Epilogue: In Another Place

 

Sometime later in the kennels of Markham Hall...

The police team had come and gone. The packgirls were out at work. The yard gates were shut and bolted. The sun shone. Peace had returned... and George Platt was giving Alison her first practical lesson in bondslavery.

He fought to keep his voice steady, trying to sound business-like and a little gruff.

“Now, being a new girl I want to see how well you move. Bitches must be graceful on two legs as well as four. Trot round in a circle for a minute. Lift your knees high...”

Alison was naked except for flat running shoes. A bridle harness was buckled about her head, her white teeth biting down on a rubber bit. Despite the stretching of the skin about her mouth she appeared to be smiling. Her shaggy mane of sun-bleached blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail to hold it clear of the unnumbered collar round her neck, clipped to which was the training rein George held. Her arms were confined high behind her back in a sheath binding that enclosed them from wrists to elbows, making her throw her chest out. Her breasts were pert and delightful...

Platt tried to assess her body critically, as he would any other girl.

Her breasts were small, firm, high-set mounds with light brown conical nipples, showing full in proportion to their setting. Her build was sturdy, arms strong, good shoulders and back, stomach well defined, hips not wide. Perhaps a good runner, she had strong thighs and very round bottom cheeks. Her pubic bush was neat and sparse, with dark pink inner lips already showing, a sign of eagerness, perhaps...?

Alison trotted round him, her breasts jiggling neatly, tiny shivers running over the roundness of her buttocks. Platt swallowed hard at the sight, then moistened his lips: “Knees a little higher!” he ordered, and flicked the tail of the whip across her bouncing bottom, perfectly catching the undercurve of the twin cheeks.

Alison flinched and gave a little gasp from behind her bit, but she held step and obediently lifted her knees an inch higher.

Platt thrilled within himself. He had put his whip mark on that lovely, sweet girl’s body - and she had accepted it!

He ran her until she began to bead with sweat, then reined her in.

“That was quite good, girl. Now we’ll try it with a tail in. That alters the posture. You’ll have to learn how to show it off to the best advantage.”

His pulse racing, he led Alison into cool leather-scented haven of the Harness Room, and bent her over the padded trestle he had placed ready. Spreading her legs wide he strapped her ankles to one pair of the trestle legs, then, freeing her arms from the sheath, he fastened her wrists to the other pair.

For a moment he feasted on the sight of her docile body doubled over and so perfectly presented to him.

Her neat tight cunt pouch glistened, the petals of her inner lips pouting as though about to bloom with the promise of treasures yet to be unlocked. Fighting to keep his hands steady, he pried apart her firm buttocks and examined the pink eye of her anus with its fine starburst of crinkles.

“Hmmm. Looks tight. Ever had a tail plug or a dildo inside you girl?” he asked, knowing perfectly well the answer.

Alison shook her head.

“Then you may need a little stretching before we put a tail in. Don’t worry, girl, you’ll get used to it...”

He dipped his finger into a pot of lubricant and slid it carefully inside her hot, tight bottomhole. Lovely! He could feel the elasticity of her secret passage and knew the delights it could give. He introduced a second finger, working her entrance hole wider.

“Let yourself relax,” he told her. “A packgirl has to be easy to enter. Rears are naturally tight, no need to make it any harder. Just work your hips back and forward on my fingers... yes, good rhythm. Keep it up...” He gulped. “Now we’ll try something a little thicker...”

He unbuttoned his flies and released his straining cock. He took up position between her pale moon cheeks and pushed forward, his plum sliding between the greased cheeks, touching the tiny pothole that was the gateway to heaven. A quick lunge. Penetration! The muscular ring of her anus stretched wide then slid over his cockhead and he sank all the way into her. Alison gave a tiny yelp and moan of surprise at the sensation, but she did not struggle; accepting the unnatural but so very rewarding violation of her person without protest.

Platt closed his eyes and bit his lip in joy, easing gently in and out of her clinging tunnel. The moist heat of her! How he wished he could be the only man ever to use her like this! There would be no rushing Alison’s training. He would try out every device in the Harness Room on her. She would perform every service expected of a packgirl - and all just for him.

He let the pressure grow slowly within him as he rode Alison to the climax, slapping her bottom to keep her working herself to and fro against him, ensuring every thrust penetrated her to the hilt. In time her rear passage would accommodate itself to him like a lock to a key.

Alison’s breathing was rasping round her bit and she jerked at her straps as the stimulation she was receiving forced her to the inevitable. Her sphincter squeezed desperately tight round his shaft as though she wanted his cock plugging her for ever. He felt her go into spasm as his own need could no longer be contained, and he pumped his essence into her soft, welcoming entrails.

And in that moment George Platt knew perfection.

He had the best job anyone could wish for. He was master of the sweetest, most pliant kennelmaid ever known, and keeper of the Markham bitches, the finest girlpack in the south of England!