Night Moves

 

Miss Newcombe opened the school’s timeworn front door of black oak to find Sally standing in the pool of radiance cast by the porch light.

“Oh, Sally. This is very late for you to call.”

“Well, see, I thought about what you said earlier, and there’s something really important I have to find out.”

“Can’t it wait until morning? I was just about to go to bed.”

“No. This is something we have to get straight right now. Well, you going to keep me standing out here all night? Maybe you think I’m going to nick the silver?”

“Of course not...”

“Not worth it, eh? Just plated?”

Miss Newcombe was forced to smile. “I simply mean that I’m not sure that it’s proper for me to receive private visitors at this hour. There are five boys on the premises that I am responsible for. They should be asleep by now and I do not wish them disturbed.”

“Well I don’t plan on waking them. It’s you I come to see.”

“Then I suppose you’d better come in.”

Sally looked about her at the entrance hall. The school coat of arms was hung on one wall over a half-filled trophy cabinet. Everything else was sombre dark-polished wood.

“Cheerful place,” she observed. “Ain’t you got a room of your own here?”

“Well, yes, but...”

“Come on, then. Up here, is it? She started up the main stairs with Miss Newcombe trailing at her heels.

 

In their dormitory, the boys listened while the two sets of footsteps passed along the corridor. Only when they heard the distant click of Miss Newcombe’s door closing did they throw back their bedclothes. In a moment they had slid one of the dark wooden wall panels that lined their room aside. From the cavity between it and the old rough stone wall they extracted a homemade rope ladder and a bamboo pole with a hook on one end. They had made the devices months earlier to allow them to get onto the roof and so gain access to the skylight over Miss Newcombe’s bedroom, which had afforded them many interesting sights. Tonight the ladder and pole would help them enter the grounds of Markham Hall.

Two minutes later they were dressed in the old dark trousers and jumpers they had been wearing for work and were letting themselves out onto the fire escape. From the foot of this it was only a twenty yard dash to the old stable block which had served Cranborough House when it was still a private residence. Using the keys they had been given while clearing the building, they let themselves inside and swarmed up the ladder to the loft.

As they entered they found their slaves putting the finishing touches to their body camouflage. Amber had thinned down some shoe polish the boys had provided, and using scraps of rag, she and Jemima were artistically smearing themselves with brown and black stripes and spots. As a result their skins now looked as though they belonged to some species of exotic big cat. The effect was so striking that the boys paused to admire them, fingering and stroking them curiously. Jemima looked shyly proud as the boys turned her round to examine her efforts, clearly excited by being handled so intimately.

When they were satisfied, Harris handed over Jemima’s shoes and Amber’s trainers, which was all they were allowed to wear on the night’s adventure.

“Have you brought my set of lockpicks?” Amber asked, as she pulled her trainers on. “We won’t get very far if you’ve forgotten them.”

Jackson pulled a flat leather case from his pocket. “I’ve got them. I’ll give them to you when they’re needed, not before. Just in case you think of using them to try to get away yourself.”

“As though I would,” Amber grinned.

Jackson caught her by the hair and hauled and twisted until she stood on tiptoe. He slid his free hand up between her legs, took hold of her delicate inner labia between thumb and forefinger and pinched.

“Sorry, Master!” Amber gasped in pain. “Your slave shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. Please forgive her.”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t take any chance to escape,” Jackson said, pinching a little harder and enjoying the contortion of her features. “We’re not stupid. That’s why we had you make the harnesses.”

“We have,” Amber winced again. “Look, they’re over there. We did the best we could with what we had. They’re almost exactly like the diagram in the book.”

While Jackson kept hold of Amber, the other boys examined the two creations of old leather, cord, rings and buckles.

“They look all right,” Bickley reported after a minute of tugging and twisting joints and knots. “Bit rough in places, but they won’t get out of these in a hurry.”

Jackson let go of Amber. His gaze passed over her to Jemima, who was looking on with wide-eyed fascination. “Don’t forget you belong to us,” he told them sharply. “We all want to get this Sue Drake away from Arabella, but that’s so we can have her. She’ll belong to us, not you. You’re our tools, that’s all. We’re using you to guide us and open locks. You do exactly as we tell you from now on, understand? Now, beg to have the harnesses put on you.”

Amber quickly knelt down and extended her arms towards him with her wrists crossed; a classic gesture of submission.

“Please Master, I beg you to bind me so I can be made to serve as your tool,” Amber said. And by her side Jemima echoed her words, copying her gesture exactly.

