Pack Love

 

It was early afternoon by the time Melanie crawled though the small packgirl door into the pound at the back of their kennels.

Most of the pack seemed to be there, sprawled out on the grass or sitting under the small shade trees. Some were curled up in exhausted asleep, others chattering excitedly in small groups. As Melanie appeared they hurried over to greet her, moving on their hands and knees in the rapid but graceful shuffle that set their hanging breasts bouncing and swinging in fluid motion. Like Melanie they once again wore their regular tails and boots with the wedge soles that made walking impossible. Apart from sport or work a packgirl moved on all fours like a dog so she always looked up to her masters.

Melanie was surrounded by a press of warm bodies, still carrying the scent of soap and shampoo from their after-hunt showers. A few of the more timid said nothing but simply bestowed respectful kisses on Melanie’s bottom, in deference to her status as First Girl of the pack. The sensation pleased Melanie more that she let them see.

A barrage of questions assailed her: “I knew you’d run well!” “Was it hard?” “You’re almost the last.” “Who caught you?”

“Just a minute, you lot!” Melanie said loudly. She’d seen Una hanging back uncertainly from the main group. Melanie shuffled forward until she was face to face with the former First Girl.

“Did you have a good run?” she asked.

“Pretty good, I only just got in.”

“Well done,” Melanie said.

“You did better.”

“Any injuries?”

Una shrugged. “A few scratches and bruises, nothing much. And you?”

Melanie made a face. “Paddle sores. My tits took a bit of a beating and smart like hell.”

Una promptly stooped down and gently kissed Melanie’s abused breasts, adding a quick flick of the tongue to each nipple. She straightened up and Melanie kissed Una back on her lips, which were as soft as her body was hard. It was partly a show of mutual affection intended to reassure the other girls, but also a natural expression of the bond they shared. Whatever their backgrounds they were united now by the sisterhood of the pack. It was a powerful feeling and Melanie was not yet sure how deep it ran.

She shuffled over and sat carefully down under a tree, realising how much she ached from her exertions. The rest of the pack crouched down attentively before her. Melanie grinned at them.

“All right. I managed to make it through the farms until I was halfway round the hunting ground opposite the back of the Hall. I was trying to get back close to find a place to hide up. But a middle-aged couple spotted me. I don’t know their names. They wore purple sashes.”

“The Whitlows,” Una volunteered. “They hunt all over the south.”

“I thought they were good,” Melanie said. “They caught me pretty neatly...”

At that moment Jill crawled through the door, looking pleased with herself but also completely exhausted. She dragged herself over to the group and slumped down at Melanie’s feet.

“I am totally shagged out!” she declared wearily.

Gail, her closest friend, laughed and kissed her lovingly, laying herself by Jill’s side and rubbing her soft body against her.

“What happened?” somebody asked.

Jill sniggered. “Two teams tried to run me down at the same time. They had me on the ground when they got into a fight. You should have heard the names they were calling each other! The hounds had already been called off and by the time they sorted themselves out I was well away. Took them hours to catch me again.”

She rubbed her red and swollen pubic cleft ruefully. “Mind you, they all gave me a good seeing-to when they did. Don’t know how I’m going to manage both teams tonight.”

The other girls laughed. Melanie said: “So how many are still out?” She counted heads quickly. There were twenty-one, including herself. The pack was twenty-two strong. “Who’s still out... Gillian? Where’s Gillian?”

“She’s never been last caught before,” Una murmured.

“Could she have been hurt?” Melanie wondered.

“She wasn’t in the sick room when I went past earlier,” Una said.

“I just hope she hasn’t done anything stupid. Remember, she promised us she wouldn’t let the pack down this time.”

Genuine concern showed on Una’s face. It was quite a change from the contempt with which she had been treating Gillian when Melanie had arrived only a few days before.

“I could go to Alison,” Una suggested. “She can ask if there’s been any news...”

At that moment Alison herself entered the pound.

“Here she is, girls,” she announced brightly, “today’s champion vixen!” And she stepped aside so that Gillian, freshly washed and harnessed, could shuffle in on all fours.

