly she fingered the bark and looked up at its tall trunk and heavy branches. It was a mature elm, one of several in view along the edge of the wood. But Dutch Elm disease had killed all the elms around Hoakam years ago. Only scattered pockets survived anywhere in the country.

Deep inside her the suspicion began to grow that she was now a very long way from home, in a direction she could not begin to measure or understand. She thought of the mysterious box, the powerful sensations its phallus had generated and her blackout. Could it have been responsible, and could the same thing have happened to Amber Jones?

Even as she struggled to make sense of it all, she heard the sound of voices and the gentle clop of horses’ hooves. Quickly she crouched down in the shelter of a straggling laurel bush growing beside the elm, taking off her pack and holding it before her light singlet. Instinct told her to find out who was approaching before revealing herself.

Five riders appeared from between the trees, their mounts walking on at an easy pace. Two men and a woman came first with two more men trailing them. As they got closer Melanie saw the leader of the party was a vigorous ruddy-faced man in his fifties with a bristling moustache and greying sideburns. On his right was a smaller wiry clean-shaven man in a brown jacket and flat cap, while on his left rode the woman. She looked about twenty, pale-skinned, with blonde hair peeking from under her riding helmet as she glanced about keenly. She wore a long skirt or perhaps culottes, which Melanie thought looked a little dated. Then she noticed one of the men who took up the rear had a large moustache and both sported unfashionably long sideburns.

The older man’s words drifted over to her as he addressed the brown-jacketed man.

“… and see those dead branches are moved, Platt. We want a clear run through here.”

“Yes, Major,” he replied. “Perhaps they could go over to the stalking ground to give a bit more cover there?”

“Capital. Have the pack haul them. Give them a bit of hard exercise.”

“Right you are, sir.”

As the party rode on past Melanie wondered if she should reveal herself. They seemed harmless enough, but on the other hand how was she going to explain her presence?

Then the blonde woman leaned over and said something urgently to the man called the Major. He twisted round to look back and Melanie knew she had been spotted. Hesitantly she rose from her concealment. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m lost…” she began.

“What? A dashed trespasser!” the Major exclaimed.

“I say, tallyho, a bit of sport!” cried the young man with the moustache. He turned his mount about and headed straight for Melanie, flourishing his riding crop menacingly.

“Remember I saw her first, Gerard!” shouted the young woman to him, spurring on her own mount by a flick across the flanks with the springy switch she carried.

“Race you for her, Arabella!” the other young man said, following on close behind.

With a cold shock Melanie realised she had totally misjudged these people. She didn’t waste her breath on any more words but dropped her pack and took to her heels.

“Don’t let her get away!” she heard the Major bellow as she disappeared through the trees.

Melanie ran harder than she had ever done before. She twisted between the trees, crashed through brushwood and leaped spreading roots. She knew she dare not try to escape over open ground or they would catch her in moments. Her only chance lay in keeping to the woodland where the horses’ speed was limited, and hope she could find a gate in the wall or someplace low enough to climb. But the wall seemed endless, unvarying in height and without a sign of any opening. The air was still and close under the trees. Sweat began to sting her eyes and run down between her heaving breasts and the cleft of her buttocks. Despite her efforts the three younger riders were closing in, shouting instructions to each other to head her off.

“There she goes Thomas!” Gerard called to his companion.

“Nimble little vixen, isn’t she?” Thomas replied.

“Yes…. and what a rump on her!”

Gasping for breath she ducked around a thicket and crouched down, letting the riders gallop past. Before they could turn about, she was off in the other direction. If she couldn’t outrun them perhaps she could find somewhere to hide. But she had forgotten the Major and Platt. They thundered out from between the trees and rode straight at her. She leapt to one side but the Major caught her across the shoulder with his crop. She stumbled and fell heavily, winding herself and rolling over and over. Before she could recover her breath the whole party had surrounded her. They leaned down from their saddles and lashed out with their crops until she curled up on the ground in a ball, too shocked by the cutting blows to move.

The assault ceased. Strong hands hauled her to her feet, pulling her arms outstretched and holding them firmly. Blinking away her tears she found the two younger men were holding her while the Major and Arabella dismounted, handing their reins to Platt.

The Major’s eyes gleamed as he looked Melanie’s trembling form up and down in disconcertingly frank appraisal.

“What a remarkably fine specimen,” he said heartily. “Such a turn of speed and agile with it.” He took Melanie’s chin between thumb and forefinger and turned her head from side to side. “One of our African cousins, it seems. I wonder how she got here?”

“She’s obviously an outlander,” said Gerard, twisting Melanie’s arm a little to hold her still. “Look at her clothes.”

“I’ve heard stories about outlanders,” said Thomas, “though I’ve never seen one myself before. But if they’re all as pretty as this I’d like to see more,” he added enthusiastically.

“I saw her first, Uncle,” Arabella reminded the Major, also looking Melanie up and down with disturbing interest. For a second Melanie read passion and hunger in her cool blue half-veiled eyes.

“All in good time, my dear,” the Major replied. He dropped his hand from Melanie’s chin to her still heaving left breast and experimentally cupped and squeezed it.

Melanie flinched and tried to pull away, finding enough breath to shout: “What the hell do you think you’re doing? How dare you!”

Arabella’s horse switch flicked out twice, left and right, the tip bringing burning fire to Melanie’s cheeks and fresh hot tears to her eyes. “You’ll speak only when you’re spoken to, girl, understand?” she said in a commanding tone. “Now what’s your name?”

“M… Melanie Kingston,” Melanie choked out, stunned by the suddenness of the blows.

“Melanie Kingston, Miss Arabella,” Arabella corrected her sternly.

“Miss Arabella,” Melanie added wretchedly.

“Well, Melanie,” said the Major, “you’ve been caught trespassing on my land - and we have ways of dealing with trespassers.” He smiled. “But first let us see what you’re hiding under these clothes. Strip her, gentlemen.”

“What?” Melanie gasped in disbelief even as the men began pulling at her singlet. Fear lending her renewed strength, she twisted about and kicked Gerard in the stomach. He let go of her arm and staggered backwards, doubling up and wheezing. Swinging round on Thomas, she grasped his shoulder, hooked her leg behind his knee and pushed, sending him sprawling on his back.

Arabella’s switch caught Melanie hard across the back of her knees, numbing her tendons. As her legs gave way the Major’s weight bore her to the ground face first, flattening her breasts into the grass. He straddled her torso and twisted her arms up behind her back. Thomas and Gerard recovered themselves and grabbed her thrashing legs.

“Platt,” the Major grunted as he rode Melanie’s struggling body, “fetch some restraints - we’re obviously going to need them.”

“Right you are, sir.” Platt remounted his horse and rode off.

“Our little brown vixen needs to be taught a lesson before we go any further,” the Major continued. “Bare her rump.”

Keeping her wrists crossed and arms pulled up towards him, he shifted around until he straddled Melanie’s head; ignoring her shriek of protest and trapping her face down between his knees. Gerard and Thomas pulled her wildly kicking legs straight, brought her ankles together and Gerard knelt across them. Thomas hooked his fingers over the waistband of Melanie’s shorts and pulled firmly, dragging them and her pants down over her hips, exposing the swelling fullness of her brown buttocks and the deep sweat-bedewed cleft between them. Arabella knelt beside Melanie’s pinioned form and ran her hand over the fleshy curves, sliding a finger between her cheeks to tease the crinkled tightness of her bottom hole, setting Melanie wriggling frantically and adding to the excitement of the spectacle she presented.