Jackson nodded, and the boys began fitting them into the harnesses. Amber saw Jemima’s chest rising and falling rapidly with excitement, her nipples hard and pointed. How she’s loving this, Amber thought. So do I, if I’m honest, she amended mentally as leather rasped against her flesh. The familiar fluttering, stomach churning thrill was rising inside her again. Why had she made that silly remark in such a mocking tone? To bring just that sort of response?

In a minute it was done and they stood side by side, harnessed and helpless; ready to go where their masters led them.

Broad padlocked collars and belts encircled their necks and waists. Leather gag straps closed their mouths. Cuffs on their wrists were linked by a rope threaded through a ring on the back of their belts. When this was slack it allowed their arms some freedom of movement to perform simple tasks. When it was pulled in and the middle of the loop hung over a hook fixed to the back of their collars, their arms were automatically pulled behind them into a restrained position. Any resistance only tightened their collars.

From a belt that ran about their chests just below the undercurve of their breasts, two straps ran vertically up over their nipples. These straps were split down the middle for part of their length, allowing their nipples to poke through, held in place by the tendency of the slit in the thick leather to close. The upper ends of these straps were tied to cords that ran through a ring on the front of their collars where they were joined to leather leashes. When the straps were allowed to follow the natural curves of their breasts the slits gaped slightly and the pinching of their nipples was bearable, but any tightening of the leash straightened the straps and brought the edges of the slits painfully close together.

The boys spent a couple of minutes experimentally tugging on Amber and Jemima’s leashes and listening to their muffled squeaks of pain and seeing their faces screw up behind their gags. When they were assured their slaves would follow where they led, they gathered up their equipment and, by the light of hooded torches, stole silently out into the night.

 

Miss Newcombe’s bedroom was situated close by the school sickroom, and was where she stayed overnight when required. It was a small neat room with a single skylight set in the sloping ceiling, it was simply furnished with an iron frame bed, side cabinet, single armchair and dressing table. On the dressing table was a three panelled mirror, a hairbrush and a few pots and jars of cosmetics. Before it was a small ladder-backed chair. A circular rug was laid beside the bed. A robe and sensible modest nightgown hung on the back of the door.

Sally took all this in as she dropped her carpetbag in the corner. “This’ll do, I suppose, though your cottage would be more cosy.”

“Sally, you can’t be thinking of staying here for the night. I thought you had some lodgings arranged.”

“I do, but there’s something I gotta know first, or else I can’t decide about your offer. You still want me as a bondslave, don’t you?”

“Yes, but this is not the time or place to...”

Sally stepped forward quickly and before Miss Newcombe could protest, kissed her forcefully full on the lips. After a moment’s instinctive resistance, Miss Newcombe melted into Sally’s embrace, put her own arms about the smaller girl and returned the kiss with passion.

When they finally pulled apart slightly for air, they were both flushed. Sally grinned approvingly.

“That was good. I thought you really liked women better than men.”

“Oh, I like men well enough,” Miss Newcombe said easily. “But there are more... possibilities with women and sex.”

“And if I was your slave you’d want to try them all out on me.”

“Of course,” Miss Newcombe admitted candidly. “Owning a pretty thing like you, who wouldn’t? But I do want a presentable servant as well. I think you could be one with the right encouragement and training. And... I do genuinely want to save you from the path you are taking. It would be such a waste.”

Sally considered for a moment. “How much do you want to save me?”

Miss Newcombe frowned. “What do you mean?”

“If you get me as your bondslave you get everything. I want to find out if you can take what you plan to deal out. I’ve got to know you understand what I’d be going through if I served you. You say you want to save me - show how much you really mean it! Prove it wasn’t just fancy words so you could get a bondslave on the cheap.”

“I still don’t quite know what you mean.”

Sally opened her carpetbag and showed Miss Newcombe what was inside. Miss Newcombe’s eyes widened. “Oh... I see.”

“Well? Are you up to it?”

Miss Newcombe’s bosom rose a little faster under the blouse of her uniform. “I admit the idea is... intriguing. But really, this isn’t the right place or time.”

“Why not? Who’s going to know?”

“Technically I’m on duty.”

“Nobody’s sick, are they? You’ll be here if you’re needed.

“But the boys. If they should hear anything...”

“Trust me. They won’t hear a thing.”

 

The rescue party made their way around the outskirts of the sleeping village of Shaftwell. They flitted through woods and dashed noiselessly across narrow lanes, keeping well clear of the few distant yellow rectangles of windows and pinpoints of street lamps.

Overhead the stars shone through gaps in the broken clouds. The air was dew-dampened but mild.

To Amber it was even more unreal than when the boys had led her from the police station to the school only a few nights before. Now she had a companion in bondage. She glimpsed Jemima’s shadowy form as she scampered willingly after her masters and felt the warmth of her body as they crouched down together while the boys scouted ahead.

