The Butt

 

“The hunt’s away,” Belinda Jenkins said as she squeezed back through the overgrown and sagging garden gate of the playhouse and tugged it closed behind her. In the far distance they could hear the baying of hounds and the sound of horns.

“I wish we could ride with them,” said Penelope Hazeldine wistfully. “I wonder what it would feel like, hunting bondslaves down? I bet they squeal and cry a lot.”

“Our parents would never let us,” Ernestine Chadwick pointed out. “They say we’re still too young.”

Belinda took her seat with the others. “Well I’m going to ride in a girl hunt just as soon as I can,” she said firmly. “If Arabella can arrange it my parents won’t need to know.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Penelope.

“Yes I would,” Belinda said indignantly. “I’ve watched Arabella. I can ride as well as she can and I know how to handle bondslaves.”

“Your pony wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

“Arabella could lend me a horse.”

Ernestine stretched back in her chair, shaking out her auburn ringlets. “I think it’s too warm for riding today anyway. They’ll get terribly hot. Much nicer to lounge around like this.”

The four girls had taken a table and some chairs out of the playhouse and set them out on the lawn under the shade of a small cherry tree. They all had lunch baskets with them and the table already bore a plate of biscuits, glasses and pitchers of fruit juice.

Jemima Moncrief, the last and quietest of the group, said hesitantly: “You don’t suppose any of the girls they’re hunting will try to hide in here?”

“Why?” Ernestine asked.

“Because then the hunters would follow and they might find her. Her eyes flicked anxiously in the direction of the playhouse.

“Arabella said packgirls aren’t allowed to hide inside buildings,” Belinda said. “They’ve got to keep to the woods and fields.”

“If one did,” Penelope said mischievously, “then we could capture her and hide her away like the other one.”

“Only if it’s the new brown girl,” Ernestine added. “That’s the one Arabella really wants for herself.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” Jemima said, looking alarmed. “Isn’t keeping one outsider in secret enough?”

“You’re such a wet hen, Jem,” Belinda scolded. “Don’t you think helping to train our own private slave is exciting?”

“But it’s... rather cruel.”

“You have to be strict with bondslaves,” Belinda said. “Arabella explained that’s how they learn. You can see she’s taking to it, so it can’t be that bad. Anyway, if it bothers you so much, why do you keep staring at her with that silly look on your face?”

Jemima suddenly looked defensive. “What do you mean?”

“It’s true, Jem,” Penelope said. “You go all wide-eyed and dreamy.”

“And your mouth drops open,” Ernestine added. “It’s very lower class, gaping and gawping. Makes you look like a fish.”

“Are you secretly thinking of what you’d like to do with her yourself?” Belinda teased.

Jemima blushed. “No! I don’t do any such thing! I mean I wouldn’t...”

But the others were laughing at her embarrassment too loudly to listen to her protests, and Jemima was forced into sullen silence.

“Whose turn is it next, anyway?” Belinda asked at length, looking at her watch.

“Jem’s,” Penelope said with a grin.

“Oh...” Jemima started. “I don’t think I can, not just now.”

“Yes you can,” Penelope said. “You’ve had as much as the rest of us. You’re just being silly.”

“Must I do it?” Jemima said miserably. “It’s so dirty and... rude!”

“It doesn’t count as rude with bondslaves,” Ernestine replied. “It’s just teaching them their place.”

“Go on, Jem,” said Belinda sternly. “Or else we’ll tell Arabella you wouldn’t do your bit. You don’t want her to get angry with you, do you?”

Glumly, Jemima got up from the table and walked with dragging steps over to the old garden pump. Working the squeaking handle she filled a bucket with water.

“And make sure she says everything just as she’s supposed to,” Belinda called out after her as Jemima carried the bucket off, trying not to slop water over her frock.

Around the corner of the playhouse was a narrow passageway a few feet wide formed by the side wall of the house and the overgrown garden hedge. In this rested a large rainwater butt with rusting hoops and mouldering staves, closed at the top with a heavy lid. An old wooden box had been placed beside it to serve as a step.

Jemima put her bucket down and stared at the butt. Her heart thumped and she felt a sense of disbelief creeping over her. With a deep breath she hitched up the skirt of her frock and tied it round her waist, revealing virginal white cotton panties trimmed with lace. Hooking her thumbs through the waistband she pulled her panties down and stepped out of them, baring her pale and prettily rounded bottom and full brown bush of pubic hair to the world. Even as she peered anxiously about to reassure herself she could not be seen, Jemima shivered as a delightfully guilty thrill coursed through her at the feel of the air playing over her newly exposed flesh.

Jemima lifted the lid off the water butt, then stepped up onto the box and peered anxiously inside. Framed by a bedraggled halo of golden hair, Sue’s woebegone face looked back up at her from the dank interior.

Sue sat naked in the bottom of the butt in a few inches of dirty water. Her arms were tied behind her back and her legs were splayed apart and bent at the knees. Her ankles and calves were crossed and bound so she could neither stand nor bring her knees together.

For a few seconds Jemima could only stare at Sue in dumb fascination. The damp chill of the butt made her look paler than ever. The nipples of her heavy breasts were shrunken and crinkled, but by contrast the purple and scarlet lash marks criss-crossing the tender flesh around them seemed even more livid. She was so horribly, wonderfully, helpless; so shamefully, thrillingly degraded.