“Finest pair I’ve seen in years,” exclaimed the Major appreciatively.

“They’d certainly look splendid in harness, Sir,” Gerard agreed.

“Or with a tail dividing them,” Thomas suggested.

“Indeed,” the Major agreed. “One for the pack with any luck. Six strokes, please Arabella. Then we’ll give her a chance to decide.”

Cheeks flushed and nostrils flaring slightly in anticipation, Arabella laid the length of her thin springy switch across Melanie’s bottom to measure the swing, then lifted her arm and brought it down in a smooth arc. There was a smack of leather, a shockwave shiver of flesh and a stifled squeal from Melanie. A fine, slightly darker line appeared in the olive skin, bridging the cleft between the two hemispheres across their upper curves just below the base of the spine. Arabella swung a second time, aiming lower and angling sideways slightly, lifting the swelling flesh just above the crease where buttock met thigh and making it tremble with the blow. Another muffled squeal. Melanie’s hips wriggled as though she was trying to burrow into the ground to escape the punishment. Having scored parallel lines in the resilient flesh, Arabella changed her stance slightly and delivered two shorter cracks with the tip of her switch diagonally between them and across the curve of each cheek. Then she rose, stepped across Melanie’s outstretched form and knelt on her other side, turning so that she delivered the next two swings backhand. They neatly crossed the previous diagonals in the centre of both buttocks. Arabella paused for a moment to admire her symmetrical handiwork.

“The only trouble with darker skin is that it doesn’t show the marks so starkly,” she observed mildly. “You have to be a little firmer -” And she quickly delivered a seventh blow right across the middle of Melanie’s trembling bottom, joining the two “X’s she had marked in her dusky flesh.

“Arabella!” the Major said sharply. “I said six strokes!”

“What does it matter?” she said impatiently. “She’s only an outlander, a tramontane! It’s her fate to be used.”

“I promised her only six, then she’d have a chance to speak. Would you have me break my word?”

Arabella got to her feet scowling and stood flicking her switch petulantly across the grass. The three men turned Melanie over onto her back, the Major pulling her arms in front of her then stretching them firmly up over her head to prevent any further escape attempts.

But Melanie was temporarily beyond any thought of resistance. She had been subdued not only by the pain of the switching that burned her buttocks, but more by the total self-assurance of the strangers. It was as though she had been wrong to resist them and had been casually chastised for her error. Her world had been turned upside down and she felt hopelessly confused.

Keeping hold of her wrists with one hand the Major grasped her hair and pulled her head straight again so she had to look him in the eye. His face loomed upside down over her as he spoke earnestly.

“Now, girl, listen to me very carefully. I don’t know how it is in your land, but here you’ve broken the law. I’m the local Justice of the Peace, and I promise you’ll get six months for assaulting Thomas and Gerard. Then there’ll be charges for trespass, being a vagrant with no means of support or proper abode and illegal entry into the country. Not a day less than two years public servitude, all told. That is, unless you decide to behave sensibly.”

Melanie blinked back her tears. “What… do you mean?”

“If you voluntarily join the Hall pack for, say, a year, you’ll have legal abode and gainful service. Then if you apologise to Thomas and Gerard and promise them some good sport in return, perhaps they’ll forgive you.”

“The Hall pack?” Melanie asked hesitantly.

“My girlpack, of course. You’ve already shown you have what it takes. I’m always looking for strong, agile girls with spirit. They must be quick witted and ready to respond to the discipline of training for the hunt. You should be proud of the opportunity. The Markham Hall bitches are the best in the south.”

“You hunt women!” Melanie said, aghast.

“Of course,” the Major replied simply. “A fine sport.”

Melanie gulped, her mind spinning. “And… what happens when you catch them?”

The Major gave a rakish chuckle, making his moustache lift. “They’re enjoyed in the usual way, of course. What better prize can there be after the hunt?”

Arabella spoke up: “You’re not going to put her straight into the hunt, are you? I did see her first -”

“And you’ll have a chance to compete for her with the rest in due course,” he replied sharply. “Perhaps that’ll teach you to obey me in future.” The Major turned back to Melanie and slapped her cheek to regain her attention. “Well, girl? Do I call the constable and give you in charge, or do you choose the pack? It’s one or the other.”

As her captors looked down at her, eagerly awaiting her decision, a numbing sense of unreality descended on Melanie. She was genuinely being asked to decide between prison and a year of some bizarre form of sexual bondage! It could not be happening to her. It must be a crazy dream, a nightmare!

With a huge effort she focused her mind.

The hands that held her were real enough, as was the cool grass on which her hot striped bottom rested. It was reality, just not the one she had been born in. And if there was a way back to her own world it had to involve the phallus, which was in her pack back in the trees where she had dropped it. If she became part of this ‘girlpack’ (the thought made her shudder) she might get a chance to recover it. At least she would avoid being arrested like a common criminal. But did she have the nerve to see it through?

Summoning all her courage she took a deep breath and said: “I want to join the Hall girlpack, please, Major.”

The Major beamed. “That’s the spirit! Let her go,” he told the others. “Stand up, girl, and take off the rest of those clothes.”

Stiffly, her buttocks still smarting, Melanie climbed to her feet. Biting her lip she pulled her singlet over her head, and, after a moment’s fumbling with the catches, unsnapped her sports bra. With a shiver she dropped it to the ground, baring her breasts.

“Wait,” the Major ordered. ‘Clasp your hands behind your neck.”

Swallowing hard, Melanie obeyed, realizing how well the posture showed off her heavy breasts with their plump chocolate brown nipples. The Major reached over and squeezed Melanie’s right breast, pinching the nipple and stretching it until she gave a little gasp, then let snap back. He ran his fingers down her deep navel, noting her trim and supple waist.

“Continue,” he said.

Stifling a sob, Melanie dragged her shorts and pants down the rest of the way and tossed them aside, leaving herself completely naked except for her trainers. Without being told she clasped her hands behind her neck again.

“By Jove… splendid!” Thomas exclaimed.

Her waist swelled to broad hips, full rounded buttocks and thighs. Between them sprouted a thick fan of glossy black curls. Her smoothly muscled legs ran down to strong calves. Years of intense exercise caused her body to radiate strength and vitality.

The Major knelt in front of her and inserted a probing finger into the moist folds of plump flesh under her belly curls. Melanie gasped at his touch and clenched her thighs together by reflex, but the Major’s finger slipped inside her up to the knuckle. “Well, she’s no virgin,” he declared. He withdrew his finger and sniffed the glistening deposit that covered it with a smile. “And she’s been aroused recently.”

Melanie turned her head aside, her cheeks burning afresh in shame.

There came the sound of hoof beats. Platt rode up and dismounted. Melanie saw he was carrying a bundle of buckled leather straps and a length of chain. With a thrill of alarm she realised they were meant for her. Surely she couldn’t submit herself to such humiliation. Yet at the thought the tunnel of her vagina contracted and, incredibly, she felt her juices begin to flow. What was this place doing to her?

“On your knees and sit straight” the Major commanded, and Melanie obeyed. “This is Melanie,” the Major told Platt. “She has volunteered to join the Hall pack.”