“Mr Platt will be along later with the full list of times,” Alison continued. “But I can say that he’s very pleased with how you all ran. Now you get some rest - you’re going to be very busy tonight, remember.”

Alison went out and the pack crowded round Gillian. Melanie was concerned. Gillian seemed very stiff and was shivering slightly.

“What happened?” Melanie asked her, looking her over anxiously for some sign of injury.

“I’m just... cold,” Gillian said. “I’ve been hiding in a... pond for hours.”

Sympathetically, a couple of girls pressed their warm bodies against Gillian’s pale form and she rubbed gratefully against them.

“You look frozen stiff,” Melanie exclaimed.

“I didn’t want to let the pack down,” Gillian said. She looked at Una. “I used your trick. I went past the pond, then... peed up a tree and backtracked, then jumped in so as not to leave tracks. There was an old moorhen’s nest in the middle in a pile of sticks and I hid by that. Riders and hounds went past the pond several times following my scent, but they didn’t see me. When it was quiet I crawled onto the bank to warm up, but I kept on having to go back in again when I heard hunters coming. I stayed there as long as I could stand it.”

Una looked impressed. “That took some guts.”

Gillian smiled shyly at the compliment. “Well, it was certainly better than being caught by Arabella.”

“Yeah, who’s the unlucky one today?” Una asked.

The other girls exchanged glances and shook their heads.

“Arabella didn’t catch any of us?” Melanie said. “What team was she in?”

“She was wearing a white sash - hunting on her own,” Una explained. “Probably after you, Mel.” She suddenly grinned. “She’s going to be really pissed at not getting anyone. But at least she can’t take it out on us!”

The girls all laughed. Una kissed Gillian. The girl’s warming her did the same. Melanie followed them. Gillian’s lips were sweet and her eyes were sparkling as she pulled away from her, reminding Melanie that she was the first woman, under the Major’s direction, that she had ever made love with.

What followed seemed perfectly natural.

The huddled group moved closer with whispers of flesh brushing against flesh. The kissing spread, becoming more passionate. Gail slithered around on top of Jill until they lay head to crotch and buried her face between her friend’s thighs. Swaying breasts were kissed and licked, hardening nipples nipped lovingly between white teeth. Girls were rolling onto their backs and splaying their legs wide in open invitation, while others were mounting their crouching sisters from behind, rubbing their clefts on the springy shafts of implanted pack tails. Emanating from between twenty two pairs of glistening pubic lips, the heady scent of multiple arousal gradually filled the pound.

Amidst the hot press of bodies, Melanie suddenly found herself staring at a wide-open unclaimed cunt, pink and slippery and lovely. Without hesitation she plunged her face into it and began to lick and suck and tongue in wild delight. Hair brushed the insides of her raised haunches and she felt a tongue sliding into the honeypot of her own split peach. A shiver of ecstasy coursed through her. She didn’t know who was pleasuring her and, she realised joyfully, that it didn’t matter. Reason had surrendered to lust and they were enjoying themselves as only girls who had had all inhibition driven from them could.

Lost in their own pleasure, the pack did not notice Alison and Platt standing side by side in the kennel doorway watching them. Alison, staring the squirming bodies in open fascination, said: “Should we stop them, Mister Platt?”

Platt turned his gaze quickly back to the orgy.

“No, it’s good to let a pack have their private pleasures from time to time,” he said quickly. “They all ran well today. They’ll rest easily after this and be fresh for tonight. Put up the running times list where they can see it, please Alison.”

He turned and made his way back to his office, struggling to maintain his dignity. Proud as he was of his beautiful pack, he had not been watching them make love. Like some nervous schoolboy, he had secretly been peering down the open collar of Alison’s shirt at the tantalizingly exposed soft upper curves of her breast.

The irony of the situation was not lost on him. He was master of twenty two beautiful slaves whom he could use almost as freely as the Major, if he chose. Yet he lusted after the sturdy form of his sweet-natured kennelmaid; a girl more than twenty years his junior who could never be his.