Unconsciously Jemima’s fingers stole down to her pubic bush and into her warm cleft.

Could the girl actually become used to it? Jemima wondered. Would she even come to like being treated that way? What would it feel like to be bound like that, to endure the punishments Arabella had heaped upon her?

Jemima felt herself blushing at the thought. Then she realised her fingers were rubbing the nub of flesh normally hidden between her nether lips, which had become strangely moist. She jerked her hand away guiltily and rubbed her sticky fingertips on her rolled skirt. She had secretly played with herself before now, but always under her bedclothes or in the bath. This time a curious warm tightness remained in her loins.

Resolutely Jemima clambered onto the rim of the butt and sat down with her legs splayed and feet dangling over the sides. The rough rotted tops of the butt staves pressed against her bare bottom.

Now Sue was looking up through the ‘V’ of Jemima’s spread thighs, up at her ‘cunny’, as the other girls called it. What must she look like from that angle? Jemima wondered with a guilty thrill. Nobody had ever seen her like that before. Could Sue see every fold of her private parts? What would it look like if their positions were reversed...

Jemima clutched the rim of the butt for support, suddenly coming over light-headed. She was feeling very strange. Her heart was pounding and a hot tingling knot seemed to be tying itself somewhere below her stomach. She must just do what she had to as quickly as possible.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Sue. “Arabella says we have to do this.”

“I am your slave, Miss Jemima,” Sue replied mechanically. “I am here to be shamed. Please use me as your toilet.”

Closing her eyes, Jemima took a deep breath... and nothing happened.

Jemima reached down with two fingers and spread her vaginal lips so that her pee hole was exposed. Still nothing happened. She groaned and bit her lip. Her bladder was full of fruit juice and she really felt the need to release it now, but she was too tense inside. She opened her eyes and stared almost apologetically at Sue’s expectant, upturned face. Her gaze wandered down to the girl’s poor abused breasts and the damp golden tangle between her spread thighs...

Jemima’s fingers moved deeper into her slit. A hardness was growing between the soft petals of flesh as the bud of her clitoris filled. She’d felt a little like this the previous day when she had watched Arabella torment Sally Potts in the police yard. She knew it must be wicked and unnatural, but she couldn’t help herself. She hated to see bondgirls suffering like that, yet at the same time she could not help being excited, wondering what it would feel like.

Sue was still looking patiently up at her. To her horror Jemima realised she was playing with herself right in front of her eyes - and she couldn’t stop! The aching bulb of pleasure between her legs had suddenly become the focus of her world. Nothing else mattered. Her vagina seemed to be growing enormous, it was burning hot and dripping wet. She smelt a musky aroma and realised it was the perfume of her own secretions. Surely she must burst under the pressure as her sex pulsed against the sweetly tormenting tautness of her bladder.

Jemima’s fingers became a frantic blur.

Her loins seemed to squeeze to a pinpoint and then erupted, sending a wave of pure pleasure through her body. She gasped aloud as a starburst of raw ecstasy exploded in her brain.

With the joy of release came what felt like a damburst. Her pent-up water gushed from her in a hard stream and splashed over Sue’s face and breasts, spurting fitfully as she spasmed, thrilling Jemima as never before as it left her body through her engorged and ultra-sensitive sex, piling sensation on sensation, filling her with undreamed of delight.

Then her eyes rolled up and she collapsed forward, sprawling limply over the top of the water butt. For a minute she lay still except for the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. The pale moons of her bottom were exposed to the sky. The last droplets fell from her pubic hair.

Jemima had had her first orgasm.

From within the butt, Sue said: “Thank you for teaching me my place, Miss Jemima.”

For a moment Jemima hugged the butt to her, wishing she was inside. Then, slowly, she slithered off to the ground. Her legs still felt very weak. She couldn’t quite believe what had happened, but she knew instinctively that it was an important milestone in her life.

She put her pants back on and smoothed down her skirt, then nervously peered down at Sue; the girl she had just peed over... the girl who had seen her masturbate!

“Please don’t tell the others,” she begged.

“It’s not my place, Miss Jemima,” Sue said, lowering her eyes.

On a sudden impulse, Jemima reached into the butt and stroked Sue’s sodden hair. “I’m so sorry for you,” she whispered.

“Don’t be,” Sue said in a tiny voice. “I think I was born to be a slave.”

“But you don’t have to be treated like this. Arabella’s so cruel sometimes!”

“I’ll survive. We can’t choose who masters us.”

Jemima picked up the bucket of water and poured it over Sue, washing her down. Immediately the water began seeping out the bottom of the butt from between the ill-fitting staves.

Sue shook the droplets form her hair. “Thank you... Miss Jemima.”

Jemima picked up the lid, but before she could put it back on the butt, Sue said quietly: “I thought you looked lovely when you played with yourself.”

Jemima gulped. “I was looking at you... thinking what you must be feeling.”

Sue lifted her eyes to hers. “I’m pleased if I gave you pleasure.”

Breathing tremulously, Jemima leant over the rim of the butt and kissed Sue; first on the forehead, then, almost overbalancing, on the lips. Sue’s skin was cold but her lips were warm. Jemima’s own lips parted. The tips of their tongues touched...

“Jemima! What’s taking you so long?” It was Belinda’s voice.

Jemima started in sudden dismay. She slammed the lid back on the butt, snatched up the empty bucket and ran back to the others.