“I’m sure she’ll make a fine addition, sir.”

“Secure her.”

Platt fitted a broad leather collar about Melanie’s neck. Leather cuffs linked by a short chain were fastened to a ring on the back and these he secured about her wrists, forcing her hands to remain in position. For a moment Melanie tugged against her restraints, but they were quite immovable. Platt clipped a longer and heavier chain to a ring on the front of her collar, leashing her securely. Her bondage had begun.

“Now,” the Major told her, “crawl to Mister Gerard and Mister Thomas, kiss their boots and beg forgiveness for striking them. Properly - shoulders down and bottom up!”

As though in a dream Melanie lowered her shoulders until her face and breasts pressed into the grass. She was acutely aware of the air caressing her hot taut up-thrust bottom cheeks and the pouch of dark flesh between them. Awkwardly she shuffled forward as well as her pinioned arms allowed, Platt walking beside her, allowing just enough slack on her chain to move. The humiliating thrill of her restraint and exposure burned within her stomach and flowed into her loins. She reached Gerard and kissed the instep of each of his shiny black riding boots, tasting leather and polish.

“Please forgive me for striking you, Mister Gerard,” she said, forcing the shameful words out.

“And hope to give him some good sport,” the Major reminded her.

“And I hope to give you good sport,” Melanie added wretchedly.

Gerard patted her on the head. “You’re forgiven, girl.”

She crawled bottom high over to Thomas and repeated her apologies, then back to the Major. All the while Arabella looked on with frustrated desire contorting her fine features; angrily flicking her switch to and fro. The Major however seemed satisfied with Melanie’s performance.

“Good girl. Take her away, Platt. I’ll see her tested myself later.”

“Right you are, sir.”

The Major returned to the horses, which had been peacefully cropping grass, and Thomas, Gerard and Arabella - with one last lingering glance at Melanie - followed him. They remounted and resumed their interrupted ride. As they disappeared between the trees, reaction set in and Melanie began to tremble. How could she have demeaned herself like that? She couldn’t do this -

Platt reached down and squeezed her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. Before she could protest he pushed in a hard rubber ball gag and secured it about the back of her neck with an integral loop of the same material. It pressed her tongue down making speech impossible, even as her lips were stretched and drawn back. Her bared teeth showed very white as they bit impotently on the gag separating them.

As she knelt shivering on the grass Platt walked thoughtfully about her, still holding the end of her leash, assessing her with an expert eye.

“Spread your knees wider,” he ordered. “A packgirl is always on display, she hides nothing.”

Miserably Melanie obeyed until her thighs were parted almost at right angles.

Platt continued his silent examination for a full minute. Then he stopped directly in front of Melanie, reached down with both hands, pinched a plump brown nipple each between thumb and forefinger and lifted. Melanie scrambled to her feet with a choking squeal. Platt kept pulling until she stood on tiptoe and her eyes were level with his. Yet she read no malice in his face, merely masterful assurance and earnest intent.

“From now on my word is law to you,” he said quietly. “The Markham pack are the best in the south and I want them to stay that way. Do what you’re told and don’t let me down, understand?”

And he continued to squeeze and roll her tender buds until, with eyes wide and glistening with tears, Melanie nodded her head vigorously.

Platt released his hold, gathered her discarded clothing and led her over to his horse. He mounted and started off, with Melanie walking beside him like a dog on a leash.

“Head up,” Platt commanded. “Lift your knees and move proudly!”

Fearful, helpless, dazed, Melanie obeyed.

And so it was, with her breasts bouncing prettily in time with her steps, she was led across the fields towards the Hall.

The Girlspell - Book 1 by William Avon

EXTRACT FOR
The Girlspell - Book 1 
(William Avon)


The Girlspell 1 - extract

After her tussle with Amber in Hoakam Woods and the accidental activation of the Puzzle Box, Melanie succumbed to an overwhelming urge to use one of the strange phalluses on herself… 

 

 Melanie recovered slowly from her orgasm. It had never felt so intense before, and she wondered if she hadn’t momentarily passed out from pleasure shock.

When she did open her eyes, she found herself staring up not into the sheltering rhododendron bush, but an interlaced canopy of high branches. She was lying in the open! She sat up with a jerk only to find the phallus was still lodged inside her. Gingerly she withdrew it, making an embarrassing sucking noise in the process, acutely aware of her still swollen nether lips. She really had used it hard, but how could she have got so excited about the thing? It seemed perfectly ordinary now.

She turned to put it back in its container. It had gone.

Her pack was beside her, a strap still looped around her arm, but not the black lacquer box. Dazed she looked around. Somehow the wood seemed thicker and greener than it had, and a clump of bluebells flowered just a few feet away. Surely that hadn’t been there before. She twisted about to look further only to freeze in amazement.

A wall ran along a broad swathe cut through the wood behind her and disappeared from sight in either direction. It was about twelve feet high and made of brick, mottled with moss and lichen, and topped with a row of black iron spikes. It had obviously been standing for years, yet she knew for a fact there was no such structure anywhere in Hoakam Woods.

Trying to stay calm, she wriggled back into her pants and shorts, hoping the guilty stains on the crotch would dry quickly. She put the phallus in her pack, stood up and brushed herself off. The search for Amber Jones had to be postponed until she found out where she was herself.

As she headed away from the wall the trees thinned to reveal a stretch of open fields. Beyond them was a lake and a patchwork of ornamental gardens, presided over by a grand country house. It had symmetrical wings and a portico supported by a row of tall columns projecting from one facade. Melanie knew all the large houses in the area and was certain there was nothing like it for twenty miles.

Feeling slightly dizzy she leaned against the tree beside her. Slowly she fingered the bark and looked up at its tall trunk and heavy branches. It was a mature elm, one of several in view along the edge of the wood. But Dutch Elm disease had killed all the elms around Hoakam years ago. Only scattered pockets survived anywhere in the country.

Deep inside her the suspicion began to grow that she was now a very long way from home, in a direction she could not begin to measure or understand. She thought of the mysterious box, the powerful sensations its phallus had generated and her blackout. Could it have been responsible, and could the same thing have happened to Amber Jones?

Even as she struggled to make sense of it all, she heard the sound of voices and the gentle clop of horses’ hooves. Quickly she crouched down in the shelter of a straggling laurel bush growing beside the elm, taking off her pack and holding it before her light singlet. Instinct told her to find out who was approaching before revealing herself.

Five riders appeared from between the trees, their mounts walking on at an easy pace. Two men and a woman came first with two more men trailing them. As they got closer Melanie saw the leader of the party was a vigorous ruddy-faced man in his fifties with a bristling moustache and greying sideburns. On his right was a smaller wiry clean-shaven man in a brown jacket and flat cap, while on his left rode the woman. She looked about twenty, pale-skinned, with blonde hair peeking from under her riding helmet as she glanced about keenly. She wore a long skirt or perhaps culottes, which Melanie thought looked a little dated. Then she noticed one of the men who took up the rear had a large moustache and both sported unfashionably long sideburns.

The older man’s words drifted over to her as he addressed the brown-jacketed man.

“… and see those dead branches are moved, Platt. We want a clear run through here.”

“Yes, Major,” he replied. “Perhaps they could go over to the stalking ground to give a bit more cover there?”

“Capital. Have the pack haul them. Give them a bit of hard exercise.”

“Right you are, sir.”