Nighttime clandestine activity was nothing new to Amber, but never had she done anything like this. It was crazy nonsense, absurd - and desperately exciting. Her senses seemed to be razor-sharp. Never had she been so aware of her body. Her naked exposure and utter helplessness combined with the fear of discovery was uniquely arousing. She could feel herself getting wet. She hoped the boys would be able to spare some time for her tonight.

After almost three quarters of an hour they came upon the indistinct mass of a high wall running through a belt of sparse tree. This was the boundary of the Markham Hall estate.

Now the boys let Jemima guide them to the spot they were after. With her leash trailing over her shoulder she led them along the wall, moving with the confidence of one who had played in those woods since childhood. The narrow beams of their torches occasionally played across her rounded bobbing buttocks. She’s like some eager bitch dog following the scent for her master, thought Amber.

They came to a cluster of trees and Jemima stopped and gave an excited whine. This was where they would scale the wall.

 

Miss Newcombe knelt on the rug beside her bed. Her hands were clasped behind her head and her knees were spread. She was stark naked.

Sally walked around her carrying a short length of bamboo in her hand, the tip of which she was running over Miss Newcombe’s body. Though she was a good ten years older than Sally it didn’t show. Her skin was clear and pale, but tinted with the lightest of golden tans. Her breasts, a shade lighter than the surrounding flesh, hung proudly, capped with firm pink nipples. Her waist was trim and her hips were full. The thick curls between her thighs had been trimmed back to a neat oval over bare pubic lips.

“Are you ready to begin?” Sally asked, the tip of her bamboo tickling a trembling nipple.

“Yes, Sally,” Miss Newcombe said.

“No: ‘Yes‚Mistress.’ Tonight you’re my slave... what’s your first name?”

“‘Jane’... Mistress.”

“Well, Jane, now you’re going to find out what it’s like to be me,” Sally told her ominously, continuing to circle round so that Jane’s eyes flickered left to right, trying to keep her in sight as long as possible while at the same time holding her head still as she had been ordered. “The first thing you got to learn is that waiting’s different if you’re a slave. See, I can keep you like this for hours if I want, and you’ve got no say in it. Soon you start to ache, but you can’t move. You want to pee, but by now you’re too knotted up to let it go, and if you wet the floor you might get a special hard thrashing for making a mess. It ain’t fair, but who cares? Inside you’re going crazy, not knowing what they’re going to do with you, wanting to get it over with at the same time as you hope it’ll never begin, even as you feel your insides turning to water. It can get so bad that you beg them to do something.” She lifted Jane’s chin with her bamboo. “You ready to start begging yet?”

“I beg... to serve my Mistress as she wishes.”

Sally grinned and flicked the bamboo across Jane Newcombe’s back, bringing forth a gasp of pain.

“Right: get onto that bed, Jane - move!”

 

Perched atop the wall looking into the grounds through the overhanging branches, Amber saw a grey stretch of fields, beyond which was the bulk of the Hall, picked out by a light burning over the portico and a few glowing upper windows. She just hoped the Major was sleeping soundly tonight.

The ladder was repositioned and the boys descended into the grounds. Amber and Jemima followed carefully after them. Immediately they were down the cords linking their wrists were pulled tight, dragging their hands behind their back once more, and hooked to their collars. A pinch on their nipples told them their leashes were still held in firm hands.

Jemima waited in an alert crouch while the boys rolled up the ladder. Then Jackson patted her encouragingly on the rump and she set off again, leading them towards the dark smudge of a hedgerow.

 

Sally finished tying the last knot about Jane’s ankle and stood back to admire the effect.

Her slave for the night was stretched out on the bed, her arms pulled upwards and her wrists bound with many loops and turns of rope to the iron-frame bed head. Her legs were parted invitingly and her ankles were equally heavily bound to the uprights at the foot of the bed. It was a lovely sight to see a nicely spoken, educated, correct lady spread and vulnerable like that. Suddenly Sally felt a thrill of unfamiliar power course through her. Well why shouldn’t she be in charge for once?

She picked up her bamboo and slashed it sharply across her slave’s tender exposed stomach. Jane gave a choking gasp. She tried to curl up around the burning stripe of pain, but the ropes held her back. The first flicker of true apprehension crossed her face.

“Hurts, does it?” Sally asked her. “Well there’ll be a lot more of that before the night’s out. Now pull on the ropes.”

Jane tugged lightly at her bonds. The cane swished again. There was a sweet crack of bamboo on flesh and a second more vivid scarlet line appeared across her flat stomach.