As the party rode on past Melanie wondered if she should reveal herself. They seemed harmless enough, but on the other hand how was she going to explain her presence?

Then the blonde woman leaned over and said something urgently to the man called the Major. He twisted round to look back and Melanie knew she had been spotted. Hesitantly she rose from her concealment. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m lost…” she began.

“What? A dashed trespasser!” the Major exclaimed.

“I say, tallyho, a bit of sport!” cried the young man with the moustache. He turned his mount about and headed straight for Melanie, flourishing his riding crop menacingly.

“Remember I saw her first, Gerard!” shouted the young woman to him, spurring on her own mount by a flick across the flanks with the springy switch she carried.

“Race you for her, Arabella!” the other young man said, following on close behind.

With a cold shock Melanie realised she had totally misjudged these people. She didn’t waste her breath on any more words but dropped her pack and took to her heels.

“Don’t let her get away!” she heard the Major bellow as she disappeared through the trees.

Melanie ran harder than she had ever done before. She twisted between the trees, crashed through brushwood and leaped spreading roots. She knew she dare not try to escape over open ground or they would catch her in moments. Her only chance lay in keeping to the woodland where the horses’ speed was limited, and hope she could find a gate in the wall or someplace low enough to climb. But the wall seemed endless, unvarying in height and without a sign of any opening. The air was still and close under the trees. Sweat began to sting her eyes and run down between her heaving breasts and the cleft of her buttocks. Despite her efforts the three younger riders were closing in, shouting instructions to each other to head her off.

“There she goes Thomas!” Gerard called to his companion.

“Nimble little vixen, isn’t she?” Thomas replied.

“Yes…. and what a rump on her!”

Gasping for breath she ducked around a thicket and crouched down, letting the riders gallop past. Before they could turn about, she was off in the other direction. If she couldn’t outrun them perhaps she could find somewhere to hide. But she had forgotten the Major and Platt. They thundered out from between the trees and rode straight at her. She leapt to one side but the Major caught her across the shoulder with his crop. She stumbled and fell heavily, winding herself and rolling over and over. Before she could recover her breath the whole party had surrounded her. They leaned down from their saddles and lashed out with their crops until she curled up on the ground in a ball, too shocked by the cutting blows to move.

The assault ceased. Strong hands hauled her to her feet, pulling her arms outstretched and holding them firmly. Blinking away her tears she found the two younger men were holding her while the Major and Arabella dismounted, handing their reins to Platt.

The Major’s eyes gleamed as he looked Melanie’s trembling form up and down in disconcertingly frank appraisal.

“What a remarkably fine specimen,” he said heartily. “Such a turn of speed and agile with it.” He took Melanie’s chin between thumb and forefinger and turned her head from side to side. “One of our African cousins, it seems. I wonder how she got here?”

“She’s obviously an outlander,” said Gerard, twisting Melanie’s arm a little to hold her still. “Look at her clothes.”

“I’ve heard stories about outlanders,” said Thomas, “though I’ve never seen one myself before. But if they’re all as pretty as this I’d like to see more,” he added enthusiastically.

“I saw her first, Uncle,” Arabella reminded the Major, also looking Melanie up and down with disturbing interest. For a second Melanie read passion and hunger in her cool blue half-veiled eyes.

“All in good time, my dear,” the Major replied. He dropped his hand from Melanie’s chin to her still heaving left breast and experimentally cupped and squeezed it.

Melanie flinched and tried to pull away, finding enough breath to shout: “What the hell do you think you’re doing? How dare you!”

Arabella’s horse switch flicked out twice, left and right, the tip bringing burning fire to Melanie’s cheeks and fresh hot tears to her eyes. “You’ll speak only when you’re spoken to, girl, understand?” she said in a commanding tone. “Now what’s your name?”

“M… Melanie Kingston,” Melanie choked out, stunned by the suddenness of the blows.

“Melanie Kingston, Miss Arabella,” Arabella corrected her sternly.

“Miss Arabella,” Melanie added wretchedly.

“Well, Melanie,” said the Major, “you’ve been caught trespassing on my land - and we have ways of dealing with trespassers.” He smiled. “But first let us see what you’re hiding under these clothes. Strip her, gentlemen.”

“What?” Melanie gasped in disbelief even as the men began pulling at her singlet. Fear lending her renewed strength, she twisted about and kicked Gerard in the stomach. He let go of her arm and staggered backwards, doubling up and wheezing. Swinging round on Thomas, she grasped his shoulder, hooked her leg behind his knee and pushed, sending him sprawling on his back.

Arabella’s switch caught Melanie hard across the back of her knees, numbing her tendons. As her legs gave way the Major’s weight bore her to the ground face first, flattening her breasts into the grass. He straddled her torso and twisted her arms up behind her back. Thomas and Gerard recovered themselves and grabbed her thrashing legs.

“Platt,” the Major grunted as he rode Melanie’s struggling body, “fetch some restraints - we’re obviously going to need them.”

“Right you are, sir.” Platt remounted his horse and rode off.

“Our little brown vixen needs to be taught a lesson before we go any further,” the Major continued. “Bare her rump.”

Keeping her wrists crossed and arms pulled up towards him, he shifted around until he straddled Melanie’s head; ignoring her shriek of protest and trapping her face down between his knees. Gerard and Thomas pulled her wildly kicking legs straight, brought her ankles together and Gerard knelt across them. Thomas hooked his fingers over the waistband of Melanie’s shorts and pulled firmly, dragging them and her pants down over her hips, exposing the swelling fullness of her brown buttocks and the deep sweat-bedewed cleft between them. Arabella knelt beside Melanie’s pinioned form and ran her hand over the fleshy curves, sliding a finger between her cheeks to tease the crinkled tightness of her bottom hole, setting Melanie wriggling frantically and adding to the excitement of the spectacle she presented.

“Finest pair I’ve seen in years,” exclaimed the Major appreciatively.

“They’d certainly look splendid in harness, Sir,” Gerard agreed.

“Or with a tail dividing them,” Thomas suggested.

“Indeed,” the Major agreed. “One for the pack with any luck. Six strokes, please Arabella. Then we’ll give her a chance to decide.”

Cheeks flushed and nostrils flaring slightly in anticipation, Arabella laid the length of her thin springy switch across Melanie’s bottom to measure the swing, then lifted her arm and brought it down in a smooth arc. There was a smack of leather, a shockwave shiver of flesh and a stifled squeal from Melanie. A fine, slightly darker line appeared in the olive skin, bridging the cleft between the two hemispheres across their upper curves just below the base of the spine. Arabella swung a second time, aiming lower and angling sideways slightly, lifting the swelling flesh just above the crease where buttock met thigh and making it tremble with the blow. Another muffled squeal. Melanie’s hips wriggled as though she was trying to burrow into the ground to escape the punishment. Having scored parallel lines in the resilient flesh, Arabella changed her stance slightly and delivered two shorter cracks with the tip of her switch diagonally between them and across the curve of each cheek. Then she rose, stepped across Melanie’s outstretched form and knelt on her other side, turning so that she delivered the next two swings backhand. They neatly crossed the previous diagonals in the centre of both buttocks. Arabella paused for a moment to admire her symmetrical handiwork.

“The only trouble with darker skin is that it doesn’t show the marks so starkly,” she observed mildly. “You have to be a little firmer -” And she quickly delivered a seventh blow right across the middle of Melanie’s trembling bottom, joining the two “X’s she had marked in her dusky flesh.

“Arabella!” the Major said sharply. “I said six strokes!”

“What does it matter?” she said impatiently. “She’s only an outlander, a tramontane! It’s her fate to be used.”

“I promised her only six, then she’d have a chance to speak. Would you have me break my word?”

Arabella got to her feet scowling and stood flicking her switch petulantly across the grass. The three men turned Melanie over onto her back, the Major pulling her arms in front of her then stretching them firmly up over her head to prevent any further escape attempts.

But Melanie was temporarily beyond any thought of resistance. She had been subdued not only by the pain of the switching that burned her buttocks, but more by the total self-assurance of the strangers. It was as though she had been wrong to resist them and had been casually chastised for her error. Her world had been turned upside down and she felt hopelessly confused.

Keeping hold of her wrists with one hand the Major grasped her hair and pulled her head straight again so she had to look him in the eye. His face loomed upside down over her as he spoke earnestly.

“Now, girl, listen to me very carefully. I don’t know how it is in your land, but here you’ve broken the law. I’m the local Justice of the Peace, and I promise you’ll get six months for assaulting Thomas and Gerard. Then there’ll be charges for trespass, being a vagrant with no means of support or proper abode and illegal entry into the country. Not a day less than two years public servitude, all told. That is, unless you decide to behave sensibly.”

Melanie blinked back her tears. “What… do you mean?”

“If you voluntarily join the Hall pack for, say, a year, you’ll have legal abode and gainful service. Then if you apologise to Thomas and Gerard and promise them some good sport in return, perhaps they’ll forgive you.”

“The Hall pack?” Melanie asked hesitantly.

“My girlpack, of course. You’ve already shown you have what it takes. I’m always looking for strong, agile girls with spirit. They must be quick witted and ready to respond to the discipline of training for the hunt. You should be proud of the opportunity. The Markham Hall bitches are the best in the south.”

“You hunt women!” Melanie said, aghast.

“Of course,” the Major replied simply. “A fine sport.”

Melanie gulped, her mind spinning. “And… what happens when you catch them?”

The Major gave a rakish chuckle, making his moustache lift. “They’re enjoyed in the usual way, of course. What better prize can there be after the hunt?”

Arabella spoke up: “You’re not going to put her straight into the hunt, are you? I did see her first -”

“And you’ll have a chance to compete for her with the rest in due course,” he replied sharply. “Perhaps that’ll teach you to obey me in future.” The Major turned back to Melanie and slapped her cheek to regain her attention. “Well, girl? Do I call the constable and give you in charge, or do you choose the pack? It’s one or the other.”

As her captors looked down at her, eagerly awaiting her decision, a numbing sense of unreality descended on Melanie. She was genuinely being asked to decide between prison and a year of some bizarre form of sexual bondage! It could not be happening to her. It must be a crazy dream, a nightmare!

With a huge effort she focused her mind.

The hands that held her were real enough, as was the cool grass on which her hot striped bottom rested. It was reality, just not the one she had been born in. And if there was a way back to her own world it had to involve the phallus, which was in her pack back in the trees where she had dropped it. If she became part of this ‘girlpack’ (the thought made her shudder) she might get a chance to recover it. At least she would avoid being arrested like a common criminal. But did she have the nerve to see it through?

Summoning all her courage she took a deep breath and said: “I want to join the Hall girlpack, please, Major.”

The Major beamed. “That’s the spirit! Let her go,” he told the others. “Stand up, girl, and take off the rest of those clothes.”

Stiffly, her buttocks still smarting, Melanie climbed to her feet. Biting her lip she pulled her singlet over her head, and, after a moment’s fumbling with the catches, unsnapped her sports bra. With a shiver she dropped it to the ground, baring her breasts.

“Wait,” the Major ordered. ‘Clasp your hands behind your neck.”

Swallowing hard, Melanie obeyed, realizing how well the posture showed off her heavy breasts with their plump chocolate brown nipples. The Major reached over and squeezed Melanie’s right breast, pinching the nipple and stretching it until she gave a little gasp, then let snap back. He ran his fingers down her deep navel, noting her trim and supple waist.

“Continue,” he said.

Stifling a sob, Melanie dragged her shorts and pants down the rest of the way and tossed them aside, leaving herself completely naked except for her trainers. Without being told she clasped her hands behind her neck again.

“By Jove… splendid!” Thomas exclaimed.

Her waist swelled to broad hips, full rounded buttocks and thighs. Between them sprouted a thick fan of glossy black curls. Her smoothly muscled legs ran down to strong calves. Years of intense exercise caused her body to radiate strength and vitality.

The Major knelt in front of her and inserted a probing finger into the moist folds of plump flesh under her belly curls. Melanie gasped at his touch and clenched her thighs together by reflex, but the Major’s finger slipped inside her up to the knuckle. “Well, she’s no virgin,” he declared. He withdrew his finger and sniffed the glistening deposit that covered it with a smile. “And she’s been aroused recently.”

Melanie turned her head aside, her cheeks burning afresh in shame.

There came the sound of hoof beats. Platt rode up and dismounted. Melanie saw he was carrying a bundle of buckled leather straps and a length of chain. With a thrill of alarm she realised they were meant for her. Surely she couldn’t submit herself to such humiliation. Yet at the thought the tunnel of her vagina contracted and, incredibly, she felt her juices begin to flow. What was this place doing to her?

“On your knees and sit straight” the Major commanded, and Melanie obeyed. “This is Melanie,” the Major told Platt. “She has volunteered to join the Hall pack.”

“I’m sure she’ll make a fine addition, sir.”

“Secure her.”

Platt fitted a broad leather collar about Melanie’s neck. Leather cuffs linked by a short chain were fastened to a ring on the back and these he secured about her wrists, forcing her hands to remain in position. For a moment Melanie tugged against her restraints, but they were quite immovable. Platt clipped a longer and heavier chain to a ring on the front of her collar, leashing her securely. Her bondage had begun.

“Now,” the Major told her, “crawl to Mister Gerard and Mister Thomas, kiss their boots and beg forgiveness for striking them. Properly - shoulders down and bottom up!”

As though in a dream Melanie lowered her shoulders until her face and breasts pressed into the grass. She was acutely aware of the air caressing her hot taut up-thrust bottom cheeks and the pouch of dark flesh between them. Awkwardly she shuffled forward as well as her pinioned arms allowed, Platt walking beside her, allowing just enough slack on her chain to move. The humiliating thrill of her restraint and exposure burned within her stomach and flowed into her loins. She reached Gerard and kissed the instep of each of his shiny black riding boots, tasting leather and polish.

“Please forgive me for striking you, Mister Gerard,” she said, forcing the shameful words out.

“And hope to give him some good sport,” the Major reminded her.

“And I hope to give you good sport,” Melanie added wretchedly.

Gerard patted her on the head. “You’re forgiven, girl.”

She crawled bottom high over to Thomas and repeated her apologies, then back to the Major. All the while Arabella looked on with frustrated desire contorting her fine features; angrily flicking her switch to and fro. The Major however seemed satisfied with Melanie’s performance.

“Good girl. Take her away, Platt. I’ll see her tested myself later.”

“Right you are, sir.”