“Harder!” Sally ordered. “You can do better than that!” She slashed the bamboo across Jane’s body so that it cut into the undersides of her the soft mounts of her breasts, sending them bouncing and shivering. “Come on, try to get free. Find a bit of slack. Maybe you can slip a hand loose.” She cracked the bamboo down low across Jane’s stomach so that it brushed her pubic hair. “Don’t you want this to end?”

Jane was now bucking and twisting, straining frantically at her bonds in a hopeless effort to escape the steady rain of blows that were scouring her body.

Sally didn’t relent until Jane was panting heavily from her exertions and sweat was beginning to bead in the hollow of her throat and between her breasts. Her belly and breasts were no longer an unblemished golden-pale, but mottled with criss-cross lines of burning crimson. Her wrists and ankles were as firmly fastened as before, but the skin around them was chafed and raw.

“Well?” Sally demanded, lifting Jane’s chin with the tip of the bamboo.

“I... I can’t get free, Mistress,” Jane choked. “I’m sorry... I tried.”

“Are you secure, then?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“How long will you stay that way?”

“Un... until you free me, Mistress.”

“What are you?”

“Your slave, Mistress.”

Sally smiled. “Now you’re beginning to learn what it’s like to be really helpless. I can do anything I want. To you I’m the most important person in the whole world. You don’t have to like me, but you’d better learn to please me, and bloody fast!”

Jane’s eyes were locked onto her now; the fearful despairing look of a slave to her absolute mistress.

Slowly, Sally began to take off her clothes.

 

The front door of the playhouse opened after a few seconds of Amber’s skilfully application of her lockpicks. The boys’ torches flashed about the cramped interior as Jemima led them through the tiny hall to the stairs. Amber glimpsed a bike with loaded panniers leaning against the wall of the lounge. From its design it obviously did not belong in this version of England.

Jemima gave a pleading whine and Jackson undid her gag.

“Sue - it’s Jemima,” she called ahead of her as they started up the stairs. “It’s all right. We’ve come to rescue you!”

Her naive words brimmed with concern and conviction.

They squeezed into the small, bedroom, torch beams swinging about wildly. Amber glimpsed the whites of a pair of fearful, confused eyes staring back at them over the top of a leather gag strap. Then the torches steadied and focused, illuminating a pale figure lying on a wooden frame bed.

Sue Drake had been secured for the night in a posture of cruel torment.

She lay on her back, arms and legs spread and chained to the four corners of the bed. Coarse string had been looped several times about the base of each of her full breasts, causing them to stand up like swollen mushrooms. So tight was the binding that the pale balloon-like globes had taken on the purple tinge of congested blood. The free ends of the string had been drawn up and over a pulley hanging from a hook screwed into a beam of the low ceiling. The string then ran downwards again where it was tied halfway along the shaft of a broom handle which projected out over the foot of the bed at an angle of some thirty degrees. Dangling on a loop of string from the handle’s end was a cast iron weight of the sort used on old-fashioned pan balances.

The other end of the broom handle was thrust between Sue’s thighs and into the tunnel of her vagina. It was prevented from sliding too far into Sue by a cluster of nails which had been driven through the broom handle at various angles some inches below its tip. The spiked ball thus formed pressed against the soft folds of Sue’s cleft, parting and stretched the tender lips, exposing its glistening coral pink interior.

For a moment they stared in amazement at the cruel but ingenious arrangement, realising how the iron weight added a terrible tension to the arrangement, simultaneously stretching Sue’s tortured breasts while driving the end of the broomhandle deeper into Sue’s gaping cunt mouth. Any movement of her body would only increase the pain to one part of her anatomy or the other.

Then Jemima broke the spell by darting forward and kneeling by the bed.

“It’s all right,” she told Sue. “I know we look strange. But we’ve come to get you away from Arabella. You’ll be happier where we’re going.”

Amber knelt down and began working on one of the padlocks that held the chains in place about Sue’s ankle. She winced as she saw how red-raw and bruised the skin was under them. The boys were removing the string bindings and broom handle as quickly and gently as they could. Jackson pulled the gag from Sue’s mouth, and Jemima showered her with passionate kisses, murmuring: “Don’t worry, it’ll be all right...”

Sue seemed, dazed, unable to comprehend what was happening to her. Her head jerked about woodenly as she took in the strange group of people clustered about her. She blinked at Amber and the deft clicking of her lockpicks and suddenly her eyes seemed to come into focus.

“No... you mustn’t,” she said. “I belong to Arabella.”

Even as they gaped at her in astonishment, her voice rose to a frightened scream: “Don’t take me away from her!”