The Major returned to the horses, which had been peacefully cropping grass, and Thomas, Gerard and Arabella - with one last lingering glance at Melanie - followed him. They remounted and resumed their interrupted ride. As they disappeared between the trees, reaction set in and Melanie began to tremble. How could she have demeaned herself like that? She couldn’t do this -

Platt reached down and squeezed her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. Before she could protest he pushed in a hard rubber ball gag and secured it about the back of her neck with an integral loop of the same material. It pressed her tongue down making speech impossible, even as her lips were stretched and drawn back. Her bared teeth showed very white as they bit impotently on the gag separating them.

As she knelt shivering on the grass Platt walked thoughtfully about her, still holding the end of her leash, assessing her with an expert eye.

“Spread your knees wider,” he ordered. “A packgirl is always on display, she hides nothing.”

Miserably Melanie obeyed until her thighs were parted almost at right angles.

Platt continued his silent examination for a full minute. Then he stopped directly in front of Melanie, reached down with both hands, pinched a plump brown nipple each between thumb and forefinger and lifted. Melanie scrambled to her feet with a choking squeal. Platt kept pulling until she stood on tiptoe and her eyes were level with his. Yet she read no malice in his face, merely masterful assurance and earnest intent.

“From now on my word is law to you,” he said quietly. “The Markham pack are the best in the south and I want them to stay that way. Do what you’re told and don’t let me down, understand?”

And he continued to squeeze and roll her tender buds until, with eyes wide and glistening with tears, Melanie nodded her head vigorously.

Platt released his hold, gathered her discarded clothing and led her over to his horse. He mounted and started off, with Melanie walking beside him like a dog on a leash.

“Head up,” Platt commanded. “Lift your knees and move proudly!”

Fearful, helpless, dazed, Melanie obeyed.

And so it was, with her breasts bouncing prettily in time with her steps, she was led across the fields towards the Hall.

EXTRACT FOR
The Girlspell - Book 1 
(William Avon)


The Girlspell 1 - extract

After her tussle with Amber in Hoakam Woods and the accidental activation of the Puzzle Box, Melanie succumbed to an overwhelming urge to use one of the strange phalluses on herself… 

 

 Melanie recovered slowly from her orgasm. It had never felt so intense before, and she wondered if she hadn’t momentarily passed out from pleasure shock.

When she did open her eyes, she found herself staring up not into the sheltering rhododendron bush, but an interlaced canopy of high branches. She was lying in the open! She sat up with a jerk only to find the phallus was still lodged inside her. Gingerly she withdrew it, making an embarrassing sucking noise in the process, acutely aware of her still swollen nether lips. She really had used it hard, but how could she have got so excited about the thing? It seemed perfectly ordinary now.

She turned to put it back in its container. It had gone.

Her pack was beside her, a strap still looped around her arm, but not the black lacquer box. Dazed she looked around. Somehow the wood seemed thicker and greener than it had, and a clump of bluebells flowered just a few feet away. Surely that hadn’t been there before. She twisted about to look further only to freeze in amazement.

A wall ran along a broad swathe cut through the wood behind her and disappeared from sight in either direction. It was about twelve feet high and made of brick, mottled with moss and lichen, and topped with a row of black iron spikes. It had obviously been standing for years, yet she knew for a fact there was no such structure anywhere in Hoakam Woods.

Trying to stay calm, she wriggled back into her pants and shorts, hoping the guilty stains on the crotch would dry quickly. She put the phallus in her pack, stood up and brushed herself off. The search for Amber Jones had to be postponed until she found out where she was herself.

As she headed away from the wall the trees thinned to reveal a stretch of open fields. Beyond them was a lake and a patchwork of ornamental gardens, presided over by a grand country house. It had symmetrical wings and a portico supported by a row of tall columns projecting from one facade. Melanie knew all the large houses in the area and was certain there was nothing like it for twenty miles.

Feeling slightly dizzy she leaned against the tree beside her. Slowly she fingered the bark and looked up at its tall trunk and heavy branches. It was a mature elm, one of several in view along the edge of the wood. But Dutch Elm disease had killed all the elms around Hoakam years ago. Only scattered pockets survived anywhere in the country.

Deep inside her the suspicion began to grow that she was now a very long way from home, in a direction she could not begin to measure or understand. She thought of the mysterious box, the powerful sensations its phallus had generated and her blackout. Could it have been responsible, and could the same thing have happened to Amber Jones?

Even as she struggled to make sense of it all, she heard the sound of voices and the gentle clop of horses’ hooves. Quickly she crouched down in the shelter of a straggling laurel bush growing beside the elm, taking off her pack and holding it before her light singlet. Instinct told her to find out who was approaching before revealing herself.

Five riders appeared from between the trees, their mounts walking on at an easy pace. Two men and a woman came first with two more men trailing them. As they got closer Melanie saw the leader of the party was a vigorous ruddy-faced man in his fifties with a bristling moustache and greying sideburns. On his right was a smaller wiry clean-shaven man in a brown jacket and flat cap, while on his left rode the woman. She looked about twenty, pale-skinned, with blonde hair peeking from under her riding helmet as she glanced about keenly. She wore a long skirt or perhaps culottes, which Melanie thought looked a little dated. Then she noticed one of the men who took up the rear had a large moustache and both sported unfashionably long sideburns.

The older man’s words drifted over to her as he addressed the brown-jacketed man.

“… and see those dead branches are moved, Platt. We want a clear run through here.”

“Yes, Major,” he replied. “Perhaps they could go over to the stalking ground to give a bit more cover there?”

“Capital. Have the pack haul them. Give them a bit of hard exercise.”

“Right you are, sir.”

As the party rode on past Melanie wondered if she should reveal herself. They seemed harmless enough, but on the other hand how was she going to explain her presence?

Then the blonde woman leaned over and said something urgently to the man called the Major. He twisted round to look back and Melanie knew she had been spotted. Hesitantly she rose from her concealment. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m lost…” she began.

“What? A dashed trespasser!” the Major exclaimed.

“I say, tallyho, a bit of sport!” cried the young man with the moustache. He turned his mount about and headed straight for Melanie, flourishing his riding crop menacingly.

“Remember I saw her first, Gerard!” shouted the young woman to him, spurring on her own mount by a flick across the flanks with the springy switch she carried.

“Race you for her, Arabella!” the other young man said, following on close behind.

With a cold shock Melanie realised she had totally misjudged these people. She didn’t waste her breath on any more words but dropped her pack and took to her heels.

“Don’t let her get away!” she heard the Major bellow as she disappeared through the trees.

Melanie ran harder than she had ever done before. She twisted between the trees, crashed through brushwood and leaped spreading roots. She knew she dare not try to escape over open ground or they would catch her in moments. Her only chance lay in keeping to the woodland where the horses’ speed was limited, and hope she could find a gate in the wall or someplace low enough to climb. But the wall seemed endless, unvarying in height and without a sign of any opening. The air was still and close under the trees. Sweat began to sting her eyes and run down between her heaving breasts and the cleft of her buttocks. Despite her efforts the three younger riders were closing in, shouting instructions to each other to head her off.

“There she goes Thomas!” Gerard called to his companion.

“Nimble little vixen, isn’t she?” Thomas replied.

“Yes…. and what a rump on her!”

Gasping for breath she ducked around a thicket and crouched down, letting the riders gallop past. Before they could turn about, she was off in the other direction. If she couldn’t outrun them perhaps she could find somewhere to hide. But she had forgotten the Major and Platt. They thundered out from between the trees and rode straight at her. She leapt to one side but the Major caught her across the shoulder with his crop. She stumbled and fell heavily, winding herself and rolling over and over. Before she could recover her breath the whole party had surrounded her. They leaned down from their saddles and lashed out with their crops until she curled up on the ground in a ball, too shocked by the cutting blows to move.

The assault ceased. Strong hands hauled her to her feet, pulling her arms outstretched and holding them firmly. Blinking away her tears she found the two younger men were holding her while the Major and Arabella dismounted, handing their reins to Platt.

The Major’s eyes gleamed as he looked Melanie’s trembling form up and down in disconcertingly frank appraisal.

“What a remarkably fine specimen,” he said heartily. “Such a turn of speed and agile with it.” He took Melanie’s chin between thumb and forefinger and turned her head from side to side. “One of our African cousins, it seems. I wonder how she got here?”

“She’s obviously an outlander,” said Gerard, twisting Melanie’s arm a little to hold her still. “Look at her clothes.”

“I’ve heard stories about outlanders,” said Thomas, “though I’ve never seen one myself before. But if they’re all as pretty as this I’d like to see more,” he added enthusiastically.

“I saw her first, Uncle,” Arabella reminded the Major, also looking Melanie up and down with disturbing interest. For a second Melanie read passion and hunger in her cool blue half-veiled eyes.

“All in good time, my dear,” the Major replied. He dropped his hand from Melanie’s chin to her still heaving left breast and experimentally cupped and squeezed it.

Melanie flinched and tried to pull away, finding enough breath to shout: “What the hell do you think you’re doing? How dare you!”

Arabella’s horse switch flicked out twice, left and right, the tip bringing burning fire to Melanie’s cheeks and fresh hot tears to her eyes. “You’ll speak only when you’re spoken to, girl, understand?” she said in a commanding tone. “Now what’s your name?”

“M… Melanie Kingston,” Melanie choked out, stunned by the suddenness of the blows.

“Melanie Kingston, Miss Arabella,” Arabella corrected her sternly.

“Miss Arabella,” Melanie added wretchedly.

“Well, Melanie,” said the Major, “you’ve been caught trespassing on my land - and we have ways of dealing with trespassers.” He smiled. “But first let us see what you’re hiding under these clothes. Strip her, gentlemen.”

“What?” Melanie gasped in disbelief even as the men began pulling at her singlet. Fear lending her renewed strength, she twisted about and kicked Gerard in the stomach. He let go of her arm and staggered backwards, doubling up and wheezing. Swinging round on Thomas, she grasped his shoulder, hooked her leg behind his knee and pushed, sending him sprawling on his back.

Arabella’s switch caught Melanie hard across the back of her knees, numbing her tendons. As her legs gave way the Major’s weight bore her to the ground face first, flattening her breasts into the grass. He straddled her torso and twisted her arms up behind her back. Thomas and Gerard recovered themselves and grabbed her thrashing legs.

“Platt,” the Major grunted as he rode Melanie’s struggling body, “fetch some restraints - we’re obviously going to need them.”

“Right you are, sir.” Platt remounted his horse and rode off.

“Our little brown vixen needs to be taught a lesson before we go any further,” the Major continued. “Bare her rump.”

Keeping her wrists crossed and arms pulled up towards him, he shifted around until he straddled Melanie’s head; ignoring her shriek of protest and trapping her face down between his knees. Gerard and Thomas pulled her wildly kicking legs straight, brought her ankles together and Gerard knelt across them. Thomas hooked his fingers over the waistband of Melanie’s shorts and pulled firmly, dragging them and her pants down over her hips, exposing the swelling fullness of her brown buttocks and the deep sweat-bedewed cleft between them. Arabella knelt beside Melanie’s pinioned form and ran her hand over the fleshy curves, sliding a finger between her cheeks to tease the crinkled tightness of her bottom hole, setting Melanie wriggling frantically and adding to the excitement of the spectacle she presented.

“Finest pair I’ve seen in years,” exclaimed the Major appreciatively.

“They’d certainly look splendid in harness, Sir,” Gerard agreed.

“Or with a tail dividing them,” Thomas suggested.

“Indeed,” the Major agreed. “One for the pack with any luck. Six strokes, please Arabella. Then we’ll give her a chance to decide.”

Cheeks flushed and nostrils flaring slightly in anticipation, Arabella laid the length of her thin springy switch across Melanie’s bottom to measure the swing, then lifted her arm and brought it down in a smooth arc. There was a smack of leather, a shockwave shiver of flesh and a stifled squeal from Melanie. A fine, slightly darker line appeared in the olive skin, bridging the cleft between the two hemispheres across their upper curves just below the base of the spine. Arabella swung a second time, aiming lower and angling sideways slightly, lifting the swelling flesh just above the crease where buttock met thigh and making it tremble with the blow. Another muffled squeal. Melanie’s hips wriggled as though she was trying to burrow into the ground to escape the punishment. Having scored parallel lines in the resilient flesh, Arabella changed her stance slightly and delivered two shorter cracks with the tip of her switch diagonally between them and across the curve of each cheek. Then she rose, stepped across Melanie’s outstretched form and knelt on her other side, turning so that she delivered the next two swings backhand. They neatly crossed the previous diagonals in the centre of both buttocks. Arabella paused for a moment to admire her symmetrical handiwork.

“The only trouble with darker skin is that it doesn’t show the marks so starkly,” she observed mildly. “You have to be a little firmer -” And she quickly delivered a seventh blow right across the middle of Melanie’s trembling bottom, joining the two “X’s she had marked in her dusky flesh.

“Arabella!” the Major said sharply. “I said six strokes!”

“What does it matter?” she said impatiently. “She’s only an outlander, a tramontane! It’s her fate to be used.”

“I promised her only six, then she’d have a chance to speak. Would you have me break my word?”

Arabella got to her feet scowling and stood flicking her switch petulantly across the grass. The three men turned Melanie over onto her back, the Major pulling her arms in front of her then stretching them firmly up over her head to prevent any further escape attempts.

But Melanie was temporarily beyond any thought of resistance. She had been subdued not only by the pain of the switching that burned her buttocks, but more by the total self-assurance of the strangers. It was as though she had been wrong to resist them and had been casually chastised for her error. Her world had been turned upside down and she felt hopelessly confused.

Keeping hold of her wrists with one hand the Major grasped her hair and pulled her head straight again so she had to look him in the eye. His face loomed upside down over her as he spoke earnestly.

“Now, girl, listen to me very carefully. I don’t know how it is in your land, but here you’ve broken the law. I’m the local Justice of the Peace, and I promise you’ll get six months for assaulting Thomas and Gerard. Then there’ll be charges for trespass, being a vagrant with no means of support or proper abode and illegal entry into the country. Not a day less than two years public servitude, all told. That is, unless you decide to behave sensibly.”

Melanie blinked back her tears. “What… do you mean?”

“If you voluntarily join the Hall pack for, say, a year, you’ll have legal abode and gainful service. Then if you apologise to Thomas and Gerard and promise them some good sport in return, perhaps they’ll forgive you.”

“The Hall pack?” Melanie asked hesitantly.

“My girlpack, of course. You’ve already shown you have what it takes. I’m always looking for strong, agile girls with spirit. They must be quick witted and ready to respond to the discipline of training for the hunt. You should be proud of the opportunity. The Markham Hall bitches are the best in the south.”

“You hunt women!” Melanie said, aghast.

“Of course,” the Major replied simply. “A fine sport.”

Melanie gulped, her mind spinning. “And… what happens when you catch them?”

The Major gave a rakish chuckle, making his moustache lift. “They’re enjoyed in the usual way, of course. What better prize can there be after the hunt?”

Arabella spoke up: “You’re not going to put her straight into the hunt, are you? I did see her first -”

“And you’ll have a chance to compete for her with the rest in due course,” he replied sharply. “Perhaps that’ll teach you to obey me in future.” The Major turned back to Melanie and slapped her cheek to regain her attention. “Well, girl? Do I call the constable and give you in charge, or do you choose the pack? It’s one or the other.”

As her captors looked down at her, eagerly awaiting her decision, a numbing sense of unreality descended on Melanie. She was genuinely being asked to decide between prison and a year of some bizarre form of sexual bondage! It could not be happening to her. It must be a crazy dream, a nightmare!

With a huge effort she focused her mind.

The hands that held her were real enough, as was the cool grass on which her hot striped bottom rested. It was reality, just not the one she had been born in. And if there was a way back to her own world it had to involve the phallus, which was in her pack back in the trees where she had dropped it. If she became part of this ‘girlpack’ (the thought made her shudder) she might get a chance to recover it. At least she would avoid being arrested like a common criminal. But did she have the nerve to see it through?

Summoning all her courage she took a deep breath and said: “I want to join the Hall girlpack, please, Major.”

The Major beamed. “That’s the spirit! Let her go,” he told the others. “Stand up, girl, and take off the rest of those clothes.”

Stiffly, her buttocks still smarting, Melanie climbed to her feet. Biting her lip she pulled her singlet over her head, and, after a moment’s fumbling with the catches, unsnapped her sports bra. With a shiver she dropped it to the ground, baring her breasts.

“Wait,” the Major ordered. ‘Clasp your hands behind your neck.”

Swallowing hard, Melanie obeyed, realizing how well the posture showed off her heavy breasts with their plump chocolate brown nipples. The Major reached over and squeezed Melanie’s right breast, pinching the nipple and stretching it until she gave a little gasp, then let snap back. He ran his fingers down her deep navel, noting her trim and supple waist.

“Continue,” he said.

Stifling a sob, Melanie dragged her shorts and pants down the rest of the way and tossed them aside, leaving herself completely naked except for her trainers. Without being told she clasped her hands behind her neck again.

“By Jove… splendid!” Thomas exclaimed.

Her waist swelled to broad hips, full rounded buttocks and thighs. Between them sprouted a thick fan of glossy black curls. Her smoothly muscled legs ran down to strong calves. Years of intense exercise caused her body to radiate strength and vitality.

The Major knelt in front of her and inserted a probing finger into the moist folds of plump flesh under her belly curls. Melanie gasped at his touch and clenched her thighs together by reflex, but the Major’s finger slipped inside her up to the knuckle. “Well, she’s no virgin,” he declared. He withdrew his finger and sniffed the glistening deposit that covered it with a smile. “And she’s been aroused recently.”

Melanie turned her head aside, her cheeks burning afresh in shame.

There came the sound of hoof beats. Platt rode up and dismounted. Melanie saw he was carrying a bundle of buckled leather straps and a length of chain. With a thrill of alarm she realised they were meant for her. Surely she couldn’t submit herself to such humiliation. Yet at the thought the tunnel of her vagina contracted and, incredibly, she felt her juices begin to flow. What was this place doing to her?

“On your knees and sit straight” the Major commanded, and Melanie obeyed. “This is Melanie,” the Major told Platt. “She has volunteered to join the Hall pack.”

“I’m sure she’ll make a fine addition, sir.”

“Secure her.”

Platt fitted a broad leather collar about Melanie’s neck. Leather cuffs linked by a short chain were fastened to a ring on the back and these he secured about her wrists, forcing her hands to remain in position. For a moment Melanie tugged against her restraints, but they were quite immovable. Platt clipped a longer and heavier chain to a ring on the front of her collar, leashing her securely. Her bondage had begun.

“Now,” the Major told her, “crawl to Mister Gerard and Mister Thomas, kiss their boots and beg forgiveness for striking them. Properly - shoulders down and bottom up!”

As though in a dream Melanie lowered her shoulders until her face and breasts pressed into the grass. She was acutely aware of the air caressing her hot taut up-thrust bottom cheeks and the pouch of dark flesh between them. Awkwardly she shuffled forward as well as her pinioned arms allowed, Platt walking beside her, allowing just enough slack on her chain to move. The humiliating thrill of her restraint and exposure burned within her stomach and flowed into her loins. She reached Gerard and kissed the instep of each of his shiny black riding boots, tasting leather and polish.

“Please forgive me for striking you, Mister Gerard,” she said, forcing the shameful words out.

“And hope to give him some good sport,” the Major reminded her.

“And I hope to give you good sport,” Melanie added wretchedly.

Gerard patted her on the head. “You’re forgiven, girl.”

She crawled bottom high over to Thomas and repeated her apologies, then back to the Major. All the while Arabella looked on with frustrated desire contorting her fine features; angrily flicking her switch to and fro. The Major however seemed satisfied with Melanie’s performance.

“Good girl. Take her away, Platt. I’ll see her tested myself later.”

“Right you are, sir.”

The Major returned to the horses, which had been peacefully cropping grass, and Thomas, Gerard and Arabella - with one last lingering glance at Melanie - followed him. They remounted and resumed their interrupted ride. As they disappeared between the trees, reaction set in and Melanie began to tremble. How could she have demeaned herself like that? She couldn’t do this -

Platt reached down and squeezed her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. Before she could protest he pushed in a hard rubber ball gag and secured it about the back of her neck with an integral loop of the same material. It pressed her tongue down making speech impossible, even as her lips were stretched and drawn back. Her bared teeth showed very white as they bit impotently on the gag separating them.

As she knelt shivering on the grass Platt walked thoughtfully about her, still holding the end of her leash, assessing her with an expert eye.

“Spread your knees wider,” he ordered. “A packgirl is always on display, she hides nothing.”

Miserably Melanie obeyed until her thighs were parted almost at right angles.

Platt continued his silent examination for a full minute. Then he stopped directly in front of Melanie, reached down with both hands, pinched a plump brown nipple each between thumb and forefinger and lifted. Melanie scrambled to her feet with a choking squeal. Platt kept pulling until she stood on tiptoe and her eyes were level with his. Yet she read no malice in his face, merely masterful assurance and earnest intent.

“From now on my word is law to you,” he said quietly. “The Markham pack are the best in the south and I want them to stay that way. Do what you’re told and don’t let me down, understand?”

And he continued to squeeze and roll her tender buds until, with eyes wide and glistening with tears, Melanie nodded her head vigorously.

Platt released his hold, gathered her discarded clothing and led her over to his horse. He mounted and started off, with Melanie walking beside him like a dog on a leash.

“Head up,” Platt commanded. “Lift your knees and move proudly!”

Fearful, helpless, dazed, Melanie obeyed.

And so it was, with her breasts bouncing prettily in time with her steps, she was led across the fields towards the Hall.

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